U2 - Ordinary Love (Live on The Tonight Show) Non posso più combatterti, è per te che sto combattendo
 
 
Due dita sotto il cielo
Lucio Dalla - Ciao - Hotel
BORN TO BE ALONE - Lucio Dalla - (Ciao, 1999)
“The Unlistenable Dalla or the 19 Worst Songs of the Fluffy Bear.” Chansondemerd n. 19. We close with a trio of shit. No words. From “Il contrario di me” album from 2007 “Due dita sotto il cielo.” From “Ciao” from 1999 “Hotel” and “Born to be alone.”
That's all.
Amen.
 
After the 10 worst things produced by Venditti, by Daniele, the column "L'inascoltabile Dalla" by @[fabriziozizzi], the Edoardo Smerdato of @[Martello], and the column "COME SPUTTANARSI UNA CARRIERA" in volumes by @[Dislocation], it seems only right and necessary to mention the scraps from the two previous columns of mine. There will be a total of 10 scraps, divided into two listens. Let's start with Zio Antunello from Campobasso. (in purely random order)
Raggio di luna
Antonello Venditti - Cosa avevi in mente (Videoclip)
Antonello Venditti - Dalla pelle al cuore (Videoclip)
Antonello Venditti - Non c'è male con testo
Segreti
And who else could I invoke, if not @[dsalva] and @[Farnaby]?
 
#darkpearls
Universal Congress Of - Prosperous and Qualified
universal congress of - spreadin' the malice
universal congress of - hightime
#forgetthedaddyandthemen

Is there anything more 'Capish' than punk-jazz?
In the beginning, there were the Saccharine Trust, led by Joe Baiza.
Joe Baiza is one of those who are just way too 'Capish,' a twisted genius of the electric guitar who, however, grew up on a diet of bread and free jazz, the kind that you really need to have your ears finely tuned to enjoy. In the Southern Californian scene, in the early Eighties, he was revered for what he was and showed, a respected mammasantissima nearing thirty, so much so that young talents like Gregg Ginn, Chuck Dukowski, Mike Watt, and D. Boon wanted him on their records.
At the same time, the Saccharine Trust, from that fantastic catalog, were probably the most alien, a post-punk that veered off into every tangent, and you truly have to be a 'Dark Magus' not to lose the path that leads from the stars back home.
Well... we hadn't heard anything yet! When, after the mid-Eighties, Baiza decided to give life to the Universal Congress Of, to make that absolute freedom intrinsic to be-bop even more explicit, that improvisation never for its own sake, the world was uncovered yet again.
Try this and the even more minimalist-radical 'This is Mecolodics.'
At that point, rest assured, Ornette Coleman will appear from the cover suggesting to you 'The Shape of Punk-Jazz to Come'...

PS: I’m giving you two, but the complete works should definitely be included.
 
Captain Beefheart - Grown So Ugly
Cover Collection - 150
 
Iosonouncane - Summer on a spiaggia affollata ...as annoying as it is brilliant...DIE NIGGA, DIE.
 
Ivan Graziani - Ora et labora (11 - CD1)

Ah, the sleepless night... at least I have RUOC EN ROL.
 
Manteca - Dizzy Gillespie

This is the right *mantecatura*!
 
Dick Twardzik Trio - Yellow Tango (1954)

Richard Twardzik - from "Trio"
1956 (Pacific Jazz)

#jazzlegends
 
#darkpearls
The Zulus - the Zulus
#forgetdadandthemen
The Zulus: "Kings in the Queen City" (1985)

'Bosstown Sound' strikes again?
Well, if we’re here, I’d say no, but you probably sensed that already. The Human Sexual Response band, featuring guitarist Rich Gilbert and vocalist Larry Bangor (a voice akin to Robert Plant), was doing post-punk, and don’t ask me how good they were because a) I’ve never heard them b) I’m not Scaruffi - thankfully. But beneath the dense and dark smoke screen, you could sense there was something more. When Malcom Travis joined them on drums, they became the Zulus and for about three years they were one of the many 'next big things' in that aristocratic locale.
After a warming e.p., in 1988 Slash wanted to go big, even calling in a temporarily unemployed (or let’s say 'less' employed...) Bob Mould.
Result? An album overflowing with energy from the first to the last groove, punk that astonishingly becomes a blues suspension (oh, and there’s harmonica too... as if John Mayall was born thirty years later), melody trapped in hammering rhythms and melodic riffs spawned from the indie-rock climate.
As if your power-trios or your favorite hard-rock heroes had put on a '70s crest.
Result? Close to zero, so much so that the lines will dissolve shortly after (and Bob will pull Travis along when he needs to give life to the power-pop punk of his Sugar).
But I still can’t explain it...

Thanx Imasoulman!
 
#darkpearls
Rikki and the Last Days of Heart - '4 Minute Warning'
#forgetDadioandthemen
Rikki And The Last Days Of Earth - City Of The Damned

@[imasoulman] at the podium:
You say '1977' and immediately think (not here, there, across the Channel, because here in the Beautiful Country we listened to singer-songwriters... it took Renzo Arbore and his correspondent in London, Michel Pergolani, to enlighten us) of a bunch of fools capable, yes, of saying one-two-three-four but unable to string together a fourth chord in succession.
And yet no, if it is true as it is true that punk was a destructive attitude towards oneself before being directed at what surrounded it, music included, but the precursors were found as much in the Stooges as in Roxy Music, in the New York Dolls as well as in the more extreme glam. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had Ultravox!, early Japan, Magazine, and Be-Bop Deluxe.
There you go, Rikki Sylvan is an Adam Ant who didn’t make it.
And yet this record, if words like art and punk mean something to you when linked by a hyphen, coursing through bleeding guitars, malicious synth whistles, and cascades of genuine melodramatic despair, is truly a forgotten masterpiece of that unrepeatable season, an unrelenting assault with white weapons of ‘futurist noise’.