t.A.T.u.
Dangerous And Moving

Until a few months ago, I wouldn't have been able to indulge in the game of 'lexical associations'. A psychological game, very entertaining, even celebrated by Sir Alfred Hitchcock in "Marnie", one of his masterpieces. How do you play? Simple. Say the first word that comes to mind, for instance, 'house', and then associate with this word other related or similar terms. Let's imagine: courtyard, door, windows, kitchen, bed, living room, and so on. Let's try with you: if someone told you 'music' and then added 'Russia', what association would jump to your mind? I, I admit it, would have only remembered the famous Ramones album "Rocket To Russia". I would have responded this way simply because I didn't know the T. a. t. u. (which I will henceforth call simply Tatu, to avoid the annoying clutter of dots).
Let's face it, no notable musical artist has emerged from Russia, in fact, I don't recall anyone, but I could be wrong. The Tatu, musical phenomenon of this early century, are neither skilled nor talented, they are, like almost all phenomena, incapable and fundamentally useless. Just do the math: if you were born in 1984 and are 22 years old, you can't be a musical phenomenon (unless you are Mozart or Bob Dylan), but you could be a star if you manage to create the right scandal, find yourself in the arms of a prodigious producer, and have the fortune of appealing to teenagers (who, whether you like it or not, control the entire music system with their choices and purchases). And Tatu, there's no shame in admitting it, have been lucky.
After a debut that passed unnoticed even in Russia and a record already breaking sales across half of Europe, Tatu met producer Boris Rensky, and the game was on. They invented the story of the alleged lesbian cohabitation (alleged or truthful?), and not to miss anything, they hyped a pregnancy more sought than wanted, and between one gossip and another, they found the time (it should be their job, but you know, you can't say no to business) to go to the recording studio and record "Dangerous And Moving".
The fans go wild, the teenagers spend all their savings: in reality, they don't know the Tatu's lyrics, but they read the gossip magazines, and knowing that these two pretend to be lesbians, if you are virgin and innocent, might cause a few itches to be carefully controlled. "Dangerous And Moving", furthermore, even finds the blessing of Billy Steinberg, responsible for one of the most sensational commercial successes of the last twenty years: "Like A Virgin".
Tatu, however, do not compare to Madonna (though granted, even she is not exactly Maria Callas), and unfortunately, you can tell. No one expects the world, but at least a shred of idea, some effort in hopes of discovering at least a minute of genius, in short, what's asked is that they do what all more or less celebrated stars should do: surprise.
And here, to be honest, there's quite a surprise, but in a negative way. The carelessness and ease with which Tatu hum their little songs, repeating until exhaustion the most trivial refrain. The lyrics would need to be scrapped, if they even existed, the problem is that they didn't even show up. The music is pitiful, all the same, all similar to one another (so much so that you can hardly distinguish the different tracks unless for the canonical musical interruption between one song and another), and dance, pop rhythms, or whatever the hell you want, which, with dance, pop, or whatever the hell you want, have absolutely nothing to do with it.
And yet these two little girls are presented as the saving muses of the Goddess of Music at "Tops of the Pops" (the former music program on Italia Uno) and the usual, unbreakable, Festivalbar. Too naughty for Sanremo, otherwise they would have set foot there too. "Dangerous And Moving" sells mountains of copies, Tatu laugh happily for the money earned (and maybe they even give each other half a kiss to celebrate) and Russia finally manages to ascend to the altars of musical glory: they too have two famous singers (singeresses?). However, it's a pity that once again true music has been cowardly betrayed. And it almost makes you long for Michael Jackson's "Bad". And that's saying something.