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Rating: Verdena live. Like last July at Cascina Monluè, but muuuch better.
Let's start with the day: Friday the 13th, "the day of witches, Angie"... Or let's start with the venue, the legendary Live Club of Trezzo d'Adda, one of those places (Jail of Legnano comes to mind) that I have only read about in ZeroDue until now, and now within car reach. But maybe we'll start from Ransom's house, where our driver and Pedro are already waiting with chilled beers. We've got the tickets, let's go. Stop at Vittoria’s house, someone who already has a pass for the Queen of The Stone Age to give you an idea, and off onto the Milan-Bergamo, for once merciful and clear as if it were five in the morning.
We arrive disgracefully early, disappointed with ourselves for not managing to get lost, we acclimate by consuming the substantial reserve of hops and THC brought for the occasion, thank the porchetta vendor - as you know, tastier out in the province - and then queue. Blessed queue... We skip in a reasonably short time a bouncer bragging about his ancient exploits at the coolest venues of the Riviera Romagnola (a ‘sticazzi from Ransom gets public approval) and in we go. The supporting band (who? dunno) is about to finish, time to gulp down a double malt, get lost repeatedly, find who you intended to find, confirm that "it’s perfect if we meet on the left" and then Verdena.
I stand a couple of songs - maybe - on the sidelines, then predictably contradict my rants about a calm concert from the last row and dive in. Like in July, teenagers do the moshing at Verdena's concerts, so I feel a bit like a fool, a bit like an old fox among the kids, the fact is that on stage Luca pounds as if there's no tomorrow. He's improved impressively, and Alberto seems improved too, maybe not in terms of voice - that's what he's got and that's what he keeps, I guess - but in the guitar parts, truly precise this time even in changing tempos and keys. Meanwhile, inside the Live it reaches inhumane temperatures, happy moshing with thousands of kids, the t-shirt rolled into a jeans pocket, glasses inside the most useless leather jacket in history, eyes now on the bass player, who won’t lift her fuchsia head from the bass for the entire concert, now to the left, and the left is perfect. I reintroduce myself to those I’d like to reintroduce myself to, disfigured by three-quarters of an hour of Viba, Valvonauta, Muori Delay, Canos (a head above all, including a kilometer-long pseudo-experimental tail), Luna and the gem Starless, played even more fiercely than on CD if possible: at first I’m hardly recognizable, disfigured from the slaughter as I am, then it’s a flurry of laughs, group photos, fake-asked beers...
Scorpions strike in an instant, no doubt about it, and when they want, they leave a mark. Meanwhile, those three leave the stage, and it feels like a quarter of an hour has passed since the concert began. They return for a couple of encores, but by now, the triumph is safe in the vault. Friday the 13th is not just any day. Nor are Verdena just any band. Full stop.
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