Piscia Korsakov
Vivere la merda

Introduction: the theory of Ugly Punk. The "Ugly Punk" is not, contrary to what one might think, necessarily a negative: it is rather a (non)genre of its own, with its own rules and stylistic features, similar in concept to the B-Movie. Thus, Ugly Punk is characterized by bands, mainly hardcore, crust, and street punk, that compensate for their total lack of any technical expertise, depth of meaning, and cleanliness in recordings with screams, violence, and an urge to headbutt the world. Music that is dirty and nasty, indeed ugly, but authentic, uncontaminated, true, and alive for this reason. A more cultured reviewer might speak of sloppy guitars, frantic drums, and urgency, but here the only true urgency is nature's call at the fifth can of cheap beer.

Like every genre, Ugly Punk has its key bands and masterpieces, assuming it is appropriate to use such a grand expression in this context. It has noble parents: the Finnish hardcore school of Kaaos, Rattus, and Riistetyt; G.B.H., UK Subs; and so on, back to the rawest and underground garage of the '60s. Even Italy, the land of bel canto and beautiful sound, could not help but produce, by contrast, a decent handful of Ugly Punk; one of the most famous and representative works in this sense is "Vivere La Merda," the first and only work of the band Piscia Korsakov from Udine, dated 1997.

It is therefore easy to identify the band's stylistic coordinates, as Friuli has always played a central role in spreading the most primitive punk across the peninsula: just think about the seminal Hitler SS, or the fundamental Eu's Arse, Upset Noise, and Warfare in the '80s, all primary inspirations for the Korsakov. "Vivere La Merda" thus presents eight tracks, almost all of which have become classics among enthusiasts, not only Italians. Eight tracks extremely violent in intensity, unrefined well beyond the amateurish threshold, with no message deeper than that already contained in the title: Non mi avrete mai, No eroina, Repressione. And there is no need to delve deeper: it's already perfectly clear through the choked screams of Robi the singer, able to communicate social discomfort better than a psychologist. Noteworthy are at least the distressing Vivere Merda, which would give the name to the band born from the ashes of Piscia Korsakov, the cover of Pregherò, in turn a remake of Stand By Me, presented here with an unheard-of violence that enhances the text’s effectiveness well beyond Celentano's original version, and especially Tutti Punx, the most famous (and catchy, as much as it can be considered such) of the lot, an anthem to alcohol and intense fun like few others.

Of course, it’s not for everyone, not even for the most die-hard punk connoisseurs, and it’s not an unknown jewel, or a hidden gem under layers of filth. No, this is an album that stinks, that screams, with which you can't reason and which doesn't make you think, played badly and recorded worse. For me, it’s irresistible. And if you manage to listen very carefully, you might be able to grasp the true essence of primordial punk among these grooves.