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Rating: Please forgive me if I risk going on too long, but I must begin the review of this important concert with a preamble.
It is said and commonly accepted that the first, if not the only, thing not allowed in times of war is to shoot at the Red Cross: the poor volunteers who provide their service for humanitarian purposes are "super partes," detached from the interests that have led to combat and cannot decide their outcomes; with their mere presence, they attempt the most difficult task: not only or "just" to provide assistance and medical care to those in need but also, as a consequence of their work, to restore dignity to humanity itself in circumstances where all traces of it are lost.
In the Eternal City, a sort of civil war began in the early '90s, fought in political and economic terms, such that young people living there cannot enjoy a panorama of events such as the lucky young people in other capitals or even just large European cities deserve: the major artists (foreign) are penalized by hefty fees with the excuse of a lack of spaces, concentrating attention and resources on projects that intend to "ennoble" the capital (which in truth has never excelled, historically, in musical culture), the youth are "steered" towards forms that can be clearly traced to left-wing characteristics, allowing politics to exercise hegemony and "manufacture" a hard base of electorate for the years to come, if not even for those already underway. That it may seem strange to someone that techno has been censored for ten years because its followers had to be labeled as skinheads, only to return through the main door in its latest trends in the raves of social centers, matters little; in fact, in this conglomerate of neighborhood-villages where the age-old care of uncritical thinking exercised by the papal state still fully develops its effects, it is reasoning that is strange.
This preamble was necessary to introduce you to the preview concert for the current season of "Enzimi," which, boasting an accurate selection of events, together perhaps only with some projects of "la Palma" should bring relief to us poor Roman enthusiasts of good music in circulation.
So, what sense does it make to track down the most interesting artists only to compel them to perform in a venue that sounds like a cave? What sense does it make to search for the best sounds if they are then to be stifled inside two horn-loaded boxes, inexpensive and designed to soundproof open spaces? But these are common evils to all the concerts held in the (current) venue of the artists' circle; in this case, it's worth adding that when Patton and Rahzel took to the stage, the equipment remained equalized for the pathetic performance of some poor fool who didn't even know how to mix two records (yes, having 18 years to practice with the Timex Social Club would have helped...), who alone would not have been worth the price of the coins we threw at him. In return, the sound technician, spurred by the insults Patton hurled at him, managed to do something—after about 20 minutes... what a pro!
Add to this the fact that the atmosphere had already been ruined by the lack of even a single bathroom in the external spaces (50 minutes waiting for those who entered as soon as the gates opened) and that Patton and Rahzel interrupted their performance a couple of times, requesting that the same recorders that the organizers had not checked at the entrance not be used, ultimately insulting the audience indistinctly in Italian and, wonder why, even Totti; there you have a nice 0 stars out of 5.
In reality, I rated it 2 stars because the artistic value, with that acoustics I can only try to imagine it, could have brushed a 5. I listened with my own ears because Rahzel is credited as "the most frightening human beatbox in the world," and Patton's creativity, although perhaps less endowed and certainly more penalized by the type of acoustics, transcended the boundaries set by the stakes the record industry is so eager to drive: in various parts, he would now use his voice as an effect and link with Rahzel's syncopation, now "spread" it like it was a carpet; at times he would "launch" into warbles, few to tell the truth, as if he wanted to compete with female voices, at other times he tried to construct, to "weave" something that might seem like an instrumental piece. And, gentlemen, how well he succeeded! At times, the performance would grow and stretch out, clearly managing to convey the sense of experimentation that pervades this artistic phase of his: Patton, in these passages, opened his creativity to the audience, and we, the audience, could listen to him with the same feeling one has when watching a child in a creative phase, seated at the desk, so engrossed and intense, so serene and naive, unaware that he is being observed while doing what he is doing. Too bad that all of a sudden he would recover, look at us, the piece would end, and he would put back on the boor's guise, delighted to insult us with the arrogance of someone who wants to do nothing more than step down from the stage and get into a fight. To be really nitpicky, I point out that in the parts of the concert where the duo recreated electronic tracks with their voices, in these parts Patton's creativity shrank, and the voices rested in replicating the typical patterns of the most radio-transmitted electro-techno-pop music; but pretend I didn't say anything: try to take a friend and recreate an electronic track with just your voices.
It's just a pity that to feed the economic activity of the neighboring pizzeria and open-air pub of the organization, another of the best current musical events had to take place in a big room that sounds like a cave. Usque tandem?
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