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Rating: The crack that blatantly materialized in my post-punk musical convictions, cacophony forever, concrète CAN, jumble and jumble of noise accumulations, appeared clearly in 2018 in the form of "Cintura" in the eponymous summer single by Alvaro Soler. It feverishly won me over on the first listen; dark forces had been working stealthily for decades to suddenly conquer my capitulation to "melody," with Latin rhythms no less. I escaped the attack by accepting all the unexpected of this Easy listening, and the matter was absorbed without obvious traumas.
The unconscious consideration of the pleasure felt in front of that Alvaro piece is nothing compared to the conscious realization of existential devastation communicated to me by Tiziano's "salsedine".
I preface this by saying that I vaguely knew who Ferro was, by hearsay, through the inertia of the overmind, in short, never covered until now.
And this summer we were in a pizzeria carefree, and there was the TV tuned to a music video channel, and casually glancing at the proposals, and at a certain point, the video for this piece starts... in the end, I had to go to the bathroom to splash water on my face to overcome a hypothetical petrification impasse. The song surprised me psychically, flooding me with absolute sadness. A depression (where the Mariana Trench by comparison is a puddle) infinite exudes from every element, from the music, the lyrics, the places, the absences.
Tiziano tries to touch "Ferro" to discharge the damnations that have estranged him from his inner God. The game of the burned youth has become unsustainable, and now there is pain and fear that one's soul cannot be recovered. Already realizing this condition is remarkable in the economy of the Eternity prospect. A modern youth branded "iron" and fire by the neon god where the "light" is nothing but absolute darkness.
One realizes that they have based themselves solely on ephemeral conquests of corporal and egoic satisfactions, nourishing entities external to us, and acquiring the information of our chronic animic anemia triggers a race for redemption that proves damn necessary to try to avoid definitive scrapping.
The sea as a purifying destination, as a gathering towards a new birth, taking it as a refuge of a new amniotic fluid, as an infinite baptismal trough for our existential confusion, as an elixir of life that washes the sins of the world, as an abandonment of earthly stability that has hypnotized the tendency to a divine flotation near the 21 grams of the ethereal that is in us, as leaving everything and following invisible interconnections rather than crude penetrations.
There is impersonal anguish in the piece as if Tiziano were not there and tried to reach out hoping someone would pull him out of that limbo of electro disco that uncovers chronic melancholy, where the accepted lying stalemate has expired and before disappearing, desperately trying to recover some glimmer of reality.
The lyrics are all a symbol, the polaroid is the reflection of the mask, not of ourselves. Reproaches, forgetfulness, improvising faith, closing with darkness, trust in the new season... "That is late to arrive".
Hope as the last to die as there is the last train to catch, otherwise nothing more.
And the song (prayer) plays to heal the pain of the fall into illusion.
"It is with time that you learn to understand the void
That warmth on one side of the bed
I can barely remain still
When it pours rain": beginning to feel the boredom of Paradise, the warmth of the Heart of Jesus, the consciousness that begins to move, the rain that purifies.
The falls, the despair, the journey teach us that true conquests are close to our ruins, pursuing alchemical attempts of visions on our original androgyny that still flow into weddings celebrated in desecrated chapels.
"We are born for the sake of love that makes me walk
I never stop, I never stop searching". The pain of the absence of God's love, in the end, is unbearable...
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