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Rating: Premise. In the office where I work, there is an employee, whom I'll call Stellina for privacy reasons, whom I really like. She isn't stunningly beautiful, but she has long and slender hands, perfect and very white teeth, and I really like her. The other day she says to me: "Occasional, are you coming with me to a dark night in Milan next Sunday?" "Sure, Stellina". And so, Sunday evening I go to pick her up. She comes down after making me wait a good 10 minutes (she must have taken time shaving her vagina, I think satisfied): loose hair, boots, tight black blouse. Good. We leave. We arrive very early, so much that the place isn't open yet. And here, perhaps, I make a mess: not having had dinner, I grab a kebab, which is delicious but full of onions. I try to mitigate by smoking a cigarette, but maybe it's worse. Then, because I'm nervous, I light another one. What an idiot, she doesn't even smoke. I put two gums in my mouth, and we go in.
DARK NIGHT AT BLACK HOLE IN MILAN - 6 MAY 2007
There aren't many people, and those few don't convince me much. I don't see much black or purple, but a lot of military pants. But maybe it's just early. The night offers four bands and a fetish clothing show. The first band, called Aedera Obscura, takes the stage. Damn, but this one sings in growl, but they're doing metal. But wasn't metal dead? Damn it, I expected an atmosphere like The Cure's Pornography, Joy Division, Bauhaus, with all those emaciated, pale, and sickly dark folks, beautiful, in black, with long and straight hair, locks falling to cover troubled eyes, while they sinuously sway lost in thoughts of new astounding ways to commit suicide. I even wore a tight shirt, so if Stellina wants, she can count all my bones, though I no longer have long hair, I still look like a terminally ill person, so the years go by but I always have my lovely gaunt look. But these guys rock. But really rock. The balls. Luckily, they play little, 4 or 5 tracks. In the meantime, she displays an indifference like what the hell do you want, music is music, let's not quibble about the genre. Second band, they're called Ritual, still metal, always with this damn guttural singing that I really hate, but less intense than the first ones. I'm getting really bored. I got bored 15 years ago, too, when I listened to De André, De Gregori, Battiato, Lou Reed, The Cure and my friends listened to metal (of all subgenres: Paolo liked Black and Death, Lorenzo liked Thrash, Holly and Gino liked Epic and Squinzi liked Happy - yes damn, there's even Happy Metal. But I caught Paolo with Loreena McKennitt in the stereo), and I had to go with them to the most isolated places, like in Capolago or around Varese, in the locals of Lupo Solitario, luckily back then Arianna was there, so halfway through the evening, she and I were in the car playing games. Now, I wouldn't want to offend the metalhead debaserians, like Fidia, Ocram, Kanniato, Bluto, those ones, I wouldn't want to be misunderstood. Metal is shit to me, but it's beautiful music. Okay? It's like, damn, one expects one thing, then finds another. Gets pissed off, right? Meanwhile, with Stellina, the stalemate is becoming embarrassing. The kebab bloats my stomach, and oniony burps rise, which I suppress as delicately as possible with my mouth closed, even if I feel my nostrils puffing up. She goes to the bathroom, and I take the chance to pray that the system crashes. But she returns, the power hasn't gone out, and the third band takes the stage.
And here something happens. These guys are good. Very good. They don't do metal (I'm not saying those who do metal are NOT good, ok?), but a fast-paced, distorted rock. They jump a lot; they move. They don't stand still on stage, shaking their heads back and forth, making devil horns with their hands and challenging the world by going "GGHHOOO WWWUUUUOOO BBBLLEEEH" all guttural and phlegmatic. No. They're called Suburban Base, and I like them. Except for the singer, who's good but poses a lot. I applaud them sincerely, and not because they scare me. I'll skip the fashion show because it's irrelevant. Actually no: the clothes are made of vinyl or rubber, you know, those materials you can come on, and if the models were hot, they would make quite an impression. But the models aren't hot. End of the show.
The fourth band, Anima Naive, are a bit of a bore (a red-haired girl sings), and by the second or third song (a Madonna cover), Stellina asks me if we can go. Sure, let's go. And maybe we’ll have sex, I even made the bed. In the car, we refresh our ears with Dirt by Alice In Chains. Then we arrive outside her house. Here, now she says if I want to come up, or even better if we go to mine. But no luck, she doesn't even pretend to give it to me. Bye, thanks, see you tomorrow.
Instead of screwing, I'm here writing bullshit. And tomorrow at 8, I have to be in the office. If I had stayed home watching Controcampo, it would have been better, and I would have saved 8 euros. But you would've missed this bit of a review.
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