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Rating: Iron, concrete, rust, and an eternally overcast sky. This is the backdrop of today's Milan presented by No GuRu, inviting us to hop on the merry-go-round of apparent amusements and real problems, a raw and ruthless tour experienced forever on the skin. Originally composed of four ex-Ritmo Tribale (Scaglia on vocals, Marcheschi on drums, Briegel on bass, and Talia on keyboards) and accompanied by two exceptional "disturbators", Xabier Iriondo (Afterhours) and Bruno Romani, who was already on the sax with Detonazione in the '80s.
A very brief opening track, ironically playful, raises the curtain on "Ieri è un altro giorno", a piece that harkens to post-punk but towards the end curiously recalls the hysterical denunciation of Il Teatro degli Orrori. Without taking a breath, it continues with "Amore Mutuo", the awareness that even a feeling like love now falls within the schemes and often causes a sort of sick dependency ("Stai lontano dalle luci blu").
Following examples already proposed by other metropolitan groups, like Casino Royale and Afterhours ("Cielo", "Milano Double Standard" for the former and "L'inutilità della puntualità" for Agnelli and Co.), No GuRu too write a "manual" to manage to live—or survive—by giving "Fuoco ai pescecani", an ideal solution for making your way in a city that can make you disappear.
After the melancholic nostalgia of "Tempo", a song that recalls the same distant childhood as "Ritorno a casa" (Afterhours), the group describes without discounts two of the most dreadful aspects of Milan's speed and frenzy, mental instability (and the need to hide it) with "Non si passa" and the increasingly widespread use of cocaine in "Neve" ("..una spirale bianca è entrata dentro la mia testa..").
The "old guard" raises its head with strength and determination in "Cammino con le mani", already elected the group's anthem even by the audience, and it continues with "Perle ai porci", an instrumental piece that winks at the best '70s poliziotteschi.
In "Mare Divano" there is the need to build a personal refuge to dream and escape paranoia, where a crumb of humanity remains between traffic, work, and social boxes ("Lasciami pensare, il mio divano è un mare... chiudo gli occhi e il muro cade, vedo quello che non si vede...").
Finally, with "Il deserto degli Dei" and "Bassa fedeltà", the splendid and dirty voice of Scaglia gives us a disillusioned vision of what surrounds us.
Last but not least, "Complicato" peeks out, a worthy cover of Killing Joke, amid nightmare noises and dark scenarios.
Urban, direct, sarcastic, singular, accompanied by stifling and insistent sounds, under a metallic rain of obsessions and addictions, they offer us a harsh and authentic chronicle of a Milan that swallows desires and ambitions, reminding us to keep our guard up.
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