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Rating: First of all, I feel compelled to praise those who organized such a convention in a remote (ghost) village in the deep southern interior of Sardinia, which is the Medieval hamlet of Tratalias.
The location (as the cool ones say) where the event takes place is the square beside one of the most important medieval monuments, due to its excellent state of preservation, on the entire island: the Romanesque-Pisan Cathedral of Santa Maria di Monserrato, erected in the 13th century (1213), still publicly accessible and open for worship.
But let's get to the music.
Or rather no: let's return to the cathedral.
Because honestly, during the evening, my gaze was often drawn (besides the - let's keep this between us - local, charming young ladies in the audience) to the precious carvings that adorn it and the bulk of the massive trachyte of which it is composed, more than the often vacuously aggressive riffs executed by many of the eager young performers who took turns on stage before the final performance of the excellent group from Mantua.
But let's return to the musical notation part, since no one cares about the cathedral, including those present: two hundred, maybe three, I wouldn't know, of attendees who partly didn't seem to pay much attention to who or what was bustling on stage: many were drunk, quite a few were high, and some were completely dazed... all things that can be done conveniently, always and anywhere in peace, yet, on the very night when a bit of mixed music can be listened to, it seems one has to overindulge... um... but wasn't I supposed to talk about the bands?
Exactly.
Mudskills from (why "from"? I saw very few Anglo-Saxons around..) Cagliari, forgive me, I didn't hear them; it's known that work ennobles man and makes him late for concerts. The Tira Tira “from” Villarios, I would dare say, were overall nice: a female singer (or rather, a young girl) with a powerful voice and square riffs à la Helmet, despite understandable naiveties due to age and inexperience, were bearable without being more boring than necessary. The Anal Firing Pin Strikers from (oh well..) Capoterra bombarded the audience with a sort of highly shouted emo-hardcore/Nu-Metal, frankly insignificant: you listen to the first song, the second leaves you so-so, and by the third, you can't wait for them to finish; the only positive note of the performance was the long fiery-red hair (fake as a six-euro banknote) of one of the two guitarists.
I'm starting to agree with those who got preemptively annoyed.
Following them was the (as they defined themselves) twin band of the previous one: the Erotic Monkey, a trio with a quirky guitarist/singer, evidently afflicted by Kurt Cobain syndrome, who, without particular disgrace or tangible praise, played a strong and square rock (the bassist was good), accompanying, not before one A.M., the audience towards the concert for which, I assume, most of those present came to the venue.
And so begins, as the deep night approaches, the long-awaited set of the three Super Elastic Bubble Plastic, who open but only after praising the recently sipped Vermentino, with an impressive for vehemence and determination sequence of excerpts from their latest studio work (“Chances”): an indie-noiserock of strong impact, not at all monothematic and/or predictable: sharp, mutant, angry, "in bursts" of urgency, which leaves much of the audience baffled, who, as if by miracle, revitalizes and starts to move; the three go all out without holding back: featuring a bearded drummer monstrous for the speed and quality of the hits with which he slaughters the minimal drum kit; the trio's set goes on fast and enjoyable, drawing on scattered fragments of less recent productions.
A lively, energetic, pulsating, fun ensemble: not exactly what we are accustomed to hearing daily from many quarters; a clear sign that there is still life in the tormented country of the nationalized Marco Carta.
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