Monte Cazazza
The Cynic

Would you believe it? Once upon a time, aimless scrawny figures roamed the city streets. They would gather carcasses to hold in their arms and softened their gaze at the sight of the perpetually pouting girl from the suburbs. Would you believe it? People didn't know, were they someone's offspring? Would they become parents? Would they eventually consecrate their incomprehensible nightmares? These people, generally speaking, grow up to become the target of fearful people, everyone thinks they feed on blood, yet they keep us company, behind the scenes, they say, in theaters, in dead-end alleys. When it rains, they're at the end of the alley, feeding on bacteria as the light fades. Who are they waiting for, if not a pale body to make cry, after having reduced themselves to the level of their own pathologies...

No more than two insignificant years ago, in England, the quintessential survivor of the industrial era, namely Monte Cazazza, returns to paint on the blank canvases of music, the blackness that it has always given him. We always speak of survivors, who invite immortal muses to the work (Lydia Lunch), who do not cease to thrash in their, albeit unknown, elegant delirium. But the truly heart-wrenching thing is that in all this time, nothing has changed. The martial nature of the machines is not cleansed of the rust of '79, there is no room in the "cynical" disc for refinement for its own sake. The claws of obsession are shown at the beginning (Interrogator). It's always him, these laments can only come from his body, from no one else but him. Not even if we wished could we find in this comeback the enticing nuances of the new figures in "electric" music (A Gringo like me, where the name Morricone appears). If anything, there is an attempt to strip the rhythmic structures of the clever adjustments with which "dark" music has accustomed us (contemporary EBM musicians), and to these structures are then added magnificently anachronistic elements (What's so Kind about Mankind).

The prodigy is not dead, and has wanted to inconvenience us to listen to his work. And we need calm, after all, it's always the music of a person who spoke of giant statues of Jesus sawed and raped into oblivion, and of how all this was the most acceptable form of religion.