Tesla
The Great Radio Controversy

THE REVIEW

My friends? Just a handful now. 2/5 have been taken over by two ladies, as charming as they are rude, who, thanks to the "little triangle that excites us," are turning them into vegetable puppies. I can still occasionally have a laugh with them and get animated in lively conversations accompanied by a few glasses; almost like the good old days if only it didn't happen increasingly rarely. You don't need to be a genius to realize that when they put a ring on their fingers, they'll disappear like magic, just like that half-man or hobbit from Tolkien, only to possibly reappear at a divorce ten years later. Another has gone abroad, and if she has any sense, she'll stay there, one has been living in the middle of nowhere since he finished university. The last one is on the path of the first two. The others? Well, acquaintances: I wouldn't quite call them friends. How the hell can you consider people who've passed the quarter-century mark and are heading towards 30 as friends when, despite that, they're unhappy if they don't have 500 friends on Facebook? Before I deleted myself from that damn site, I received 100 notifications in one day inviting me to take quizzes such as: what type of jerk are you? how many brain cells do you have? which city should you have been born in? what type of drink are you? Friendship requests (declined) from people I hadn't seen since elementary school. I may be old-fashioned, but we're really not on the same page. If I want to keep in touch with people who are far away, Skype is enough for me.

Today, I was supposed to go out with some of these "friends," but then I did some math with my brain and told myself that after 10 hours of hard work, a beer wasn't worth enduring discussions about page 201 of mediavideo, the admiration for the cool prime minister who at 72 screws like a champ, fantasy football, the superb Transformers II, Call Of Duty XXVIII and the new NOKIA FAANCHEILCAFÈ phone (but I use it at 3% of its potential). For heaven's sake, I don't even want someone, like some old university classmates, who grinds my nerves with talk of mere politics, Hegelian philosophy, art, and yawning. A middle ground like that initial handful who reads, prefers newspapers instead of looking at butts on TG4, STUDIO APERTO, and TG1, who goes to the movies, has a sarcastic and sharp sense of humor, talks nonsense, is curious and thirsty, has interests and wants to move rather than grow old on a keyboard.

I'm not in a hurry and I'm not feeling sorry for myself. While waiting to feel like looking for more true friends and maybe a girlfriend, I spend these windy evenings alone. Today, I have a photo album waiting for me in the stube, and I'm rubbing my hands, damn it. One of those old ones, to be completed with meticulous slowness. I took the white marker, and I want to engrave each photo with a phrase written on the black cardboard in a nice cursive that can remind me of that day years later. Not an easy task. But, as usual, I'm not in a hurry, and to find inspiration, I go to Canada and listen to Tesla.

Luck or misfortune. It's always according to points of view. What does Bon Jovi have over Tesla? What can I tell you? It happens and will happen. The unripe ones are truly a great band in their genre and know how to play powerful melodic hard rock that goes particularly well with the undisputed leader Jeff Keith's pipes. "The Great Radio Controversy" is their product I like the most, and it enters my house tonight with a sonic force while I seek inspiration by nibbling on the marker. Well-crafted songwriting, but not at all original, drawing heavily from USA's street hard rock with blues influences and steady riffs supporting real anthems. It's precisely the photograph of the super rock mid-tempo "Heaven's Trail (No Way Out)" that, between backing vocals and obsessive refrains, gets stuck in our heads definitively with a desperate solo. It starts with a reflective intro in "The Way It Is". Tapping taunts alternate with arpeggios while Keith croaks with pleasure. We hardly notice we're in the middle of the song, and it increasingly shouts its winning melody. And like any top-notch band, Tesla were pretty good at composing ballads, and "Love Song" is among my favorites from those years. Sweet, with that long guitar intro and the voice that seems to come from another studio entirely, so distant it is. Drums and an elaborate, redundant chorus complete with a cascading solo to underline the beautiful theme found. No doubt about it.

Tesla knew what they were doing, and look at that beautiful cover I'll slap on the front page. Come on, don't be jerks, and find space in your collection for this nice record.

ilfreddo