The Devils
Sin, You Sinners

It happens in France that in the 1600s, almost 1700s, people start gutting each other gleefully over religious matters.

So, at a certain point, to make it clear who is in charge and set an example, good Cardinal Richelieu sends Baron Laubardemont to a random village, such as Loudun, at the head of a group intent on demolishing its fortifications, because it's enough to hit one at random to educate a hundred.

But it turns out that in Loudun there is the priest Urbain who has nothing better to do than fiercely oppose the demolition of the walls.

In truth, Urbain has something better to do, because he is a priest, yes, but even more so, he is a man of great charm and inclined to indulge in the temptations of the flesh, hence he first engages in relationships that are not exactly chaste and pure with penitents looking for a word of comfort, and then secretly joins his loins with those of the lovely Madeleine.

It also happens that the prioress of the Loudun monastery, one Jeanne, harbors a passionate love for Urbain: she is not there by vocation, in that monastery, but only because her deformity has not allowed her to share any marital bed; but for Urbain, she loses her head, and loses it to the point of seeing him walking on water and even crucified.

Now, Loudun is a hole, and how long can it take Jeanne to discover Urbain's affairs?

So, it's only a matter of time, and when she discovers it, the heavens open, she makes him pay dearly and spreads the rumor that Urbain uses demonic practices to enter the monastery and abuse her and the other nuns too.

An exorcist arrives in Loudun and reviews the entire monastery, declaring, “These are all possessed,” and that Urbain has bewitched them.

Urbain goes to trial and, under torture, spills all his misdeeds, earning a string of convictions for witchcraft, obscenity, blasphemy, and sacrilege, which lead him straight to the stake.

And while he burns, the walls of Loudun are taken down too.

This edifying story has inspired both books and films.

Ken Russell directed one in the annus admirabilis 1971, called “The Devils,” and it reached us, immediately accused of blasphemy, mystification, cultural, and historical bias; and the critic who, on the pages of the Catholic daily Avvenire, ventures to praise its value is kicked out of the editorial office amid a barrage of critical rear kicks; then the Verona prosecutor orders its seizure, and the Court of Cassation rules its acquittal and release back into circulation.

It goes that Erica and Gianni watched that movie a few years ago, thinking it was a filmic transposition of a bad story mixing the affairs of that nun of Monza, known casually while slouched behind a desk, and Father Ralph, that huge hunk mothers still talk about.

Now, that film is not a masterpiece but neither is it trash, - to say, Morando Morandini, the one who wrote movie cards for Telesette and also the film dictionary, gives it three stars out of five - but it strikes Erica and Gianni, and that title, “The Devils,” they carefully set aside, as it might come in handy to pull it out again someday.

They are not struck by “... the political cutting of the work, the denunciation of ideological intolerance as a tool of dominion, eroticism as a valve of antistate tension ...,” no way; it is rather "... the stunning and repugnant fantastical-historical amusement park of sex, horror, and violence ..." that stuns them.

Seen this way, “The Devils” is a decidedly brash film, and Erica and Gianni are fascinated by that brashness, proving that a life idea cannot be contained within the boundaries of a junction, cannot be prevented from jumping over walls, gates, and borders, going, returning, and wandering free.

Erica and Gianni already have some inherent brashness, and if you add watching certain trashy movies and listening to questionable music, then the game is done, then everything becomes brash, even the blues.

Erica and Gianni have a fixation on bluesman Hound Dog Taylor, but how this fixation grows in both of them, the story does not say.

Hound Dog isn’t very well-known, suffice it to say he released his first album just shy of sixty, in 1971 - the same year as “The Devils” and perhaps that's why - and after four years, he was already dead; and perhaps the thing that remains of him, more than the rest, is the polydactylism.

But Gianni is so fixated that he tattoos that hand of Hound Dog with an extra finger on his left forearm, as if to say he feels the old bluesman and the blues itself on and under his skin.

Erica hasn’t gotten a tattoo yet, but she too has an unhealthy passion for that music, which is the devil’s music, and the story of Johnson selling his soul at a crossroads to play the guitar properly, and perhaps this crossroads story is what starts it all.

So Erica and Gianni decide it’s time to give vent to their fixations and bring out all the imagery derived from that film and the memory of Hound Dog.

First, they have to get the instruments: drums and guitar, that’s it; there’s no third wheel demanding a bass.

“The White Stripes, the Kills, the Black Keys made it, imagine if we don’t break through,” those two think, “And who said the perfect number is three?” In two, you save on everything, and even the little they pay you for a gig in a dingy local hole, in two seems like the fee of a rock star.

Next is the name, not even up for discussion, The Devils, because it’s that Ken Russell film that strikes them still and because the devils, too, have somewhere tattooed the polydactyl hand of Hound Dog Taylor and are fixated on the blues, history says so, and history never lies.

Finally, the stage costumes: Erica dresses up like any modern-day Jeanne, only she’s a knockout and that outfit stays on just a little when she gets into action, only the veil over her head remains, a skimpy, low-cut outfit, and two red boots up to mid-thigh letting the fishnet stockings peek out, appearing like one of those nuns appearing in bawdy movies or worse that recirculate every now and then; Gianni goes for a sleeveless black robe ending at the calf and wears shoes a football billionaire wouldn’t dare to wear, grabs the guitar - red devil Gibson, obviously - and off they go on stage.

In Italy, not many notice them, or maybe it's that they stand out too much and then it’s better not to make them noticed.

Instead, Jim Diamond surely notices them, he’s with the Dirtbombs and comes here on vacation, enters a dingy club like the one above, and is struck by these two maniacs, deeming it right to say more than a good word to some French friends of his who handle a record label.

Erica and Gianni disappear for a few months and go touring around the lands of France and Germany, more than concerts, they are a hit-and-run, just under thirty minutes, but those that aren’t easily forgotten; and the feedback is all there, so just the time to put ten pieces down on paper and then straight into the recording studio.

It doesn’t take much time to record; it’s true that these are ten pieces, but the whole lasts eighteen minutes and the recording is like a concert, good the first take and no overdubs.

The result is the garage-punk oriented blues of the recent decades, dating back to the Oblivians era more or less, the drums wrecking and the guitar injected with fuzz, a race against time on the verge of noise.

The album is ready in May 2016, it only lacks the title: “Sin, You Sinners,” sin, you sinful ones.

Forget about forgiving the sinner and condemning the sin, Erica and Gianni encourage sinning because it’s the only path to pave the way to hell and bring back to Mr. Satan what's his.

And if there’s hope that Italian rock 'n' roll goes to hell, it's in the hands of The Devils, may the devil curse them.