Negazione
Condannati a morte nel vostro quieto vivere

The lines that traverse my hands are almost free: the grains of the icy sand I clutched for a few hours are gone and are no more. The wild sea smell remains, and this black and incessant ebb before me that releases fumes of resignation. That's how it works with death, I now find myself surrounded. The grains vanish, like dust, like the end that unites us all. We will leave a trace, one hopes (or perhaps not), like that sea smell that doesn't go away, and you can use all the liquid soap you want but it doesn't solve it, it's there, like you're a fisherman.

Fishing for music, that same evening, we ended up together in a sea of salty tears and indigestible anger. Fists against the wall and kicks against the door of a wardrobe that was taken away this morning by the little man from the large item waste van who must have thought something and heard all the words we did not utter but spoke with our eyelids. He minded his own business, he understood.

Condemned to death in your quiet living, besides being an unbreakable truth, is the second EP from the Turin-based Negazione, marked 1985, which pairs with the uncontrolled energy of Tutti pazzi. It consists of five pieces that smash to pieces. They convey discomfort even in a normal psychological listening situation. If you're unwell, you start howling, foaming, and striking at the air. And you feel this air, the slashes go through something; the imperceptible suddenly becomes fitting, traversable, something against which you can hurl your frustration. I don't want to weave an encomium of what, for me, was the most diaphragmatic band of Italian hardcore, which, even in this work, drives chainsaws and melody together in a conspiracy to make love with alienation. I just want to acknowledge music, abstracting it from its immediate contexts of relevance, as having a crucial and highly immediate role in the emotional journey of a human being. Sometimes it is nightmares that become reality. In a phase of astronautic pessimism, for me, it seems more valid to assert "keep having nightmares until they come true" than the opposite.

With Negazione, the listening experience is poignant because it is human. The screams bark and combat with the low fidelity resulting in parts of an industrial suburb realism, where neglect is the rule of art that has compromised the spirit of people left to themselves. There circulates a working-class mentality freed from centuries of humanity's slavery, which doesn't possess great intellectual means but has perceived its outcast condition and challenges it, with simple words that repeatedly throw punches to the conscience. One's own conscience. Lyrics rolled in on themselves, speaking in one direction and surely would make those happy who want that neglect to persist. But never mind, these are words that only reach those who need some slaps on the cheeks to make them less anemic.

For a man dying outside, there’s a tremor of pride in a part of my spirit that lashes out blindly and then extinguishes forever, along with those who leave a spirit that does not continue. With the negation particle, the title of the next work makes more sense to me. I'm becoming sad. I do things that I live aseptically, in a detached way. I do them because I have to. Inside, I know I'm already partly dead because I'm made of others who are no more. With this, I've lost the last of the three male figures who, without ever intervening peremptorily, have certainly forged my way of being today.

This is why today, I too want to expose the rot in shops, destroy the happiness of your Sundays, dirty your sterility with my life. I want to live with money in my pocket and hunger in my mouth, to keep everything inside without a why, to not know about my feelings, to make another movie in my mind.

Goodbye Uncle.

Fuck you all.