Tre allegri ragazzi morti
La testa indipendente

I don't know exactly if the Tre Allegri Ragazzi Morti lack the opposable thumb in the same way as the troglodyte hominids represented by their masks (note it is, however, likely that this is the case), but it is certain that they lack that minimum of creative acumen to escape the label of a band that's kind of meh. Davide Toffolo can dress as he pleases, he can even wear his costume with feathers from a sick and lame vulture, but the "theatricality" (or the so-called) that precedes TARM certainly cannot make their flat and stereotyped pop appealing.

This album is like the equivalent of Gramellini's show when the word of the week is "life." On the other hand, a few years earlier, the dead boys had deviated an already compromised generation of young scouts with "life far from any cliché / look for it, it's inside you" and all the rhetoric of "never like you," because "we are different/lost guys." Different guys, my ass: there is nothing more homogeneous than the TARM fanbase, and the TARM themselves, all revolutionaries when it's cool, interpreters of a pseudo-escape from reality through a quite sickly sentimental pop because "the love song is a political act," right? No, wrong. All wrong. At the base, actually. And the somewhat shoddy stilt collapses, and the australopithecines fall into the water. The opposable thumb remains a dream.