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Rating: In its own way unforgettable, like the things done for the first time in life are indelible, even the most repugnant ones, this was the first (antediluvian) concert I consciously attended, capable of branding with iron et fire everything that would follow.
Now: I don't know what level of consideration they are currently given, but at the time they were one of the few hard'n'heavy Italian bands that had gained a minimum (union-sanctioned) credibility even beyond the (very narrow) confines of their genre.
The italometal.
The concert marked the imminent release of the new album with the terrifying title "Corruzione dell'Innocenza" even though the posters around displayed the effigy of the previous album: probably because that one was much more metal than the new one which was indeed quite ugly and much-less-metal.
In any case, the italometal of Vanadii took the form of classic neomelodic cacophonic music (at an unbearable volume) with childish lyrics proclaimed in English, but with a peculiar Neapolitan accent due to the unruly throat of the famous vocalist/polemicist Mr. Pino Scotto: this I suppose was to avoid making clear what kind of nonsense could be proclaimed in a real metal text with all the proper trappings.
Keep in mind that no one understood the Albion idiom: imagine then in stern Sardinia where barely si kumprendi s'itaglianu.
Of the concert, being so fresh, I remember essentially gnente-di-nulla, except that there were five on stage, and that it (the stage with them on it) was located inside the municipal sports field Diego Armando Becciu (in honor of the famous island real estate cardinal) of Macomer (NU) right under the central grandstand.
It seems to me they played for a continuous hour and a half, with a (bombastic) drum solo to break the stubborn. I also believe they performed a couple of encores: probably not requested. But what they did up there, I have no, not even vague, memory of. And perhaps it's much better that way.
It seemed to me there was a lot of people: but I wouldn't be able to quantify it: I didn't count them: do you think I should have? Some said there were even 1,500 desperate people flocking under the stage, others claimed we were under a thousand.
In any case, it was already a miracle that it wasn't just me and my three proto-metal comrades attending, as had already happened before.
Concerts announced and never held: and there we were like idiots, forced to drown our frustrating disappointment in ichnusa (not even unfiltered).
The metal at that time was tough stuff, for solitary refined palates: not like today where everyone's gone bourgeois and you go to concerts all stylish, holding hands two by two.
Despite this, at that time we were already refined (not wanted by the police) and elegant individuals (the stereotype of the basic metalhead all burps and horns in the wind, always made us horrified), we comfortably spent the night, pre-booking done by one of the four, dear Calcidrata, who at the time was the expert of the field - a student at the hotel management school - in the luxuriant Motel Agip of Macomer: instead of drinks dispensers in the canteen there was a choice between Super and Diesel.
Architecturally it was a nice concrete barracks in monoblock style, compared to which Abu Ghraib is a luxurious elite structure. Only the yellow neon sign outside was pretty. Rating: 4
Let's move on to the BREAKFAST: rating 6.5 but only because the night of the concert being dumbfounded we consumed only metal, not biting anything edible: the next day we had a hunger of Tyrannosaurs and we literally raided the frugal buffet: we took full metallic advantage of the "included breakfast".
Regarding the SERVICES (hygienic) I have no particular reservations: rating 6, they worked excellently, it seems, although I don't remember having done the business.
ROOMS: 2. They assigned us two rooms, microscopic. Scandalously devoid of any kind of comfort; I'm not saying air conditioning, but not even a shred of black-and-white television was there. Both with two single beds that we would have gladly joined if our - illusory - search for very drunk fawns to woo had gone well. But metal concerts, especially at the time, were (to use a witty definition by a friend of mine) a sad "compilation of shorts". So the TWO (of spades) refers to yet another para-pseudo-sentimental flop that we would have liked to debunk. And instead.
As the crime has now expired, I add that before saying goodbye to the manager of the luxurious structure we shamelessly ransacked all the shampoo and soap packages not only from our rooms but also from all those on the floor we found open. And maybe even some bidet towels: they could always come in handy. In addition, it seems to me that it was just us in that pleasant structure.
I confess that until the end we hoped that the group had also been lodged in what was effectively the only accommodation in the area: but, given the quality of the hovel, they must have categorically refused.
A pity because it would have been nice to face Pino Scotto in the morning with his leather pants, red, very tight, while he was avidly dipping the snowdrops in the coffee with milk.
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