The Orange Man Theory
Satan Told Me I'm Right

Well, I want to write this review erratic. I want to write it erratic for a number of reasons, for example: the lasagna I ate earlier, my roommate who goes on an IV drip with Unreal Tournament III (a game for ink-tormented pacifists), the "work" yesterday until half-past four in the morning, and then this sublime little disc I find between my ears, which is the latest effòrt (as the brìtisc say) from the very Roman The Orange Man Theory. The album is called "Satan Told Me I'm Right".

The album begins with a snippet from Revelations by Bill Hicks. And if you don't know Bill Hicks, you're bad people (go on YouTube to improve yourselves, come on). So, besides the thing Bill says at the beginning of "Straight To Extinction" (which is the opener of the album), I'd like to quote something else he said in another show in Chicago: "Ok, let's admit rock'n'roll is the devil's music. At least he knows how to play!" (no, I won't tell you what the snippet at the beginning of the album says, go find it for yourself).

So yes, Satan knows how to play, in fact, he told The Orange Man Theory that they are right. And they are. Because we are fed up with the indiependent pseudoquasiwhatever phenomena with a post in the middle because Scaruffi (who?) hasn't said it yet, but he will; and we are fed up with the hype and the smoke without substance and the bands that grind trigger after trigger and ultra-drums and mega-voices that scare your little nephew on the album and then live you only see a confusing mass of fringes without balls; because we are fed up with genres and rankings and voting systems and definitions and would really like to enjoy some healthy music freely without having to squeeze our balls with barbed wire for no reason. Is it clear?

The Orange Man Theory is fed up too: they recorded and produced this CD (like their previous debut) with Steve Austin, ladies and gentlemen, someone who knows quite a bit about the agony of living (he's the one keeping Today Is The Day alive, in case you didn't know, you lousy bastards). It's forty-two minutes of music that has a funny effect: you won't like it if you like definitions. No actually, you'll get screwed by this CD if you like definitions (a bit like with Zu and Ephel Duath, darlings) because our guys have understood that rock means irony, it means fun, it means passion, even if sometimes it means blood and mental commitment. A bubbling pot in which to fry your neo-post-quasi-revival-pre of the damn mother. Let them play those blessed basses, guitars, drums, and voices without having to worry that "the formula is rather derivative towards that certain school, which emerged from the less intransigent environments, mixing masterfully post-folk diversions with scenarios of gloomy alternative inquisitions bordering on proto-dub." FOR FUCK'S SAKE, shut up and listen to the music, enjoy it, go to concerts, use a drug of your choice if you want (nicotine, alcohol, cannabinoids, sex), don't use them and have fun anyway (you can, you know? It's not that just because you've made a responsible choice you have to feel a little less happy, dear), but leave a mark on your mind too, then stop for a moment to think (the theory of the orange man: the orange man of the traffic lights, the man who should stop, can and cannot, moves and stands still, what does he do? When does he do it? Is he choosing or not? Who chooses?), so maybe you understand better who you are, what you do (are you there or do you pretend to be?), and then at the end of concerts (you saw The Orange Man Theory, my friend), give a big applause and buy the record. Buy it, buy it and go home fulfilled, at least for one night in your life. And don't even dream of looking on Scaruffi's site for any reviews.

Here. I wanted to get to the end without mentioning a single artist or reference album or genre. And I did it because I love you. Now go and have fun (and sorry for the cursing!).