SensAzionE
Anche I Pesci Hanno Sete

O you, nostalgic for the grunge and post-grunge movements of the '90s. O you, fans of Nirvana, Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam, Temple Of The Dog, and Soundgarden. But also you, yes, you: you, who were among the select few who, teetering between the mid-'90s and the start of the New Millennium, eagerly followed the developments of historic Italian bands such as Afterhours, Fluxus, and Negazione. And you, you who are disappointed with today's music scene, who often don't look abroad (read: England and the U.S.A.), but try to delve into the Italian indie scene, often without success, and with more than a grumble. Well: for all of you, the wait is over. Here comes a band, directly from our own Bologna, that will satisfy your missing hearts: the SensAzionE!

Founded in 1998 by singer and guitarist Gabriele "Rusty" Rustichelli, after a tough apprenticeship, the Emilian quartet debuted in 2004 with "Frammenti... Tra Rumori E Parole," a compact debut, well-balanced between lyrics (strictly in Italian, of course) and sound, rough and raw. The element that doesn't make one cry miracle, however, is inexperience, a deadly weapon for debuting formations: that said, "Frammenti..." remains a good album, but certainly not an unforgettable work.

A different story, instead, for the follow-up, "Anche I Pesci Hanno Sete," which was released in 2007, with a DVD inside containing a live performance at Cencio's.

Apart from the artwork (inspired and well-executed with almost futuristic hues), everything that in the previous album was merely sketched or developed unsatisfactorily and immaturely, transfigures into a series of elegiac and harmonious sounds, halfway between the radio rock of the Nineties, the Seattle grunge scene, and early Millennium experimental electronics. Without, for this reason, omitting hints -however small- of melodies closer to our country, like the rock of Subsonica and Verdena. What really surprises is the textual concept. In the immense banality that surrounds the idea of "rock," typically Italian, especially and also in terms of lyrics, SensAzionE goes beyond, completely surpassing this gray archetype. Those who mirrored themselves fully in the caustic metrics by Franz Goria (Fluxus) or Matteo Agostinelli (Afterhours), rare exceptions that smelled of marvel, will be somewhat surprised -pleasantly, of course- by the free rein that characterizes the articulated research adopted by Rustichelli. Words that often and willingly break in tumultuously to shatter the prosody, worrying more about getting straight to the heart of the matter rather than rhymes and assonances, relying solely on the company of their most trustworthy companions, the guitars (kudos, for this, to the talented Alessia Ippoliti). All of this, accompanied by meticulous attention to the underlying harmonization, drags along not only fans of heavy distortions but also easy-listening enthusiasts. Always and everywhere.

All the tracks demonstrate a truly uncommon compositional ability. As in the acidic punk of the opener, the compelling "Quando La Coscienza Cigola," where the vocal lines break angrily in the refrain, amid a true sound wall ("E la coscienza cigola/ forse è meglio non sapere mai/ se le domande uccidono lei/ rimane attonita"). Or again, the delightful ride of "X Sentirmi Meglio," which smells of flannel from a mile away, barring the electrolytic tingles of the chorus ("E mi alimento di ciò che mi uccide/ per sentirmi meglio/ ma ho già perso in partenza"). Also very interesting is "Vertigini E Suoni," with its cybernetic loop that soon explodes, crackling, into a psychedelic ocean bombarded by corrosive lashes in the style of A Perfect Circle, energetic and catchy at the same time ("Ritengo la realtà più assurda della fantasia/ peggior girone dell'inferno è la quotidianità/ questa finta inclinazione all'onestà non è mia/ non ho più alcun controllo sulla mia frenesia").

As we go further in listening, before our eardrums quickly rise, one after the other, pearls of ever greater craftsmanship: the metallic and dissonant chimes of the assertive "Il Suo Difetto," where only the voice falters slightly -missing the scream that would make everything more captivating-, the semi-ballad, with a bittersweet aftertaste, of "Bianchi Lividi," immersed in a moor of smoky synths -new wave docet?-, or again the bitter sarcasm of the playful "Vivere A ½," halfway between chill-out pop and '70s hard rock, with the lyrics above all ("Un'interferenza nell'inconscio/ e tutto diventa più semplice/ mi scuserai se non riesco ad accettare/ un involucro di plastica"). Not to mention "Overdose Estetica," an impressive crescendo that, from a claustrophobic play on notes in the verses, transforms into a merciless hardcore strike in the chorus ("Overdose estetica/ serve in me/ più di quanto vorrei/ overdose estetica/ cresce in me/ più di quanto vorrei").

And, as in the best of scripts, the conclusion turns out to be the peak of the work: the eight and a half minutes of "Koyanisquatsi" are the most anguishing thing heard in Italy, in the past ten years. A sadistic hide-and-seek with neither beginning nor end, stretching for long moments, tortuous, among the beastly screams of the frontman ("E da lontano intarsiano/ e da lontano intarsiano/ un percorso su ebano/ abbiamo lo stesso problema/ usiamo lo stesso sistema/ abbiamo la stessa visione/subiamo la stessa convinzione"), before being drowned by a series of electronic tides, leaving not the slightest escape.

Overall, the CD turns out to be well-proportioned, thought-out, and finished in all its facets. The only note, necessary to expect even better in the future from the quartet, is to toughen the vocal tones further, sometimes too contrasting with the instrumental setup, always solid and granite. If they then manage to have greater sound freedom, spanning more different genres, and shedding some of the inevitable derivativeness of their music, then they will indeed be great. Whereas, today, more or less debatable characters in their mediocrity are analyzed and idolized to the maximum power, one should try to discover these small, great realities of Italian music, little known not so much for their proposal, but for their poor attitude to the dazzling limelight, or for the discomfort of their attitude. Like these SensAzionE.