Tiri Al Piattello
Che Bella La Vita

I'm sorry for my prolonged absence from reviewing, but I had many things to attend to, including studying, preparing to write a potential book (fingers crossed), and being without internet. But now I'm back, safe and sound, more eager than ever to review a product truly dear to my heart.

First of all, good afternoon to everyone. I know, it's completely unrelated, but as they say, it adds a touch of charm (French afflicted by acute macaronicity). I don't know if you usually listen to that ancient instrument invented by a certain Guglielmo Marconi (William Radio to his friends). I hope you do, as it differs significantly from this heap of television that serves us those damn sunbed-tanned and perfumed contestants from Shows & Bathrooms. The radio channel I justly esteem the most is Radio 2, rich in amusing and intelligent programs, among which the well-known Viva Radio 2 stands out, led by our Rosario Fiorello and that cheerful Marco Baldini, who love to make us spend over an hour of pure fun. As the Fiorello fans already know, the program boasts a space for musical young talents. In fact, many singers send their pieces to the radio hoping to be promoted and signed. About 1-2 years ago, something shocking was sent.

The piece in question is titled "Che Bella La Vita" by Tiri Al Piattello, which later became a great radio hit.

Play.

Apparent calm. An innocent piano takes small steps, then a voice intercedes, endowed with a pessimism, a sadness, and a misfortune capable of driving to suicide that evergreen politician with the permanent smile, I don't know if you know him, the one with the 8 cm heels, who at a staircase put a child in front of him while climbing a step to appear taller, the one with transplanted hair who went around with a bandana, the one to whose promises sailors bow saying: "But dear Sir Masked Knight, you lie nobly!" Well, it's normal if you don't know him, he never speaks, never attacks the opposing party and ABOVE ALL he doesn't make fun of Mortadella.

But let's get back to that downer voice. It begins to list the worst diseases in the world (plague, leprosy, gout, eczema, SARS, rash, Raffaellite… ) which instinctively and unconsciously pushes... how can I put it... to engage in a testicular friction job with the upper limb that stretches for the entire time of the black book of evils. Then the song goes personal: the loser confides that he was fired, the girl dumped him (Ilio! Whoever wants to understand me understands), last night the car wheel decided to commit harakiri and he had to spend the night like a bum in the cold outside the car...

But I mean, every au-to-mo-bi-le, (do you know this word dear?) is legally equipped (unless it's from 15-18) with a heating system that alleviates any glacial trauma. And you, smarty, wrapped in your pessimism? You don't turn on the heating, for heaven's sake, then you have to pay the Italgas bill, or else the technicians dressed like ultras with clubs show up: you take refuge outside in the cold at the risk of catching a nice disease that you'll add to your little list. Chorus, hear hear, in the most cheerful voice possible (we just passed the Moggi threshold, congratulations!): "Che bellaa la vitaaa, but my heart is sick (is a cardiologist optional?), I lost my spleen (as if it were a Lego brick), I'm limping (Claudicantes, claudicantis, third masculine singular declension=Latin!)… what a beautiful life (happy you…) but the liver is gone (soon I'll send you there if you don't stop oppressing me!), and you ran away… with my brother-in-law (congratulations, a very reliable relative)… but I love you, I love you, I love you, I

love you… but… I love you!… At least let's remain friends!"

Ok you moved me: don't worry, I'll solve the issue, give me the phone, okay thanks.

-Ready? Listen, you nasty strumpet, if you don't show up here at Piazza Del Popolo within 3 minutes with your pig lover, I'll get you into trouble and force you to buy a set of professional Ampiflon equipment, because I'm about to unleash my deadly burp killer, which has killed many "singers" of the new melodic style, above all Raffaello. Got it?

-Got it...

Good. The benefactor profession suits me. Returning to the track, it boasts the incredible characteristic of assuming a normal tone to pass almost unnoticed and therefore not realizing the cited misfortunes.

Listen to it in moments of depression and you'll become famous with your name… on some beautiful stone embedded in the ground.