Mahatma
Gilgamesh

Tortellini, tagliatelle al ragu, friggione, San Petronio, and the hills.

They are three: Tommy, Ex, and Carlitos; bass, guitar, and drums. They are toxic and dark like Electric Wizard, but they eat lasagna instead of porridge.
They pay homage to Sabbath from the top of the Two Towers and don't sing: they only use their mouths for chewing tigelle and kissing university students.

Because Bologna is full of university students, not just porticoes.

Chicks, weed, and dark music.
And we always end up there, at the leaden psychedelia of stoner doom. Yes, but we are in Italy, and that's not a small thing.
And it's no small thing either the artificial paradise that lies behind the CD in question: six tracks for almost sixty minutes of free fall, a triumph of guitars dense with reverberations and distortions, sounds whose roots delve into desert rock, lysergic atmospheres, and a pinch of nostalgia.
Between heavy sonic flows ("Blood On Urok"),  dark granitic mantras ("Gilgamesh") and some blues echoes ("Find The Sacred Herb"),  the soul of the red Bologna reveals itself to be dark and hypnotic.

As tasty as a plate of lasagna or a glass of still Pignoletto.

Sit at the table, put the napkin in the collar of your shirt, and enjoy listening.