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Rating: It’s a mild afternoon in 1986; no need to wonder where we are, the scene takes place in an imaginative topos, the stage of the crude consumerism of the '80s. At the foot of a large building, Lino Banfi, in the role of a homeless man, is performing in front of an astonished Michele Placido, in a jam session titled “incazzeto,” a sort of modern ode to Beethoven’s joy with bells, horns, and various tools. On the accordion, that perfect slice of his daughter’s carpaccio (just a step below Gegia as an optical fiber doorkeeper).
There is no doubt that if Mike Patton had passed by, he would certainly have been struck by such daring experimentation and refined instrumental innovation. Because Michele suffers from a very singular compulsive obsession: if he finds someone around him reproducing any sound, he drags them into the studio and pulls out a side project. It’s stronger than him.
Scene change, USA 2002. The Dillinger Escape Plan is already a well-known and appreciated band in the alternotrucidigrindhardcore scene, thanks to that abrasive "Calculating Infinity" that would be nice to use as a radio alarm for a Franz Ferdinand* fan. Therefore, conscious of their abilities, one day our guys say: “who the hell are we, the sons of the priest? Let’s also do a collaboration with Michele.”
So our enterprising youths take the yellow pages and search under the commodity category “Side-project creators.”
Dillinger Escape Plan: Mmm let’s see, definitely not Skin, Billy Corgan no, he’s busy with the artistic direction of the next Sanremo, ah here it is: Patton, Mike
- Riiiiiiing –
Mike Patton: Hello, this is General Patton, I’m cooler than Oliver Hutton, if your side project has an Italian name my butt gets inflamed
DEP: Um... uh... yes, Mr. Patton good morning... sorry for the disturbance, we are... we’re the Dillinger Escape Plan, perhaps you don’t know us. We opened for SOAD… w-we would be honored if you would grant us... you know, if you’d collaborate with us... we don’t even have a singer anymore but we have an EP almost ready
MP: Okay, but what the hell kind of music do you make?
DEP: Well, we don’t like to be labeled... it could be called hard but experimental metal... you know, badass stuff… hardcore influences, sometimes even a bit of jazz… we listened to the first King Crimson album, you know? We’re not one of those bands that only know Metallica and Black Sabbath... in short... we think you might be interested… yes, I mean... we hope so.
MP: Hmm… hardcore metal? Yes, I like the idea of a musical collaboration of this type… you know, the last extreme musical experience I had was when I jerked off with a rope around my neck listening to Orietta Berti blasting… a real sick trip: guys, for God’s sake: don’t do it, I know you’re young and such an experience might attract you, but have the strength to say NO
DEP: Uhm... eehmm... ye-yes, of course, we’ll be careful, thank you for the advice Mr. Patton. But... getting back to our EP, when can we meet to record it?
MP: Well, at the moment I’m busy with Tomahawk, I really can’t meet you... you know, I feel bad telling them that I’m leaving… there’s the guy from Jesus Lizard who takes every opportunity to bust my balls… let’s do this: send me the tracks, I’ll overdub my parts on them and send them back to you
Exactly: Mike also does collaborations by correspondence. He’s truly the most badass of them all. You send him the tracks, he overdubs them and sends them back to you by return of post!**
This is how “Irony Is a Dead Scene” comes out, a 20-minute gem where DEP’s explosiveness merges with Michele’s zappa syndrome; the opening of "Hollywood Square" overwhelms you with a very violent sound wall, then fades in a Pattonian way into a kind of reinterpretation of “For Calvin” by Uncle Frank. The speed and style changes follow each other seamlessly, just like in the following “Pig Latin”, which is pure schizophrenia; “When Good Dogs Do Bad Things” is the highlight: it opens with the usual blast of decibels that makes you hit the ceiling (heart attack overtures are a vice these great miller’s sons have), then moves to an obsessive interlude with an almost ceremonial litany, ending in full Faith No More style. At the end, just not to miss, they even throw in a cover of “Come to Daddy” by Aphex Twin: the pastiche is served.
Ultimately, one could define “Irony Is a Dead Scene” as a refined triumph of nonsense, to be listened to at once, leaving you with the pleasant sensation of not having understood a damn thing. “Are they serious or are they messing with me?”. The question is destined to remain unanswered. At least until good Mike decides to pick up the phone and call Lino Banfi, finally bringing to life that partnership that has been awaited for 19 years. Only then will the picture be complete.
Author’s Note: Mike’s presence in the yellow pages, Billy Corgan’s appointment as artistic director of Sanremo, the conversation between DEP and Mike, and the acts of onanism while listening to Orietta Berti are completely invented. Any correspondence to reality should be considered purely a stroke of luck. It is true though that Mike asked for the tracks to be sent because he was too busy: DEP told this in an interview with Rumore.
*Yes, I can’t stand Franz Ferdinand fans. I’ve already said it [see Built to Spill review]: the fact is they are pretentious dressage horse riders on Thursday nights. God knows how much I can’t stand pretentious guys [see Frank Zappa review].
** I need to get Mike’s IP address, so I can propose doing a side project via NetMeeting.
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