Litfiba
Trilogia 1983-1989 Live 2013

Necessary premise: this review is for those who are already familiar with the subject. Therefore, it risks being biased because it expresses the free opinion of its author, and boring for those who don't know a damn thing about new wave, earthquakes, and free spirits, or for those who absolutely love the Horse.

Yes, I spent years dreaming about it, hoping for it, disbelieving it, discussing it everywhere (and extensively, even here on DeBaser). And finally, it has happened. The Litfiba of the '80s are back! And I can already hear your objections: but wasn't the drummer tragically gone? How did he return? Miracle! And if they barely had time to come back before they already hit us with a live show that will sell almost nothing, could it be that they don't give a damn about the '80s, and they were simply out of money?
Well, that's probably it. And we couldn't care less. Any fan of the Trilogy of Power period (1983-1989, precisely) would have given an arm to see Marok's all-consuming bass on stage alongside that skinny but not really Renzulli. Oh, maybe an arm is too much, but you get the idea. I hope.
Let's get to the point. I'm going to see them on April 20th. And I've decided that instead of a review of a concert that will be seen by a few excited fans like me, it might be better to give you some chatter about an album you can all listen to, in the golden world of YouTube

Operation Old Rascal Reunion (slightly chubbier). Pros and Cons, mixed up

PROS

There's Maroccolo and Aiazzi. Not to be sneezed at. And if the latter seems to struggle a bit trying to find his younger self, the former doesn't miss a beat. It seems that, at least, the mythical bass of national Gianni is less invasive than before, much to Renzulli's joy. But the sound remains that beautifully rich sound that fans know well. Aiazzi instead shines in tracks like Pierrot e la luna or Apapaia, risking lapsing into 'kitch' in other pieces, like the still very successful Elettrica danza or Corri (try playing the '80s deliberately without being ridiculous). Completely out of tone is the interpretation of Santiago, where the keyboards have nothing to do with the rest. But there you have it, welcome back!

The forgotten songs. Those that never found space outside the 'single' discourse, like Versante est and Elettrica danza, or those rarely played even at the time, like Amigo. True treats for the fans.

The original versions. Ci sei solo tu is a pleasure to listen to as it is present in Litfiba 3. The hard rock drift of the '90s was fun, but widely overdone. Slow and "liquid," as Pelù says in his biography. And then Eroi nel vento. Directly from Desaparecido, not from Croce & Delizia (horror!).

Worthy drums. Ringo De Palma may not have been the most technically gifted drummer in Litfiba's history, but his rhythms were unmistakable, and he was unbeatable in the 'out-of-time' parts, going off the beaten path without constantly repeating the classic four-four time. And Luca Martelli is really good at reproducing those solutions, highly scenic and quite tasty, without ever going overboard. Well done.

Ghigo's guitar. Perfect in every break and solo. The lack of ideas from the plump Renzulli was one of the reasons for the first litfibiota diaspora. Today, however, it almost seems like Ghigo was waiting for the chance to not be omnipresent anymore, as happened until the last tour. Disappearing a bit in the shadows (although he is much more present compared to the '80s) does him good.

The magic of the tracks. Guerra, Tziganata, Re del silenzio, Ferito. Ladies and gentlemen, this was Florentine and Italian rock. It was even necessary to pay homage to it, even if every reunion makes the purists cringe. "Let them screw a cypress," as CapaRezza would say.

CONS

Pelù. I never thought I'd say this, but here Piero is really like a fish out of water. Still an excellent entertainer, no longer the dark-shaman he was at 25. The voice struggles, croaks, doesn't thrill like it used to. In fact, since that fateful '89 a lot of water has gone under the bridge, hearing him rant against those "in the inner sanctum" and the purchase of F35s doesn't work anymore. At times, he seems out of his mind. Before Cane, he says we're all like Dudu. Who the hell is Dudu? Then, and this is truly comical, in Gira nel mio cerchio, when mentioning the city hosting the live show, he shouts "Firenze!" instead of "Milano!" The audience was dumbfounded. He still gives his best in the pieces he feels most his own, like Tziganata, Re del silenzio, and Resta, but in Guerra, for instance, his "der krieg" appears rather forced. He's past his prime, but I love him nonetheless.

The intro of Tziganata. Horribly mutilated. How can such a majestic track (the writer's favorite), which live even enjoyed two minutes of keyboard introduction, start directly with a big drum roll? In any case, it recovers with a fun ending crescendo.

La prey. It's practically the version of Aprite i vostri occhi, with the addition of a refrain that, although catchy, takes away the magic from the track and is like a real stab in the back for fans. It's fine to play yesterday's pieces with today's taste, but this was a step too far. You thought you were the hunters, and now the prey (of the fans' fury) is you.

Cane. What a letdown. A stunning piece, and a huge disappointment. It's an abominable halfway point between the '80 and '90 versions. In fact, only Maroccolo's bass remains from the original version. For the rest, from the guitar intro to the break in the middle of the second verse, it seems taken from the Terremoto tour. Sadness.

Tex. Nice, fun, perfect. But besides the bass, it's identical (even in Pelù's introductory words, "Indian reservation of Alcatraz!") to the version already present in Stato Libero di Litfiba. They could have dared for more.

The useless pieces. Louisiana, Il vento, Amigo. How dull. Wasn't it better to keep Paname, played during the two evenings from which the double CD is taken but not ending up on the final setlist? And what about Come un dio? Or a Pioggia di luce? Well, we'll talk about it at the next reunion (when Pelù will be seventy and still spouting curses from the stage)

Gira nel mio cerchio. Beautiful and powerful, no doubt. But, aside from the already mentioned blunder, why dedicate it to Bukowski? Lord, if you exist, and I doubt it, have mercy on Pelù.


It's finished. Que viva el bandido LItaliaFIrenzeviadeiBArdi!