Whitesnake
In The Shadow Of The Blues Live

THE REVIEW

And we continue reviewing the undead: here they are again, dentures and facelifts dusted off for the occasion, Whitesnake come back, back, back, back with an exclusive live set of the best of their phantasmagorical and never-too-often-heard production, a new gem to add to the never-too-long stacks of CDs, cassettes, and vinyl of a frankly useless band, just as useless as Mr. Coverdale is to hard rock, the undertaker of Deep Purple, who managed in the short span of three years to transform them from the greatest rock band on the planet to one of the most mediocre blues bands in the entire universe. Before leaving to form this deplorable group made up of fifty different characters, all mercenaries without any art except getting million-dollar commissions and who never die, damn NEVER. Even Steve Vai played horribly with Whitesnake, and that says it all.

I'm not only not buying the album, as if I search through the live recordings I have at home, I'll discover they're the same old songs again, even if this time in a blues version, at least to justify the expense, but I won't even bother to download it. I just want to tell Mr. Coverdale and his limp snake: do you like blues so much?, damn it, then do blues, real blues if you can, and stop asking the rock crowd for money with your little songs for nostalgic long-haired fans.
Memorize what was declared at the last Gods of Metal: "what pulses in me is the blues, everything I do is a tribute to the blues", from which it's deduced that hard rock is only for making money (see the website, with a direct link to Amazon for purchasing on the homepage).

Since it's unlikely he said that nonsense to woo Maugeri, and this album is instead the confirmation of a full-blown Alzheimer's, dear Dave, you know what I say: fuck you!