L'Officina della Camomilla
Senontipiacefalostesso

There are many ways to escape from everyday life, to break free from the world and give ourselves the opportunity to be fully ourselves, even if only for the duration of an album. Try, just for a moment, to detach yourself from what surrounds you and surrender to the pleasure of music: today we find ourselves in Milan. Let's start from the ground up, let's not think of the big bands or the big record labels: for a moment, let’s stay within the confines of intimate and pure music. Today on the CD player there is: "L’Officina della Camomilla.”

At your play, a whirlwind of lightness, melancholy, purity, and dreams yet to be cultivated will flow from the speakers, liberating you from the drawer that keeps you motionless. A series of images and stories indeed similar that begin to talk about adolescent kids with undefined identities like Cecilia and the desire to set the school on fire (“Dai Graffiti del Mercato Comunale), Agata and the bakery explosions (“Agata Brioches”) and the non-places of little Lulù (“Lulù Devi Studiare Marc Augé”). Sounds of toy instruments, synthesizers, and experimental harmonies are just some of the features that make this CD special and unique. Distorted guitars and raw messages (“Ho Fatto Esplodere il Mio Condominio di Merda”), lyrics that are unafraid of the impact they may have on listeners, direct songs, with nothing held back, to dance and shout without fear (“La Tua Ragazza non Ascolta i Beat Happening” featuring Lo Stato Sociale). An environment perhaps still unknown to us that resurfaces that melody and those memories only bands like Arctic Monkeys or The Strokes are capable of creating, poems that transform into extraordinary songs (“Morte per Colazione,” “Un Fiore per Coltello,” “Le Mie Pareti Fluorescenti di Nord Africa”). Lyrics that bring back the critical aspect of beautiful Milan, which manages to be hated and loved at the same time (“Città Mostro di Vestiti,” “La Provincia non E’ Bella da Fotografare”). A journey of a thousand flavors, from the strongest to the sweetest and lightest, like those found in the last three tracks: harmonies that tell of Dr. Martens thefts, restaurants catching fire and the death of Cyndi Lauper (“Pegaso Disco Bar”). And if you really want to fall in love in improbable places in Officina style, abandon yourself to the sweet and graceful rhythms of the penultimate track (“Ti Porterò a Cena Sul Braccio della Ruspa”).

All that's left is to surrender to the most beautiful love poetry of recent times and end the journey in complete tranquility and carefreeness (“Senontipiacefalostesso”). They are L’Officina della Camomilla and “Senontipiacefalostesso” is their album. If anyone has the desire to take half an hour of their life for a new journey, they should definitely pop the CD into their player, in the car, or in the iPod and close their eyes. Emotions and the most diverse sensations, from anger to the most immediate sweetness will pass through you; this is a disc that you may or may not like but it undoubtedly manages to remain the center of attention. I managed to feel a musical hope, but that's another story. Yours, Penny Lane