Who
Live at Leeds

"The greatest live performance in music history..."
Knock, knock.
"Yes, who's knocking?"
"I'm a publisher. My name is Antonio Gelli"
"And what do you want at this hour?"
"I'd like to ask you a question... Sorry about the time"
I open the door.
"Please, what can I do for you?"
"Can I come in?"
"Yes, please, come in"
"Sorry, you know, I was looking for a certain Marco Poletti. I've read some of his stuff on the Internet, and I should meet him because he seems like a really strange person"
"Strange in what way?"
"Strange, strange... He writes about music, but in my opinion, he knows very little about it. I'd like to offer him a contract for a comedy book. I already have the title in mind: "Everything You Didn't Know and Shouldn't Have Known Told by Someone Who Doesn't Know and Pretends to Know"
"A bit convoluted as a title, but cute..."
"Yeah... Anyway, do you know this fool?"
"In what sense fool?"
"Well, yes, he's a fool... He understands nothing about music: imagine he thinks Nico is a man"
"A man? Aaahh... but no, uh, she's a woman"
"Yes, and do you know what he thinks of the Velvet Underground?"
"No, what does he think?"
"That they invented hard rock! Can you believe it? Hard rock!"
"Funny... Want some coffee?"
"Yes, please. No sugar"
I get up, go to the kitchen, make the coffee.
I return to the living room.
"Here I am with the coffee, so, what were you saying?"
"Ah yes, sorry... In confidence, this Poletti, Pirletti, whatever his name is, he's an idiot, pardon the term, but he understands absolutely nothing about music. Imagine he made a colossal mistake about "Let it Bleed" by the Rolling Stones..."
"Ah yes, what did he do?"
"He said the album is composed of only 6 tracks! 6 tracks, aaaah, I can't stand it, aaahhh..."
"Um... The coffee's good?"
"Yes, yes, good..."
"And, tell me, um... yes, ..., bad weather today, huh?"
"Yes, yes... you know what he had the nerve to write: that one of Vasco Rossi's first albums was a masterpiece"
"Noooooooo, Vasco Rossi!"
"Yes, this Poletti is really a fool, actually, as they say in Milan, he's a real pistol"
"Yeah, a pistol!"
"And then you should read what he wrote about Articolo 31: really colossal nonsense, and people filled it with insults. Do you know he even trashed the Queen? But I say, tell me, can anyone really be more stupid?"
"No, they can't"
"Really a born fool this Poletti, a fully finished fool"
"Well well, funny, huh?"
"Yes, he really writes improbable things: in my opinion he has never listened to half an album, he copies here and there from the Internet"
"Could be, ..., I don't know"
"Anyway, you know this idiot, I mean, Marco Poletti?"
"Yes, I know him"
"Ah yes, well, and where is he?"
"Um... I don't know how to tell you, I'm a bit ashamed, but you see, well, he's right in front of you!"
"In what way?"
"It's me!"
The publisher gets up, goes to the door and is about to leave.
"What about the contract?"
"What a satisfaction!"
"In what sense?"
"Alright, the mask's off: I'm not a publisher. I belong to the MVDDQCDMP Committee (Let’s Get Rid of That Asshole Marco Poletti from DeBaser), and I came into your house cunningly"
"Ah, and why?"
"Because I wanted to see live that enormous piece of shit who writes bullshit comments on DeBaser. So, at this moment, I'm facing the fool"
He leaves. I catch him quickly.
"Excuse me, if you came here... I mean, I, ..., how did you know that the idiot, I mean Marco Poletti, was really me?"
"It's written on the intercom and on the door, idiot!"
He disappears.
I go to the computer to write the review on the Who that I had just started.
My mind clouds over, my eyelids close.
I give up.
To hell with the review and to hell with the Who too.
I turn off the computer and go to bed.