The Mars Volta
Amputechture

THE REVIEW

Some grow and age, some advance with the years and progress. Some alternate depending on the moment. Only the best keep pace with time.

And this is the case.

Young lads stuff pallets of ideas into impactful music with little thought because they are youth, and so is their audience. First act concluded. Sooner or later, there's a need to feed the neurons, which are almost unused when analyzing four heavy chords in succession. That is necessary too, surely, but children's games are something everyone can play: serious matters require solid material to withstand the issues.

Young gentlemen experiencing their first disappointments in life realize that you can't kick it around all day without it kicking back a bit. They produce anti-matter in the process of stabilization but with a heart that, if opened, reveals the melting, irresistible melting of much melancholy. Melancholy over the fact that, perhaps, too much time was lost among one fuck, two damn chords, and half a late revolution that went sour.

Young men, finally, turn on their brains in every corner up to the most remote. They discover that chords are much more than four and that it is so delightful to satisfy the insatiable parts of being. Even 50cent can make you shake, even the Buzzcocks can make you go yeah at the second-grade end-of-year play. Few can satisfy the need for a plot, the need for a real composition that leads you through the streets of your brain without making you repeat the same, identical, annoying damn chord every five seconds. They call it Francis because it's a show-off album. Perhaps too much, let's remove "perhaps" and add "mechanical". Emphasize Francis, in Italian Sborone.

Human beings with balls of 4mc each complete the triumvirate that governs the rock of our time. They find the middle ground between instinct and intellect, discover the G-spot that makes you realize that they are not just little songs. And you might say "aòh ammazza però nun me fanno fa più yeah come i draivin anvedi oh sticazzi à prova der nove è surrastrada". They have turned on their brains. They've realized that four damn chords are something everyone can do. They did those things as children. And they are no longer children. Young music for young people, it's just to avoid saying "stupid little songs". I repeat: those also have their importance, every point in the "social scale" is indispensable, but it's certainly a waste to have a nuclear physicist clean the streets. The street cleaner makes music oh yeah, the nuclear physicist makes Music, music for people who listen to music, that's what the Volta are now, and there's no damn issues about it here or there.

The word itself says it: progress. Progression. Progress. While Proraso helps those who shave.

Because one must always remember one thing in life: the Double Elle. One side for winter is Wool, the one for summer: Linen.