Simply Red
Men And Women

My visit to my friend Sigismondo is about to end. Also, the dream, into which that unlucky fellow has unfortunately let me fall, is almost over.

"Where are you now?" he asks me. "In a courtroom," I respond anxiously. And suddenly, like an unthinkable flashback, every scene, every detail is clearer. There I am, sitting in the middle of the room lined with every musical instrument known to mankind: from the harp to the ukulele. Behind me, an immense crowd, and an inscription, in large capital letters, looms above us all: "DEPROCESSO." In front, the judges: all the gurus of that secret society we mere mortals know as DeBaser, but which, in reality, is nothing more than a rehabilitation community for listeners led astray in the fog of non-music. I just can't distinguish their faces: never mind, I hear the voices, and that's enough for me.

JUDGES, IN UNISON: So, woodstock. Another case. Why are you here? What's your crime this time?
WOODSTOCK: Actually, it's the first time. And anyway, I swear to you, your honors...
JJ: Silence! No one asked you anything! Who asked you something?
W: But really...
JJ: Stooop! Enough! Every single letter will be used against you. So, what is the defendant accused of? Let's see... ah yes! You have just reviewed one of the forbidden records, put on the list not too long ago!
W: I didn't think... I didn't want to...
JJ: Silence! Do you know what you could face for this mistake? Huh? Huh? Huh?
W: Well... really, no.
JJ: Of course not, you ignorant man! Arrogant! Blasphemer! Well, let's see... and what would be your defense? Huh? Huh?
W: If I may...
JJ: Go ahead!
W: Then, I'll try to be concise. I thought I found a safe haven, where ideas flowed freely, carried by rock waves that every self-respecting debaseriota holds within themselves. Obviously, I was wrong. I solemnly promise that from now on I will only listen to Pink Floyd, Progressive (though I already listened to it), The Beatles (though I already listened to them), Judas Priest, Nu-Metal, Paolo Meneguzzi...
JJ: Nooooo!!! What are you saying!!!
W: No?
JJ: No Nu-Metal! And not even Paolo Meneguzzi! Otherwise, what kind of recovery is it? And then, what are these groups... you will only listen to Pink Floyd!
W: But...
JJ: Silence! You've been rambling the entire process! And now we formulate the sentence: you are condemned to...

And the dream ends here. Awakened with a start, I take my coat, open the door, and calmly walk down the stairs. After all, I'm glad I don't know what punishment awaited me.

I suppose you have realized that this pseudo-review was born solely due to a glaring lack of ideas. About the record, I will only say that it's the second (1987), still in the original lineup and in apparent state of grace, despite what will be said in the comments. The strong points? The predictable international hits The Right Thing and Infidelity, as well as the superb Suffer, I Won't Feel Bad, and Love Fire (cover from Bunny Wailer). Nevertheless, as they say, it is a transitional album, and as such, it should be listened to, a hybrid work midway between the previous "Picture Book" (in any case, unsurpassable) and the subsequent "A New Flame."

Future generations will judge.