Post Contemporary Corporation
Gerarchia Ordine Disciplina

- GOD: In the Time of Pneumatic Darkness -
YOU ALL FORGOT RUDOLF HESS. (Bernard Albrecht - Joy Division)

Among the provocations prominently displayed by CCCP Fedeli alla Linea, there was one in particular, that of dissecting the great contradiction of Emilia in those years, according to their vision not so much communist after all, but consumerist and capitalist in fact. A few years later, the DISCIPLINATHA, produced by Attack Punk first and then by I Dischi del Mulo, with prodigious intelligence and annihilating military slashes, took the responsibility of representing that creeping right-wing, interpreting it, wearing its masks, and representing its indoctrinated souls not so much by invisible fasces, but by a new right-wing, a bitter and proud fruit of consumerism, orchestrated and dedicated to the construction and demolition of certain walls. Walls that were now superfluous even to build, as they were already well entrenched in people's minds. Engulf every rational and/or mystical fragment, every individual difference in the perception of the real and the social in a single thought. Machinations aimed at keeping everything under control. The world of blocks was over, and the overall short process of flattening and normalizing the planet was beginning. Nothing is sacred, and everything is for sale. The result: little men, little women. Two decades later, the almost entirely unknown Post Contemporary Corporation speaks precisely from the point of view of one from that silent majority who would later kill through financial transactions, but also from that of a daring avant-garde superman and active nihilist of the new millennium. Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine.

"To impose a totalitarianism or at least to repress, you must have not only fools, but active and militant fools. And to create active and militant fools, at least in my country, you must obsess them with consumerism."
(Jello Biafra - Dead Kennedys)

Post Contemporary Corporation is a band born at the end of the twentieth century in Bologna. This album, produced in collaboration with Misty Circles, MCL, and the peculiar OLD EUROPA CAFE in Pordenone, is now over thirteen years old. 2006. The bridgeheads are Zekkini's declamatory and Dario Parisini's formidable electric textures, among the best in Europe. Period. They have never had the problem of having to explain well every time what they were going to do around, the live events they participated in have always been, until today, very rare. The Post, what was no longer, what must still become and be. Military war dark. Inside, outside. Preferring to artificial happiness the gloom of industrial steel, the posture of the amphibian to the dragging slump of the slipper. And then brutal metal cascades, EBM convulsions, the courage to go and put fingers inside the high voltage socket and see what happens, dance literature, paroliberism, graphic futurist grammar, furnishings, and supplies of the Twenties (synthetic theater 🎭). A war flash and a fanfare of the dead, atrocious sound assaults to defend against, that kind of tension of something that cannot be understood one hundred percent, a nihilism that can only lead to ruin.

Looking in the mirror is always difficult, coming to terms with oneself, with one's personal history, and with that of one's Nation causes, for most, ancient allergies believed to be well placed, for others instead they are new or returning. Certain themes are touched, and then the bomb explodes. The steep walls, the rugged slopes, the steep heights of my rough colonizing soul are hard to climb.
Fascism often annoys. But these are not the Skrewdriver.
They are not right-wing, on the contrary, they are good. Excessive and provocative with an attitude of tearing apart the everyday, a mighty will, and a sick irony that does not give in to sarcasm, but to a refined provocation to obtain a reaction against the indifference and passivity of certain listens. Disgust with unpleasantness, some drum'n'bass ingredients not even of great quality, contempt for lightness, and Spartan cult for the body implanted and firmly rooted in the mind.
Attractive and repulsive. An album that is an interrogation experiment.
Technopunk never like now Cyberpunk. Mind of darkness, heart of sun:

<<And then reflect, this my crude candor is feather of your feathers
because man's best friend is not the dog
man's best friend is fear
and we do not know where we are going
but we are all on the same steamer here and now in the time of pneumatic darkness
in the space of transparent emptiness and vibrant nothing
awakened to our renewed capacity for suffering
awakened to the horror of the world and to the wonder of being aware of it
many wonderful colors inlaid with tears...>>

European decadence, evening bourgeoisie, exhausted muses, too much light in this world, leaking taps that are unforgiven, pressure cookers exploding, vaginas gaping from chronic neurosis, melancholic cocks laid down, defeated by habit, and under the cold eye of the Mother Superior still shines the sublime punishment of Seekers of the Impossible. Courage. Boldness. Naivety.
A martial fighting machine, the same martiality of when one is aware of falling to pieces.
Proto-Romanticism pansexual sturm und drang desperate, fetish of the flesh:

<<Touch me for I am sick so I infect you, and you will no longer feel this pressing desire to have a blepharoplasty to satisfy the greediest devourers of light
And kind-hearted people? Kind-hearted people, if there are any, will make us lampshades / Lick my wounds, like a bitch.

United we will resist this surge of cheap exoticism
Together we will satisfy our most disgraceful taxidermic inclinations
And solemnly I promise you that until the end
your mouth will be my toilet and my bidet
And then I swear to you that the last kiss
we will give each other at the district office of indirect taxes>>

Macabre cabaret of the Postwar, slaves of Venus, Greek-Roman debauchery, gamahucher dans la partouze, Il Portiere di Notte, Salon Kitty, Fräulein Anna, Brigitte Bardot marrying the Front National, men with red lace panties, Visconti, Cavani, the most inspired Tinto Brass, the bombards of Madre de Dios, the boundary between humiliation and satisfaction is diaphanous, László Tóth, Volksoper, l'EIAR, the Dux Camps, Musik für Film, the street wisdom in the quest of Angelo Rizzi in Catholic Rap in Ancient Bologna, Dr. Strangelove unable to hold back the Sieg Heil.
The Porno-Nazi, Nationalism, Patriotism and The Praise of Senility:

<<When the guts of Madonna Ciccone will be auctioned at Sotheby's at astronomical prices / when the sparkling neon lights I liked so much seem dull to me / in 40 years the variations of my cognitive heritage will be scarce and maybe then I will be able to glimpse something>>

The Iron Cross, XVIII Century Japan onnagata, Istituto Luce, the Swastika, women of a certain level at the Magistral school, the Dopolavoro Library, the Auditorium, Marlene Dietrich singing in Wenn ich mir was wünschen dürfte by Friedrich Hollaender, life that is a shame, Quatuor pour la fin du Temps, eternal extinguishment, a votive deity trembling in the shadow.
Viva la Muerte y Hasta la muerte, que en la vida la mala suerte sierve siempre.
Porta Vittoria nihilist. National Socialist Gotha.
TOTALDEMOKRATIE and for the night a Leni Riefenstahl film on Devotion.

Hold still a Impassible Profile:

<<Hey you Adriatic sonic peacock, where do you think you are going?
Hey you Mediterranean sonic peacock, where do you think you'll get?

I carry with me the terror of an ancient and fierce beauty
Your lips glisten with android sperm
The tongue beats on the glans, keep the rhythm!
Then together we begin to dance intensely in the silence
We haven't come all this way to have bad sex!

Votive Lux flashing neon
the corner melts, the butterfly explodes>>

The Great Narratives. Necessary because people also need an Epic.

Hierarchy Order Discipline debuts with the soundtrack of the Manifesto of Futurism. Few will have heard it, and few will hear it.
Hard erection. An absolutely virile album.
In a Western State of the Art where there is doubt that the legalization of same-sex marriage is nothing more than a way to domesticate a presumed sexual nomadism, where the sense of voyeurism for young flesh seems to be a toy to be managed with discretion by the self-terminating aristocracy, it is sacred to also consider that where there is devotion, rapture, ecstasy, pleasure, and pain all together there is no known paraphilia.
And in all the lovers' rooms around here, if you look closely, they remind you of the same miseries. Those of sex colder than death, sex that is more alive than death. Sex that is less liberating than death.
Words that carry with them feelings that are impossible to translate or explain. Spleen. Saudade. Duende. Sehnsucht, mein herz, mein geist.
The tongue beats on the glans, keep the rhythm! and Bob Marley was a bad person.

<<We are on the extreme promontory of the centuries! Why should we look back, if we want to smash the mysterious doors of the Impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We already live in the absolute, for we have already created the eternal omnipresent speed.
We will sing the vibrant nighttime fervor of arsenals and shipyards set ablaze by violent electric moons, the greedy stations, devourers of smoking serpents, the workshops hanging in the clouds by the twisted threads of their smoke; the bridges like giant gymnasts that span the rivers; the adventurous steamships that sniff the horizon, the locomotives with broad chests that paw on the rails.
Grasp the pickaxes, the axes, the hammers, and mercilessly demolish the revered cities! Standing on the world's summit, we once again throw our challenge to the stars!>>
(Filippo Tommaso Marinetti - Futurist)

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