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Rating: More than a year ago, I left Bergen and reached Modena, the red Modena, to meet the Bassist and head with his comforting presence to Bologna, the burgundy Bologna. What was so interesting? Thousands of people were gathering along via Stalingrado, camping in the garden of Unipol, while an incessant chant of "uniti compatti contro la Moratti" entered through the windows left incautiously open and spread revolutionary ideas among pots and pans of various kinds. Those people weren't there for the Marduk. The Bassist and I were. The Bassist and I were in front of the Estragon two hours before both bands arrived. But how both? We quickly realized that in addition to Marduk, we would also have to endure the performance of four bland teenagers from the north, Verdena I believe, who however were rightfully violated by the Swedes in the backstage at the end of the show. Rightly so, we might add.
More than a year has passed, meanwhile the Bassist cut his hair, I cut my hair. I embraced the emo philosophy. Now I cry when I see a kitten that can't come down from a tree, I take poser photos and have abandoned the already abandoned, and useless, abandoned factories. I have also become straight edge, I only allow myself a Fanta at most, and with my girlfriend, we will only have sex after marriage. On MSN beside my name I put the maximum amount of stars and crosses possible. A heavy shroud of dust has fallen on the Marduk. Now I have a From Autumn To Ashes poster where the Cradle of Filth one once reigned. And the Estragon? I tried to follow the few concerts that had something emo, Burst/Poison The Well/The Dillinger Escape Plan, Cult Of Luna, Giardini di Mirò, Jesu/Isis, and a few others. On October 26th, however, I notice a name. Yes, it seems to come out of the screen and imprint itself on my weary pupils: With Love. Holy moly, if that's not an emo band name. So I start from Bergen headed to Modena "with much love," but at the station, there's no one. Where are you Bassist? No enchanting Viking melody will accompany me on the long journey, but now I'm emo, Vikings are nothing more than big smelly men with malfunctioning razors now. I brace myself, and blast The Get Up Kids in my ears. Oh how I cried for their breakup.
I arrive in Bologna, and I arrive at the Estragon. I'm two hours early but I take the opportunity to share my dinner with a colony of kittens living in the garden of Unipol, the kittens meow, that's why they're so cute. We sensitive guys like them.
Finally, they open the gates, and I enter.
Oh how dark the Estragon is, and so little emo, I'd never noticed. Some shocking pink touches would be needed here and there.
But With Love is already on stage.
Something is wrong, the singer and bassist are bald or about to become so.
If you're emo you can't be bald, if you've lost your hair, it means you weren't sensitive enough.
No one has nerd glasses.
The guitarist has a stuffed dog's head on his head. This comforts me, the guitarist is a sensitive and emo guy like me. I'm practically in front of him and I have time to ask him in a whisper if he likes kittens, because I do a lot.
The guitarist-dog glares at me.
With Love starts playing and a serious review can begin here, since this time the concert exists, but it seemed right to pay tribute with a few lines to moments and people that, in a way, no longer exist.
It's not clear what With Love is doing: "Tuoni Fulmini Saette" made even the fish scream miracle, but the band wasn't considered much by the audience. That's my impression, given that to hear the local quartet, there are already several dozen people present, perhaps a hundred. Noise, feedback, Nico loading delay onto his vocal cords, an impressive sonic trip, impressive on record and slaughtered in the live dimension where the breaks sometimes emoviolence sometimes post-rock stand out. Since the "music" parts are 10% compared to the pure sonic experimentation, there's little enjoyment and a lot of suffering; those who love to feel their eardrums grated by such bands actually enjoy themselves all the time. I for one. I'm afraid blood will come out of my ears because I'm still an emo kid, and blood scares an emo kid.
Minor mystery about the absence of a merch booth, whose presence was confirmed to me by the manager of some record label who also had a booth. So even my grandmother had a booth there, but With Love didn't. Clever since their latest CD is about to come out and a date along with Melt Banana is not an everyday occurrence.
Apart from necessary considerations, after half an hour of the show, Melt Banana takes the stage. And I'm captivated by the charm of the singer, whose name I know, but I feel like opening a new browser window to check if I'm writing it right. Actually, we Italians don't hold back and we burst into whistles and yells towards the bassist. However, I like the singer more. The noisecore of the four Japanese kicks ass. Despite not having any new album to promote ("Cell-Scape" is from 2003), the Japanese undertake to eliminate any emo kid inside the venue with maniacal precision. Chirurgical rhythmic section (drummer wearing an Envy shirt, legendary Japanese emoviolence band that made me really shed a tear) and Agata free to indulge himself with his Gibson and pitch-shifter pedal. Agata uses a Sunn 0))) head. And you could feel it, or rather, at the end of the concert I couldn't hear anything anymore. But it was absolutely worth it.
"Cell-Scape" was reprised, faithfully yes, but improvising quite a bit as well, almost in its entirety and inserting a small break in the middle of the concert, a concert within the concert so to speak, with 11 shards of pure noisecore shot without interruptions. Melt Banana are as much capable artisans as amused Japanese kids who seem to be on a Roman holiday and take pictures with fake Roman centurions. An exceptional band, putting its small brick on the endless road of musical experimentation, very valid in studio and capable of reprising everything in live setting losing nothing but rather gaining a lot. I bought a t-shirt, poster and CD, and invited the singer on a date. She refused; I'll make up for it with the Bassist.
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