Thegiornalisti
Love

Thegiornalisti's albums suck, yet they have a reason to exist, and therefore they don't suck. This sets them apart, for example, from the recent intellectual masturbation of Capossela or Massimo Volume, whose albums might not suck (at least not Vinicio's), but they absolutely don't have any reason to exist, and therefore they actually suck, and most certainly deserve every last armpit raspberry they're getting (and will hopefully continue to get).

The career of Tommaso Paradiso and company up to "Fuoricampo," branded 2014, is just a slightly more vulgar and Berlusconian episode of Colorado Café than usual. We skip it in a spacebar heartbeat to reach the said album, with which they start to bore the hell out of everyone with concepts like "intense romanticism," "summers in Fregene," "Carlo Verdone is god," and "Venditti is the madonna." But it must be said that "Promiscuità" is one of the three most beautiful songs ever written in Italy, and if you don't cry over the lyrics of "Proteggi Questo Tuo Ragazzo," it means you have an ironing board stuck up your ass. The tight 80s synths echoed a melodic and nostalgic pop, crudely ingratiating yet alive, underneath, visceral.

Then came "Completamente Sold Out" which was visceral in the sense of intestinal, guaranteed to cause chronic diarrhea. Yet, once again, it made sense. With this album, Tommaso Paradiso became the sacrificial victim to be offered to single thirty-somethings (the second most represented category in Italy) looking for their own sex symbol. At the same time, the Italian music industry needed someone who could revive the careers of human weights like Elisa, Nina Zilli, Malika Ayane, Gianni Morandi, Fabri Fibra, and the dumbest of the usual idiots, who certainly couldn't sustain themselves with songs they wrote; ultimately, it was clear there was a need for someone who made brainless, sentimental, and right-leaning pop as much as our country's present, yet that could also be listened to without feeling like an idiot, just letting oneself be carried by the vibe melancholic. And the answer to all this, once again, lay in the missing space between the words 'the' and 'journalists'.

Alright, "Riccione," whatever. In September 2018, "Love" comes out, which is perhaps their most curated and considered album, and for this reason, it sucks awkwardly. And it doesn't make sense.