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Rating: Finally Rain, because it seemed almost impossible that, despite the considerable efforts of associations such as NoShoes and Underground Piovese, we couldn't organize a musical event of at least provincial significance in our native village of Sacco.
Finally Rain, because after the performances of artists who frequent our area perhaps too often, including the very valid Herman Medrano and that insufferable showman Sir Oliver Skardy, it is only on the last evening of the festival that one of the most representative bands of the new belpaesana musical scene takes the stage.
Finally Rain, because after midnight, a strong wind, moving the drapes of the stage's minimalist set design, announced the imminent arrival of the much-desired (in this long, scorching summer) and refreshing rain, which, almost by divine intervention, poured down abundantly from the end of the concert throughout the night.
The honor of opening the concert goes to the Melt, a punk’n’roll trio from Vicenza (a guarantee, just ask any drunk Vicentian!): at 10:40 PM, the performance start time, the area between the stage and the mixer is practically empty. The three Vicentians prove they can handle themselves superbly, and, after a few songs, someone timidly approaches, sitting on the grass. The style of the three greatly resembles that of the Pordenone group Tre Allegri Ragazzi Morti (by the way, Davide Toffolo's label, “La Tempesta,” also produced Melt's latest album, “L’intonarumori”), with some additional noise-rock touches provided by Teno's bold guitar distortions. The most striking songs were certainly “Elefanti” and the concluding “L’intonarumori,” with a long instrumental tail. After a good half hour, the three leave the stage: pleasant performance, but it's a shame there was such a lack of audience.
A quarter of an hour of waiting, and finally the heroes of the day arrive: the Marta Sui Tubi. The guitarist has cut his long mane à la Francesco Renga and looks much older. I hoped that most of the audience would arrive shortly, but Carmelo and company finish the opening song, “Via Dante,” and the situation remains the same: about sixty people seated in front of the stage, one-third of which belonged to my group.
At one point, the magic happens: the singer Giovanni invites us to stand up and approach the barriers, and from then on, it's a party: we jump and sing their quirky tunes at the top of our lungs (though I had the impression that my friends and I were the only ones who knew their songs!), they get pumped up and bring out all their energy, inventing on the spot a captivating and imaginative show, including emotional acoustic moments (“L’abbandono,” “Vecchi difetti”), irreproducible tongue twisters on absurd rhythms (“Il giorno del mio compleanno,” “Stitichezza cronica”) and moments of comedic delirium (at one point Giovanni starts singing “applause, applause, applause, applause for du-du” over a quasi-jazz base).
Giovanni's synth (what a voice, folks!) intervenes always at the right moment, Carmelo's guitar is always in the foreground with arpeggios as skew as they are touching, while the drummer Ivan, inactive in almost all the more acoustically rooted pieces, lets loose whenever he can (as in the beautiful concluding “31 lune” with a noise-prog finale almost like Sigur Rós). The three Sicilians leave the stage, but we, not satisfied, invite them to return; they don't need much persuading and gift us two more gems: “Perché non pesi niente” and “Post.”
The concert is over, but we, now on a roll, penetrate the pseudo-backstage, manage to have a “four chitchats” with Carmelo and get picks and drumsticks as gifts. Who needs stadiums full of people! To make a concert with a capital C, even twenty people are enough; the important thing is the level of empathy that develops among them!
“The way your heart beats makes all the difference at learning to live” (Dream Theater).
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