Modà
Passione maledetta

All historical periods have been the subject of epochal, existential questions with enormous social and cultural impact. Perhaps stretching too far and mixing high and low, superficiality and depth, amazement and (apparent) certainties. The new millennium also has to deal with all this. The 2000s are troubled and afflicted by a question that tears at souls, reignites that sacred fire of indignation, shakes and strikes consciences, clouds minds and consumes time and our days: why do Modà have success? Certainly, we didn't have to wait for them to understand that disengagement and annoyance in Italy bring success, popularity, and fame, that clinging to adolescent themes opens the doors of paradise and the wallet, but Modà go far beyond. Their case cannot be dismissed among the many "commercial mysteries", it would be equivalent to reducing the scope of such a wave of triviality, but it is "the" mystery. They don't just have success, they brush against apotheosis, deification, the most epic triumph. They don't do one concert at San Siro, they do two; because one date wasn't enough. And "Passione Maledetta", the latest album by the Italian band (I apologize for the word "band") released at the end of November, sold 15,000 copies on the first day to reach 110,000 copies in less than a month. To put it in perspective, when Guccini reaches gold disc status after a year, he celebrates as if there were no tomorrow. "Passione Maledetta" is an album of disheartening and dismaying ugliness; a list of banalities and clichés, of lost and pathetically heart-wrenching loves. "E non c'è mai una fine", the opening single of the album, is the manifesto of the "modiano" thought: the emoticon one. An adolescent language, deliberately stretched and falsely heartfelt: an unbearable syrup that leads the poor victim to long for the nonsense of the '80s. Continuing to listen, knowingly and deliberately doing yourself harm, you delve into abysms of mediocrity hitherto unexplored; things like "E' solo colpa mia" or "Ti passerà" sound like cries from a drunk or castrated muezzin in the grip of an acute epileptic fit. Some will say "to each their own taste" and that’s true, but they tirelessly intoxicate with triviality. They seem to want to embody "whatsappare", youthfulness and post-modernism, the puerile and the pathetic, the ephemeral and the imperceptible, disengagement and the most prevailing cosmic void; in simple terms, Modà seems to want to embody the artist's shit. And if that’s truly the case, they deserve heartfelt congratulations because they do it fantastically. Even the name "Kekko", should not be left in the background: there are three "k"s, a subliminal message to the teenage fangirls that escapes the radar of most but not them. In short, what else can be said, except to hope that one day an effective and definitive cure can be found for this ailment, and that the prosaic effect of the masses can one day be curbed.