Vintage Violence
Mono

THE REVIEW

I admit it, I am a boomer.
Musically speaking, I fear the new.

Especially if I happen to discover a band through their latest musical effort. Especially if, at first glance, it seems programmed for the so-called "big hit."

Because the risk is also that of being labeled with cultural appropriation, of being accused, in this case, of having the audacity to recommend listening to "Mono" thanks to the providential algorithm that suggested it to me on a late November morning.

But so be it, and in any case, who cares. Because Vintage Violence plays down-to-earth rock with the same urgency as De André: cultured yet practical, lyrical and prosaic at the same time.
So in the end, what's the fear of the new about?
Here you'll find the episodic schizophrenia of Franz Ferdinand and Billy Talent, the crowd-pleasing simplicity of Francesco Gabbani, and even a certain dose of critical spirit masked as nonsense that is always appealing but rarely effective, like Elio E Le Storie Tese.
In essence, a lab experiment gone wrong, set up for the noble purpose of fusing anger and class.
A bottle of champagne smashed over Vittorio Sgarbi's head.

This is the Italian rock that should be listened to even on Mars.
Because yes, once again, Italian rock is alive.
And it doesn't necessarily have to be liked, but it should make us enjoy it.