Maneskin

Media gelatin with the smell of nothing, whipped up with compressed air, dressed by some little brat who still considers tights, nudism, and 8-centimeter thick mascara as symbols of transgression, presented as a revolution to a dumb and ignorant audience fattened on trap and little church songs. They were probably assembled to be the "heralds" (the pawns) of "Italian rock," but I imagine they will quickly melt away, producing solo careers via spore that are filled with the usual shit features, much to the delight of the simpletons who feel important listening to crap on their phones and the older youngsters desperately seeking a connection with their bored & trashy teenage daughters. If your kids like them, you probably made a mistake somewhere; if your significant other likes them, you’re likely making a mistake too.