MC5
1969 - Live - Kick Out the Jams

THE REVIEW

It was a day of unusual spectacle, one of those strange and surreal ones.
Everything was accentuated by the north wind that made the air fresh and sharp… very pleasant.
The clouds! Yes, they were the clouds! Different from usual, so strange, so "distant," one of those days when you realize that God has painted a wonderful show above your head, a sky as enchanting as it is improbable.
You have the feeling that something unique and rare must happen… a tornado?!
A gentle breeze, accompanied by a delightful, comfortable sun, while everything is so …clear!

A society full of secular and Catholic lies, a soft shelter on which to cradle ourselves, where we can have golden dreams and comfortably raise our children in the full pornographic culture of the image.
A world made of lies, while pain is indifferent, the real shit, the one that smells like death, is flavored by the chemistry of multinationals…

Everything was made even more surreal by that artificial lake created by the rain the night before, next to those usual jet set insurance offices, full of cash and luxury cars parked outside, while blue jacketed men with their nice briefcases in tow, urgent, boastful, successful, smiling and …empty, run lost in their errands.

Life demands a toll, your house, your car, your garden, your damn trips to Sharm "Legoland" el-Sheikh, your nice parish, the perfect friends, the beautiful people, your extraordinary for your children's university, their future, the bills, your LCD, Christmas gifts and… even your nice pedigree dog.

A homeless man in his sixties wears an MP3, found on a bench a few days ago, maybe forgotten maybe stolen, it doesn't matter.
In his right hand he brandishes a weapon, in his left a cigarette, maybe begged from a passerby, it doesn't matter.
He walks, limping, worn by his own life and age, some say he won't even make it through the winter, it doesn't matter.

He walks, strenuously, then suddenly stops, lights the cigarette… now! Breathe!
Air mixed with smoke invades the lungs the mind… the spirit, while the catecholamine production stabilizes, adrenaline rises slowly.
He turns on the MP3; the show begins!

RAMBLIN' ROSE kicks off, the remaining seven tracks follow (KICK OUT THE JAMS, COME TOGETHER, ROCKET REDUCER NO. 62 RAMA LAMA FA FA FA, BORDERLINE, MOTOR CITY IS BURNING, I WANT YOU RIGHT NOW, STARSHIP) made of pure anarchistic and nihilistic violence, so burning, they explode in all their angry frustration at the system as fragile as the minds of its children, proselytes to an institution whether secular or theocratic, but which slyly establishes its foundations on hypocritical, licentious, and cunning behaviors.

Thus the homeless man picks up the pace, more and more, like a madman heading for the jet set offices, arrives at the door, breaks it down, bursting into the corridors, everything heats up, a bullet explodes hitting a water dispenser and starts the first home run of a so-called "exhausting day."
The greasy blinged-out African American lady from the hall, like those from the sitcom "The Jeffersons," puts her hands to her face and crouches under the table, while the show increases its range.
The shocked people watch, motionless; they don't react, some scream hysterically, run away, faint, but the show must go on, insane, angry, alienated, relentless, it doesn't stop, it’s a fasting beast and now it’s hungry. Picking up an iron club, slashes fly at desks, PCs and printers fly, someone is hit, they bleed.

The screams of pure Motherfucker by Rob Tyner create a rabid and hysterical live aura, converging into the guitar of a Wayne Kramer who, adrenaline-crazed now more than ever, pumps inexorably into the mind of any of his borderline offspring, a violence, that has no reason for being, that has no principle, no logic, no cause-effect, but rather illogical bestial smothered long ago, now exploding in an afternoon torn by infinite moments of pure ordinary madness.

Gunshots go off wildly, people collapse, they're afraid, they're terrified, they put their hands to their faces, they cry.
The homeless man doesn't give a damn about anything, he's free from the system, free from everyone, he has nothing to lose, he has already lost everything.
Meanwhile, an elderly woman, sitting along the corridor chairs, doesn't flinch, motionless and absent, she stares fixedly at the clock.
Everything lasts a little more than half an hour, the gentlemen in ties don't even have the clarity to call the police.

To hell with the weak and corrupt.

The show ends, the man comes to his senses and leaves, as he exits he jumps onto a Lamborghini parked outside and slowly drives away…

That artificial lake, outside the offices was dark in color, reflecting the sky, largely obscured by clouds, at the same time letting sunlight reflect that filtered through them, everything was so suggestive as to leave one speechless… never do my eyes recall witnessing such…