•
Rating: Thesis
Despite the thriving socio-economic fabric, the circulating money, and the revolving trends, it can still happen, in that middle land lying east of the Enza and west of the Santerno, to come across dining establishments where the cuisine is interpreted in an integralist manner, absolutely impermeable to any trend or innovation.
And this is at all levels, from a cheap trattoria to a restaurant with a constellation of stars in the gourmet guide.
These cases are increasingly isolated, but there are still places where tortellini are either in broth or they aren't; where zampone lives only in symbiosis with lentils or beans, or with mashed potatoes or at most with buttered spinach. Where grapes harvested from vineyards north of the Po, no matter how prized, are not considered for wine production.
Criticizable, but it is an existing reality.
Antithesis
The Exploited have always been crude, ignorant, musically of little interest.
Perhaps due to an underlying snobbish tendency, I have always regarded them with little esteem, ever since that "Punk's not dead" with one of the ugliest covers I've ever seen.
I listened to all the early singles, the aforementioned "Punk's not Dead," the live "On Stage" (the red one), then I practically lost track of them.
Unlike other rough groups, these ones represent nothing.
Take a group of misfits like the Cockney Rejects: They were raw, dirty, and violent, but at least they were the expression of a type of youth well present in the suburbs of Albion, who often crowded the stands of stadiums.
The Exploited, no. Unless you want to believe that the carnival punks appearing in the tabloids had any connection to reality (paraphrasing De Niro, they were just talk and studs, talk and studs!)
On stage, then, only the leader remained... no leader doesn't fit.
The singer... yeah, singer!
In short, only Wattie remained, who dragged his brother on drums and a horrible metallic thug on guitar plus a lanky guy with dreadlocks on bass, too hyper for my tastes.
Synthesis
If one decides to attend a live show of the Exploited, they know exactly what to expect, and that's precisely why they do it.
Songs shot at prohibitive speeds, all the repertoire of drum and guitar breaks heard a thousand times but not less powerful and exciting for that, the sweaty fat guy drenched in liquids, spitting and swearing, the frenzied pogo (though I expected it to be more violent), and all the other fine performances that, still, make our hearts pound and our sparsely-haired heads shake.
The whole series of classics in sequence ("SPG," "Dead Cities," and "Alternative" above all) caused more than one jolt among grown-ups and children (many children).
The cherry on top, the finale with the evergreen "Sex & Violence" performed as usual by no fewer than fifty lads on stage, which made me break the hesitation and dive into the fray up to the front row.
Tortellini with cream? No, thanks!
Loading comments slowly
