•
Versione 1
Rating:
Another gem 2024...
...
There's a funny tapir man walking on the grassy hill. Every now and then he stops and looks around, then he walks again. The usual strange old world.
At a certain point, he lies down as if he were lying down on a memory, a defense against the irrelevance of the present.
The big red nose pointing to the sky leads to one of those places we always go to when there's no future. In this case, the imaginary folk of an even more imaginary place.
Everything is soft, gentle, human too human. The girls dance on the beach and the cornet player, maybe your desk mate, maybe just the first passerby, is truly one with (or one?) the mystery.
Then, as always, you learn that every dream, and maybe even paradise, is full of mouse droppings and bread crumbs between the sheets. And everything, it seems, ends up in a dump.
So what exactly is a dream? And what exactly is a joke?
...
Canterbury...
When we were lads, Riccardo used to go on about Canterbury like this: the dada pills, the sparkle, the whim...
Then, along with the sparkling side - he said - there's also the dreamy one, which is what matters here today, with all this tapir stuff and all this talk.
We grew up with Riccardo and what we are, music-wise and imagination-wise, is quite a bit his fault. So this is for you, my dear scribe.
...
The thing is, this record smells so much like the seventies...
When you listen to it, besides hearing certain sounds again, you seem to see certain faces again.
A sort of memory of a memory then, since I haven't frequented those sounds in a while and the faces, well, let's not even talk about the faces.
Yet, faces and sounds are here, like a box within a box. Or, forgive the banality, like a dream within a dream, mine, yours, the tapir's.
...
The colors after a storm, their clarity especially. The sweetness of the morning sun, balm on wounds.
Certain calm hours, certain sudden melancholies. And a crystalline and just strange enough exposure, the zero and one of extravagance that is good for the heart.
Not just Canterbury anyway, add British folk and certain starry pop. A meeting in the clouds between Caravan, Wyatt, and Belle and Sebastian…
Then there are those who say Fleet Foxes, there are those who say Nick Drake...
...
Ah, the tapir man is the pilgrim, one who has been called.
But those who have been called usually don’t end up in a dump. What's the point of the inner voices if in the end they screw you too?
Trallallà...
...
...then, if I've been cryptic, let's say that the whole tapir/hill/dump/irrelevance of the present/mouse droppings paradise thing is what's told in the record...the rest is the sound, the atmosphere, etc etc...
Trallallà 2
Tracklist
Loading comments slowly
