Strawberry Alarm Clock
Incense and Peppermints

I'd like to talk to you about the musical grammar of wonder...

Sti cazzi, you might say.

Well, let's say I'll talk to you about a little song. And let's say I'll also talk to you about Antonia.

Antonia...

Antonia sleeps three hours a night and is a genius, someone who, in any situation, immediately sees things clearly...

Antonia is a psychologist and the best thing she does with the crazies is sit down and stay quiet.. and when she does it they calm down immediately...

Antonia seated is an example of perfect balance, a continuous line that knows no up and down, something that zen in comparison is nonsense. The only problem is that for her, we're all crazy and every now and then, she calls this one a sociopath and that one a manic depressive...

Now, the fact that Antonia sees things clearly and almost always intercepts a symptom in everything led me to think that maybe, we're all really crazy.

I, for example, am a bit crazy. And one of those up and down ones by the way, but I've found a couple of remedies: poetry and music.

I'm almost a poet and the "almost" is very important, since in my case writing is a therapy and has a very specific purpose, namely saving moments...

Yes, yes, I save moments, but don't think it's something lofty. It's like having a garden, or like working on crochet. But above all, it's my way of giving meaning to things...

Then there is music, obviously, and it is also connected to the moments. Think about psychedelia. That psychedelia, with that sensation of suspended time alternating with a million dreamy openings, is the perfect net to capture moments and the most suitable outfit for wonder (read up).

And in my very personal emotional Richter scale, it's one of the two poles... the other being all that revolves around folk and the ballad genre, that is, the concept of soul theft (read down).

I told you, I am very up and down... and I oscillate between wonder and depression, between the first Barrett (the Floydian one) and dear Nick Drake... (both clinical cases, right Antonia?).

Oh Antonia, Antonia...

Antonia looks at every up with suspicion, always sensing a symptom of manic depression. And maybe, I mean maybe, she's even right.

Behind every art of wonder, there is almost always depression... however, dear Antonia, who cares!!! Without the up I am nothing, and even without the down...

Antonia, Antonia, I love you, even though I suspect you're the craziest of all.

Now, for the art of wonder, I'll give you two names: the Beatles from "Rubber Soul" to "Magical Mystery Tour" and the Barrettian Floyds, with whom I took residence ages ago...

But there was a lot of stuff in those years, a myriad of colorful/colorful little bands... Like the strawberry alarm clock mentioned here.

Now, apart from the fact that I had inserted this strawberry alarm clock in a playlist called "postcards from the impossible, or how pleasant madness took over me" and this alone would be enough for the review, this piece is strongly magical.

Let's say, above all, there's the sound of the sixties, a little thing that should be considered a world heritage... let's say it's a very joyful little song... let's say that here too, there's that sensation of suspended time alternating with a million dreamy openings... let's say there's the right mix of trippy rococo and acid guitars...

But, above all, let's say, as Antonia once told me, that it's just child's play...

Oh damn, Antonia... as usual, you saw it clearly... that it's precisely child's play.

Child's play, or up, or enthusiasm (literally full of God).

Only that man is not a child, nor even God... but I am, at least when I'm in heaven, which then Uncle Nick takes care of bringing me back to earth.

Or a million other things take care of it...

But then, to continue with the let's say, let's say it's pop... let's say it's a little candy... let's say it's nothing... let's say it puts you in a good mood... let's say... let's say it's freaking cool...

And it doesn't matter that the lyrics are a rather banal sixties little compendium, we can't expect everyone to have Barrett's writing ability. And then what matters is the sound, because it is the sound that captures moments and it's the sound that plunges body and mind back into the consciousness/unconsciousness of being there.

And being there is the up.

Being there...

Being in the world, as that philosopher said, one who, like many other philosophers, then got into trouble. But many got into trouble. That the old Syd went crazy and the summer of love soon ended in paranoia.

But we don't care. For us, it's simply about preserving the best of what happened.

So let's keep this little song and its childish naivety. It’s certainly not "Strawberry Fields...", even though it does have something to do with strawberries. It’s not the "Flaming" of the very first Floyd.

It's not pop transcendence, basically... indeed, it's an almost silly little song, but we'll keep it anyway... and we'll keep it because we need it.

Then, if you think about it, it transcends too and maybe precisely because it is silly. Do you get it, Antonia?

Oh Antonia, Antonia... she thinks we're all crazy and, even though she's a psychologist, the last thing she wants to do is cure us.

She simply observes and smiles benevolently. She's a genius, I told you...