Pino Daniele
Electric Jam

Why? Damn it to hell and back!!! But why?

Why engage in an exhausting race with yourself and the world with the sole purpose of being hated and forgotten?

Why try to make it so that even a former devotee like myself might consider taking the entire original discography and disdainfully bringing it to the "Libraccio", even to the extent of giving it away for free, in exchange for something as worthless as an old map of Italy?

Why?

I won’t settle for the natural answer (because he’s confused).

I’m a nitpicker. I like to analyze, think, "introspect", challenge myself, come to a conclusion, and then methodically dismantle it a minute later.

But here I can't have doubts: it's over. Completely over. Irretrievable.

But let's stick to the whys.

Maybe because things that cost 10 euros and are sold at newsstands are more likely to "make money"?

Because the former Uncle Pino (today I feel like calling him "Mr. Daniele") whenever he records anything, feels the irresistible and self-destructive urge to publish it, regardless of any data, first of all the quality of what he has produced?

Because his wife tells him to?

Because in a world dominated by the gigidalessi (who was on stage with him last year... no comment), the xfactor and the amicidelladefilippi that fill squares like Fossati never did, it’s not convenient to strive for quality, or more than anything else, no one notices anymore what quality is?

Because money is made with concerts, and a new little record is always a great excuse to do concerts?

I don't know, and I no longer hypothesize.

All I know is that this little original piece that I have in my hands makes no sense. The piece that wants to be the highlight is a dull, overplayed ballad with an indigestible text, with the obligatory rap from the idiot of the moment, and the rest follows as the usual, overly usual, ultra-usual stuff, simply played with electric instruments.

They threaten a second part of ultra-banal identical things played with acoustic ones.

A very talented musician, who used to be in Italy, a certain Pino Daniele, once delivered a perfect acoustic segment within an equally perfect electric concert during the beautiful eighties. And everything was excellently written, played, and sung.

It's a pity that certain people are no longer here.

I bid him farewell with the words of the immortal Guccio (one who, instead, matters): but I want to remember how you were, to think that you still live.

Uncle Pino, I tell you with a broken heart: go to hell.