Machines of Loving Grace
Gilt

The wrecks of the '90s culture.

I continuously crawl among these broken glass pieces, rain, too much rain. I suddenly realize what bothers me, it's not you, it's not your lies, it's not my house, it's not my car, it's not my boss, it's not modern art, it's not my new jacket... I wish to remain forever in my Helter Skelter, in my leopard paradise, while there's always war in my heart.

Today I realized that if all this were to end, I wouldn't be afraid, because I wasn't invited this time either. And I've painted my heart black, just for you, you can put on the lipstick you love, you can even make me jealous, I won't be your dandy with the always white teeth anymore, I won't quote Crowley to find you a refuge, nothing, nothing of all this... Nothing more, here there's only a big fear.

I've always loved small works, hidden works but with the claim of elegance, of difference, wonderfully packaged, something ridiculously exciting. I know that 20 years ago art gave unforgettable sound experiences, especially in films where the city is flooded, where shops explode, where there are lots of screams, where a leather outfit accompanied those who had to lead sensations with sound. And I'm sure the following decade wiped all this away, among these forgotten objects, it's impossible to deny this work and it's equally impossible not to indulge in such a delicately gifted sound experience. Gilt, features a cover with a reinterpretation of the most beautiful suicide in the world, it's sound sex, a true reinterpretation of the Post-Industrial and Alternative concept of the '90s. Feedback is replaced by liquid sounds (Serpico), metallic outbursts are dressed in new clothes (Animal Mass, Kiss Destroyer), whispers, stabs to the abdomen, hugs, bites, different directions but desperately circumscribed, all apathetically recounted with an absurdly contained mimicry. Weak, truly weak, fascinating, yes, truly fascinating, exciting, very exciting. 

Fortunately hidden...