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Rating: The Live Shows by Sidekick No.7
I write this review with catastrophic delay, but by doing so, I decide to reopen this column that I had set aside for a moment and it will soon be enriched with new spaces and new concerts. After this introduction, let's move on to the actual story.
Massimo Volume represent one of the most important and evocative musical experiences of the '90s, a band that stood out for many elements: the absence of a singing voice, the lyrical and hallucinatory lyrics of Mimì Clementi, the exquisite guitar of Egle Sommacal, and, more generally, a very raw and direct musical backdrop. Four albums in a few years. "Club Privè," released at the sunset of the third millennium, marked the end for many fans of the time and a vain hope for all those who would discover them later.
2008 marked a sensational and almost unexpected renaissance of the Bolognese band and in autumn they returned on tour. The first live performances after the reunion mostly favored central-southern locations. The performance in Borgosatollo represented a great opportunity for the Lombard public and those from nearby Veneto. People flocked from an area from Milan to Vicenza along the A4 highway to witness a sort of miracle.
Personally, I was curious to hear live a band that had fascinated me on their studio albums and to look at someone like Clementi in the face; reading his books had stunned me. I was shocked by those devastating images of the Italian province that had corroded and shaped him over the years. When you hear phrases like "Mi Sento Come il Soffitto di Una Chiesa Bombardata" you can't remain indifferent or at least you shouldn't.
When I go to see something, I have a terrible habit: I always arrive too early for fear of being late, so I always end up having to wait a long time. The flyer said 9:30, at 8 I'm in front of the theater and I see the members of Massimo Volume coming out of the theater headed to dinner. To pass the time, I go to a pizzeria and throw something in my stomach. At 9, you buy the ticket (no pre-sale) and take a seat, gradually it will be a full house. While waiting for the lights to go out and the show to start, I liked hearing people talk and relive "their 20s," moments when they passed around "Lungo i Bordi" or "Catartica" and weren't afraid to grab a guitar and hope to land in Seattle. Inside me, having not lived those sensations, there was a sense of profound unease.
Then it's the lights that go out, it's Mimì who "shouts," it's the guitars and drums that accompany him. To open everything, there’s "Atto Definitivo," immediately followed by "Il Primo Dio." Two of the pivotal pieces in the career of Massimo Volume, almost a signal of personality: a determined challenge towards a critique that might turn its nose up at such a reconsideration. As you go on, you understand that they haven't lost the desire to be on stage. They manage to be exciting and direct, it's a morbid fascination created by many elements: Sommacal's scratching solos, the dark bass and Clementi's determined voice, Vittoria Burattini's powerful drums, the violent and alternating lights. The result is a violence of the soul which, in the end, feels refreshed. Moving forward, songs with Clementi's memories emerge ("Sul Viking Express," "La Notte dell'11 Ottobre") and the most famous characters in his songs: first Leo ("Fuoco Fatuo") and in the encore Alessandro and finally a trio ("Ronald, Thomas, and I"); stories told with enviable anger and grit. On the other hand, instrumental moments of excellent craftsmanship, the ability of four excellent musicians (there were two guitarists) stands out. "Inverno '85" was missing, I was a bit disappointed.
When the concert is over and I return home, my mind replays those songs, those music, those lyrics and tries to let them into my veins: it feels the need to make its guts experience the mood that had stuck to its skin. Strong sensations for a beautiful evening, as lived many other times in solitude.
P.S. I dedicate this episode to the Editors (also because it will be the last time they have to look for a picture) and to BlechtRommel, I hope you enjoyed them in Turin. Maybe you wouldn't have relived certain moments of those almost twice our age but you would have made them yours.
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