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As the bards of decadence and dowsers of cacophonies en travesti well know, to make Christmas an anonymous December twenty-fifth, at least three things are required: gold, frankincense, and myrrh, butter and salmon canapés, twinkling lights of a thousand colors, the ox and the donkey, properly ribboned packages, mascarpone-filled pandoro or almond panettone, families joyfully gathered around a table wearing more or less reindeer or teddy bear sweaters. But what truly makes Christmas, Christmas, is music with a capital M. And in this regard, tired of the same old routine, The Strings come to our rescue, with the not insignificant advantage of not reeking of cheap perfume like Aunt Ada.
With a fizzy and pop flair, they shake up our established tastes in Christmas music, offering us a largely new repertoire: Astro del ciel, Tu scendi dalle stelle, Let it snow, Jingle bells are just a few of the pieces etched into the collective unconscious that the duo mirabilis didn’t hesitate to smear with tomato sauce, with a sly and confident approach. You won't find cuteness suitable even for the little ones, I can't guarantee you that, nor drowsiness suited for the most denture-wearers. But, if you can’t find anything better to do between the tortellini in broth and the main courses, while Uncle Michele cuts in the kitchen with the meticulousness of a pieceworker, the roast loin and those thirteen roast chickens he skewered in defiance of human decency, start the playback with confidence.
Even the Russian salad and Aunt Ada's hairstyle will seem more tousled to you.
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