With him I always had some problems, yes.
It was an evening of late December 2003, a friend and I had reported this classical pianist by the name heavy, used to intrude into subgenres often explored by him first. The album was on the market for propostomi a couple of years, was called "The Days", and it was just the latest product of this artist, already known to many of the uninitiated (who had to sing the praises in the following years) for an album seven years before he some success. The others, those of around, I knew a long time for an endless series of projects and collaborations, including several movie soundtracks (Nanni Moretti and Michele Sordillo at all). It was the period in which Open Studio and Live life do not rub in any service, from child bitten by dog \u200b\u200b, the return of spring to I'm dying of cancer but a gift to my daughter because the bone heals leukemia che poi tanto c'ha il diabete e le torte sacher non le potrà mangiare mai.
Dimentico il cd in macchina (senza averlo mai ascoltato) per un mesetto buono. Poi, una sera guidando in solitudine, complice una situazione sentimentale che andava aggrovigliandosi in modo incontrollabile, decido che è ora di dare una svolta. Cambiare musica. Allungo la mano sul sedile posteriore e recupero dal mucchio proprio quel cd. Lo metto, mentre continuo a guidare e a riflettere su quello che sta succedendo alla mia vita. Nel frattempo le note si insinuano nei miei pensieri, li avvolgono. No. Di più. Ne entrano a far parte. Li condizionano, li possiedono, li spingono mentre iniziano a vorticare freneticamente, li trascinano, cullandoli, mentre rallentano. I, the first time, the album is as if I had not heard. As if every note she had given birth to my mind. There was no groove, no distinction, everything was fully integrated, precise, perfect.
I cried.
Fuck you, I cried.
For a month I have not heard much. He felt the physical need, it was as if I could be alone with myself and my private torment, only through that key. A door, not to leave, but to enter. The bit I'm doing a 'melodrama, perhaps, but ultimately something we all passed, to some extent.
Then, just.
A month later, approximately, for the first time, and for reasons beyond my will (Which still escape me) I heard "I Days" by Ludovico Einaudi completely undressed cathartic (I hate when I use words like fucking cathartic, but it works in concept) to which I had covered. Aladdin's lamp was not working anymore, and I saw it last for what it was.
basically an album of shit.
little more than a mediocre and banal stuff, yes, perhaps with some idea to save, ok. But a small thing, really. The hangover of those days I was suddenly gone, and I discovered that Don Perignon I was drunk which was, in fact, a tank mixture of 3%.
disorientation, hopelessness and disappointment. I did not understand well, but as things stood. So, patience. Yes, go ahead.
not end there, though.
few months later came "One morning", and this time I decided to buy it, so, without much hope. Then it's not a compulsive shopping disorder of women. One goes on my shoes, I go to Club 33 in Corso Umberto. Eccheccazzo.
Surprise.
A masterpiece. Overwhelming
, fiery, powerful in its infinite tenderness. Christ's sake. Muoio.
for a month. Then
. Same
.
I fucking tacky horrible in private for that dared to sell music, he and those fags who play next. BUT NO. NO! I'm pissed off almost as much as a few months ago, when that face round with a longitudinal slot of Giovanni Allevi, the world swimming in Turin, told of his technique to review the scores underwater. A memory. What then remained for the time being be the inspiration for new pieces. Fuck.
I had cheated again. And again I rubbed
later.
So for Becoming a bit 'less Diario Mali that on the whole I liked even more than a month, but it was always for the waves, for Eden Roc. for Light of my eyes.
A month of habituation and total cancellation of the critical sense. A month in which I threw Chopin and Keith Jarrett in the toilet for 'dick I'm in Milan. One month, only a month.
So if in the next month I will tell you that Nightbook, appena uscito, e appena comprato, è il più bell'album del decennio, per favore;
NON credeteci.
Grazie.
Ho appena finito di ascoltarlo.
E' il più bell'album del decennio.
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