Massimo Volume
Da Qui

Years ago, an authoritative industry magazine placed this album among the fifty absolute masterpieces of our domestic rock music. Not being, myself, a faithful frequenter of Italian music halls, perhaps because I grew up with the myth of musical internationalism, whether from Albion or overseas, or perhaps because Italian music has been subdued for years and even, if we may say so, a step behind compared to the sounds produced under the shadow of Big Ben and the Statue of Liberty, or due to a sort of, why not, pure snobbery, I had never seriously considered the discography of the Bolognese ensemble.
Enticed also by the mid-price of this product, I catapult myself to my trusted supplier and proceed to fill this partial gap of mine.
It is with immense satisfaction that, once I arrive home, I insert the disc into the player and begin listening:

1st track - a recited poem
2nd track - a recited poem
3rd track - a recited poem
4th track - a recited poem
5th track - a recited poem
6th track - a recited poem
7th track - a recited poem
8th track - a recited poem
9th track - a recited poem
10th track - a recited poem
11th track - a recited poem

Perhaps I was a little distracted; I begin listening from the start again:

1st track - a recited poem
2nd track - a recited poem
3rd track - a recited poem
4th track - a recited poem
5th track - a recited poem
6th track - a recited poem
7th track - a recited poem
8th track - a recited poem
9th track - a recited poem
10th track - a recited poem
11th track - a recited poem

Emidio Clementi, a recognized writer, signed all the lyrics entirely, while the music (?!?) is composed by the whole group with Egle Sommacal's guitar playing the lead role. The 1970s return to mind when Nando Gazzolo recited poems over soft soundscapes. Here, it's true, the guitars are more present, but their role is as a side to the main dish, which remains the voice and recitation of Emidio Clementi.
I thought I had bought forty-five minutes of music...
Tomorrow, I'm going to the bookstore to buy a book of poems, who knows, Ungaretti, Neruda, Quasimodo, Baudelaire, you never know if inside I'll find forty-five minutes of music?

I'm putting this CD up for auction. Opening bid, 10 cents. What do you say? 5 cents? Wait, wait, the gentleman in the back, how much does he offer? 1 cent? Sold.