Verdena
Requiem

What I can say about "Requiem" approaches being a lexical period in decay, from the first to the last syllable.

The new album by Verdena is the proof of stagnation, of frustration, of a lifestyle, the European and Italian one, that are losing the genuineness lost in art, music, cinema, and (the real drama) writing, after the fall of the Berlin Wall, and which have irrevocably decreed their downfall in this ominous start of the millennium.
Generations of kids are growing up convinced that when dealing with the ABCs of contemporary rock music in Italy, then characters like "saltimbanco" like Verdena, Afterhours, and (the new and more gay-chic-glamour) Marlene Kuntz, represent its extreme and imaginative exemplification.

"Requiem" is an aberration of such atrocious dimensions, as to trigger homophobic tendencies among the most gastro-sensitive. Not only does every single track aim to be predictable and repetitive (with a NEANDERTHAL use of the same synthesizers), but it sounds so fucking glossy that it screeches in an ultrasonic way. Obscene. So much so as to make it bleed and to support every parietal area capable of giving a tiziano-ferrian resistance signal.
This is a failure of the entire "mafioso" (as much as "afterhours-like") Italian recording industry, which starts out producing albums for people with rape-like hairdos, to reduce them to Chaplinesque parodies of icons of "andat-fottut-triplicament-inculat" rock'N'roll.
But the thing that secretes vomit from my gangrenous stomach is that these three yuppies have undertaken the recordings through self-production. Something that definitively reveals the simplicity with which every single note is set to exist.

Aware of the tortures and the G.E.S.T.A.P.IANE consequences to which my opinion will be subjected when compared to "certain" third parties, I leave to you the conscious frustrated freedom to tear apart an opinion that is now circulating in (VERILY AND WEARILY) many, but less courageous, minds.
Come on, tell me that their "work" is however "passable".. find millions of excuses to justify the numerous tickets of the dictatorial concerts you attended, submissively. Tell me that "however" there is nothing better in Italy, tell me that it's the most psychedelic a certain partisan music has ever been able to express, tell me that the lyric-sonorous relationship of Ferrari is so innovative as to shave Ginsberg, tell me that the bass is DELIBERATELY (?!) minimal, tell me what you feel, and also what all this makes you feel, so masterfully passionate.

"Requiem," or (intentionally!) the death of that little healthy and genuine that remained in our "beautiful" country. A dead bet.

And as a certain Barrett (now in flight) said to a certain Gilmour:

"I think all this is dated, don't you think?" (1979)