Strana Officina
Rock & Roll Prisoners

A name, a logo, a legend: Strana Officina. The pride of Italian rockers, nights and beer, clashes with punks, the Italy of the nineteen-somethings, concerts with Venom and Exodus, a primordial heavy metal, a hot hard rock, as hot as the nights in Livorno, when the sea at the Ardenza promenade accompanies those who stroll while the kids are on the beach, as hot as the asphalt of the FI-PI-LI, which became the tomb of the Cappanera brothers, as hot as the mug left on that table at "Profumo di puttana" and forgotten there, up until "Officina", as hot as the incandescent metal of that workshop: "Certo che questa officina è proprio strana."

It’s the late eighties and there’s no musicology that can hold up: death metal has already been born, the blues component has long gone, grunge is about to see the light. But for Strana Officina, it’s still 1980. An album behind the times? Actually, no: most of the material came from before (and some had already appeared on "Strana Officina", the 1984 EP) and the band loved that sound, loved that bluesy vein, loved Saxon’s kind of metal; in the streets of red Livorno, it was still 1980.

Four rough types that look funny now, but back then were the epitome of the metalhead stereotype—and frankly, I don’t think meeting someone with Bud Ancillotti’s frame, angry in a back alley at night, would have been a good time. And then that intro. And one of the high points of Italian rock begins.

"King Troll" is superb, with a riff and a verse-chorus interlock straight out of a textbook, something that British producers would have killed for. "War Games" is a track with great drive and gives way to the blistering "The Kiss of Death", with lyrics less predictable than you might think, a killer drum section, and a bass that highlights the talented Enzo in the bridge. "Black Moon", which we already know, delivers high standards with a song already present on the EP, slightly penalized by a more radio-friendly production that doesn’t quite do justice to this majestic masterpiece. The title track, English version of the anti-drug anthem "Sole mare cuore", is an enveloping, American-tinged heavy blues directly transplanted onto the stage of some broke Livorno live club. "Burnin’ Wings", a new version of "Piccolo Uccello Bianco", shares the same fate as "Luna Nera", but those who’ve already enjoyed the debut EP can close in style with the masterful "Falling Star", a metal ballad revealing its rockiest soul; and finally "Don’t Cry", which is born from "Vai vai", a song where the band showcases exceptional riffing and songwriting skills, along with a taste for excellent lyrics: anchored in reality, but able to face life with your head held high and a smile.

With the eighth track, an album ends that has no fillers, no songs that are anything less than excellent, no notably weak moments. The technical prowess is sky-high: Fabio—I like to say—stands for Italy as Akira Takasaki stands for Japan: almost unknown, and yet there’s plenty of class... The only flaws here: first, a not-quite-perfect production that doesn’t leave enough space for the band’s rough soul, opting for more listenable solutions that aren’t always a great fit; second, that—romanticisms aside—the sound is a little behind the times. But that’s how things went, amen.

Bud’s tone is extremely unique, as is the band’s style, ranging from blues to thrash, from almost prog moments to others that clearly borrow from the NWOBHM. If the songs aren’t always dazzlingly intricate, it’s still important to point out that the phrase "simple, homemade heavy metal" doesn’t perfectly fit what the band really is: a group of people with a deep musical knowledge, relatively versatile, and with inspiration that goes far beyond writing a three-minute song with a nice riff and catchy chorus.

In other words, the formidable apex of one of the high points of Italian rock. How could I ever forget those hours waiting for Strana to take the stage, with someone beside me who would become one of my closest friends; how could I forget that summer night in Livorno’s heat, with that girl who had never been to an heavy metal concert before, as the amps got ready to blast the air with the best music in the world? I never could—and forgive me this little digression, because the truth is that the same memory is stamped and engraved in the hearts of countless other rockers too, and maybe that’s what truly rates an album like this. An absolute classic, made with sweat. Score: 95/100.