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Rating: For my first review, I decided to focus on the trash, sharing with you my double experience at the Olimpico Stadium with concerts by Renato Zero and Vasco Rossi. While acknowledging that these were two of the worst nights of my life, it should be clarified that Renato Zero is better (less worse) than Vasco Rossi. This for a very simple reason: Renato Zero has a crappy repertoire, but he has a nice voice; Vasco Rossi has a crappy repertoire and a crappy voice. Another difference lies in the type of audience: those of Renato Zero, although loving their idol, are (rightly) ashamed to let others know. The fans of Vasco Rossi, on the other hand, seem convinced (perhaps stunned by the media hammering or simply because they are idiots) that the Fiat ad singer is a great rocker. But let's go in order.
Opening the series of concerts at the Roman stadium was Zero with a double evening in early June. The stage is terrible: shaped like an MP3 player, ugly and tacky, it gives an almost chilling sense of poverty. Things get worse at the start of the concert when lights that perhaps were stolen from a pork festival turn on (touted by the organization as an "extraordinary technologically advanced lighting system"). On the sides, there are two big screens about the size of my home television (they sell them at Mercatone Uno for three thousand euros). Then a little tune starts, like from a tourist village (something like: perepé perpeé perepé), and dancers (?) appear, maybe rejected from Maria De Filippi's Amici, who begin to sing, twisting like tarantulas, an embarrassing text: "Hurrah Renato: Zero for all, all for Zero" Renato!!!. Finally, after a good 5 minutes of torture, and with a half-hour delay from the scheduled start, Renato Zero arrives: the pork-festival lights open like a curtain and he begins to sing, in a sober blue suit "Io uguale io". I must admit that he has an incredibly impressive voice. The concert proceeds between old songs (not bad all things considered, especially "L'Ambulanza, Baratto and Triangolo") and new ones (shameful). Everything is interspersed with dance moves that resemble the Santi Bailor of An American in Rome and speeches without head or tail that unnecessarily lengthen the concert. The ending entrusted to "Il Cielo" was the best part of the evening. Too bad that then Renato wouldn't leave the stage anymore and kept repeating: "Great!", "Don't forget me!". And then unexpectedly, the final blow, as the dancers returned to the stage and began singing that idiotic tune from the start, closing the concert in an inglorious manner.
A few weeks later, Vasco Rossi's tour stopped in Rome, having already gotten on my nerves before it even started, due to the media bombardment that accompanies each of his releases (how much must he spend to "grease" the newspapers and radio schedules?). On the plus side, the ticket is 10 euros cheaper than Renato Zero's. Alongside families eating omelet sandwiches and employees who misbehave by listening to Vasco Rossi (a bit like jerking off thinking of Rosi Bindi), there's also a sizable bunch of twelve-year-olds dressed like prostitutes (I don't want to sound moralistic, but it was a disturbing spectacle). Vasco comes on stage (shaped like a rotten banana) staggering in his usual look of an illegal restaurant valet, the one, you know, who at the end of the night if he's lucky scores a small measure of wine and a slice of breaded steak from the restaurant owner. He starts, completely aphonic and often out of tune, with "Basta poco" (shameful), sung in chorus by those present, and continues among others with "La compagnia" (I wonder why Battisti's heirs haven't sued him for insulting the memory yet), "Buoni o cattivi" (what a crappy song), "Un senso" ("I want to find meaning in many things, even if many things don't have a meaning"). "Siamo solo noi", "Voglio andare al mare", "Albachiara", and a few others are salvaged. To mask Vasco Rossi's obvious vocal struggle, who now expresses himself with an incomprehensible idiom (instead of articulating words, he emits guttural sounds like "gghhh hhhggg ngghh ghhh"), long instrumental codas are added to each piece, performed flawlessly by an excellent band.
In conclusion, forty euros wasted. At this point, you may be wondering why the hell did I go to see these two concerts from a mental hygiene center. The answer is simple: I accompanied a girl believing she might sleep with me. It was tough, but in the end, I succeeded. Was it worth it? Despite everything, I think so: her IQ, as shown by her musical tastes, is lower than Emilio Fede's; but at least she has a nice ass.
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