Television Personalities
...And Don't the Kids Just Love It

THE REVIEW

What a wonder!!! The chirping at "Birdie hop," the intermittent voice of the fireflies, the affectionate and parodistic ooohhhh. All of it sweetly out of focus and, together, much more in focus than being in focus. Yes, I know, like a good psychedelic buffoon, I'm already exaggerating. So, let me blow raspberries at myself, pprrr, pprrr, pprrr even if said like that, it seems more like a cat's purr. In any case: the friends of my friends are my friends, and in "I know where Syd Barrett Lives" there's the most beautiful tribute to Syd I've ever heard. But for once, let's leave the elf of Cambridge aside, because here we need to talk about Daniel Treacy and his Television Personalities.

Blame it on the phrase and the one who wrote it. And, if it was written by one of the debasio poets, namely Byzzin Fly, today Alfama, this little wonder is the phrase: "How can you not love Daniel Treacy, King Arthur with a pint of beer in hand?" I remember my divining rod instinct vibrating like crazy and the immediate thought that pure spring water was hidden there. However, I indefinitely postponed the treasure hunt, the phrase was so beautiful that I could be content to use it just as a magic formula. The confetti could remain in the air for the moment. This is, after all, as Donatella says, what poetry is for. Speaking metaphorically: there was no rush to listen to that mysterious early eighties English group.

Then, okay, some time ago I listened. Pop brightness, think + post-punk indifference and swiftness. Backlit dispatches of a neurotic and hypersensitive minstrel who, in a twisted way, goes straight to the point. Boredom, crappy situations, and all the sadness in the world even if, in the end, Emily will bring tea, and we'll all find ourselves in front of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Sometimes the songs have a magnificent nervous quality, imagine the Buzzcocks corrupted and blessed by a sort of dazed sophistication. Sometimes it's the most crystalline melancholy, or the quirky little tune. Then, occasionally, fragments of sixties classicism. "Did you say comedy? Yes, I said comedy."

Everything veers nicely to the side and tells, as best as possible, the desiring impulse, poetry is proof that life is not enough, right Fernando? You board the Mystery train, even if the only possible stop is always and only the starting point. You read a book, get to page 19, it seems everything is fantastic, then, page after page, the usual obvious returns, to the point that you can't wait to reach the end. Then if you raise your eyes from the book and shift them to what's around you, you realize that more or less it's the same. That's why you pick up a guitar. It doesn't matter if you're a dandy with rotten teeth who "will end up in jail like Pinocchio and like Jesus."

"...and don't the kids just love it" is only the first act. Then will come limping ballads, a hint of psychedelia, little things like the most lyrical Velvets, pop delicacies. Lots of stuff, in short...