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C'è un vicolo cieco nella pioggia acida di ottobre, che bagna marciapiedi stretti e cade sfinita nei tombini. Un sibilo lontano richiama l'attenzione come una sirena improvvisa (pericolo!), il basso di Lally avanza velenoso, poche note insistenti e confuse deflagrano in un riff potente, necessario (Facet Squared). Sono pugni che sanguinano su un muro nero e altissimo di menzogne col tacco. Sono verità addomesticate e ben retribuite dai menestrelli della disinformazione. E' il potere usuraio che non logora mai il padrone, che torna ad avvitarsi intorno al collo e stringe forte (Returning The Screw). E' una parete umida di scritte e slogan populisti, di servi e fantocci teorici del nulla; pisciarci un po' sopra aiuta la diuresi, e migliora la digestione. Anche voi che leggete, avvicinatevi tranquilli al muro e immaginate: immaginate finalmente di liberarvi in un gesto associativo, sul parlamento prostituito agli interessi di pochi, su questa plutocrazia mascherata da repubblica delle banane, sulla presunta superiorità occidentale.
Farlo durante l'ascolto di Public Witness Program, in compagnia di due tizi con palle d'amianto quali Ian MacKaye (chitarrista e fondatore degli storici Minor Threat) e Guy Picciotto, per il sottoscritto è cosa buona, giusta, e stimolante; diciamo quanto un weekend in Valtellina insieme a Caterina Murino. Insomma, questi signori in vent'anni hanno pur sempre preservato un'integrità artistica unica, inimitabile, moralmente coriacea. Se poi il vostro pudore vi nega un sano e orgoglioso pissing pubblico, sulle mura schifose e ammuffite che spesso ostacolano le nostre vite, allora cambiate recensione e passate ad altro; comunque ormai ho quasi finito, e v'ho fregato... In On The Kill Taker era la frase di una vecchia lettera trovata dal vocalist Guy Picciotto. Catarsi e urla implose, vuoti e chitarre abrasive (Rend It), intenso e meditativo slow-core che al minuto 2'56'' muta in una viscerale digressione post-rock, post-noise, post-tutto degna della Gioventù Sonica (23 Beats Off), proiettili pulp\hardcore di chirurgica e polemica precisione rispediti al mittente prevaricatore (Great Cop): "In On The Kill Taker" è il terzo grande (forse grandissimo) album targato Fugazi da Washington D.C.
"..They should never touch the ground. Irony is the refuge of the educated, always complaining but they never quit. Cool's eternal, but it always dated.."
Riavvolgo il nastro. Dicevo che i Fugazi rimangono indelebilmente l'espressione più sincera e militante dell'utopia rock, dello spirito indipendente DIY (Do It Yourself) senza compromessi e catene mercantili, fin dalla fondazione a Washington nel 1987. Fugazi è l'acronimo di "Fucked Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In" ("Fottuto, preso in imboscata, chiuso dentro"), frase utilizzata dai soldati americani in Vietnam per segnalare situazioni d'estremo pericolo. "In On The Kill Taker" amplia e definisce gli orizzonti post-hardcore dell'epocale "Repeater" (1990) e di "Steady Diet Of Nothing" del ‘91. Uscirà nel maggio 1993 per l'emblematica e rigorosa Dischord Records del boss MacKaye, prodotto dai quattro anti-eroi dell'underground U.S.A. con Ted Niceley. Un album incendiario come benzina sul fuoco, che ogni bravo ragazzo cresciuto tra volontà e fallimento dovrebbe mandare a memoria. E perdersi istintivamente nel funk mentale di Sweet And Low, in cui la sezione ritmica di Joe Lally e Brendan Canty incrocia lirismi elettrici à la Slint. Nella nevrosi di Instrument, dove Picciotto evoca magistralmente il canto indolenzito dei fratelli Mothersbaugh. Nel vigoroso omaggio al nume tutelare John regista di "La sera della prima" (Cassavetes) e nell'addio sull'ultima, sgranata immagine al ralenty di Last Chance For A Slow Dance. Le nubi sembrano diradarsi nei cieli incerti di ottobre, e Smallpox Champion schiuma rabbiosa abnegazione da un anonimo appartamento. Prima che il Ministero dell'Informazione venga a prendermi, prima che la polizia sfondi la porta, buchi il soffitto e mi porti via incappucciato. Dopo una firma sulla ricevuta.
"..You saw what you wanted. You took what you saw. We know how you got it. Your method equals wipe out. The end of the frontier and all that you own, under the blankets of all that you've done. Memory serves us to serve you.."
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 Facet Squared (02:42)
Pride no longer has definition
Everybody wears it, it always fits
A state invoked for the lack of position
Strength is the bait that keeps us so busy
If it's perforated, then I tear it to bits
All sense lost in the frenzy
They should never touch the ground
Irony is the refuge of the educated
Always complaining but they never quit
Cool's eternal, but it always dated
They should never touch the ground
It's not worth, it's the investment
That keeps us tied up in all these strings
We draw lines and stand behind them
That's why flags are such ugly things
That they should never touch the ground
02 Public Witness Program (02:04)
The eyes have it and the eyes always will
The eyes have it and they're watching you still
Public witness charter - look out don't touch
Public witness says he's seeing too much
I like to walk around it
And i'm paid to stand around
Public witness seen it all
04 Smallpox Champion (04:01)
Smallpox champion u s of a
Give natives some blankets
Warm like the grave
This is the pattern cut from the cloth
This is the pattern designed to take you right out
This is the frontier with winter's so cold
Greed informs action where action makes bold
To take all the cotton that's cut from the stalk
Weave the disease that's gonna take you right out
What is good for the future what was good for the past -
Won't last
Bury your heart u s of a history rears up to spit in your face
You saw what you wanted
You took what you saw
We know how you got it
Your method equals wipe out
The end of the frontier and all that you own
Under the blankets of all that you've done
Memory serves us to serve you
Yet memory serves us to never let you wipe out
Cha-cha-cha-champion
You'll get yours
Wipe out
05 Rend It (03:48)
Why don't you come to my house
Why don't you drag me right out
Past all the shit that i said i'm saying
Why don't you cut up my mouth
And i don't care what you use
Just don't ask me to choose
I forced a field to allow you
That's not so easy to do
I said I said what I said I want you to help me
Surrender rend it it's yours
Out in the open
We're wide open
Night light comes into my room
Some shade of bruise-colored blue
Moves through my mind like a chemical
Imbalance on schedule
My tasting face to the floor
Passive abject i'm sure
I lick my lips when I need it
Don't want to lick them no more
My love song went wrong
08 Cassavetes (02:30)
Crush my calm you cassavetes
I was sitting tight so quiet quiet
In the dark till the lights came up my heart
Beating like a riot riot
Hollywood are you sitting on a sign
For someone to come on bust a genre
You poor city of shame
Ask me what you're needing
I'll sell you his name
cos he was the one to send it with truth
That's something from someone
And gena rowlands complete control for cassavetes
If it's not for sale you can't buy it buy it
Sad-eyed mogul reaching for your wallet
Like hand to holster why don't you try it try it
Hollywood are you waiting on a sign
For someone to come on bust a genre
You poor city of shame
Ask me what you're needing
I'll front you his name
cos he was the one to send it with truth
that's something from someone and gena rowlands
09 Great Cop (01:52)
Got a lot of questions for me
You got a lot of questions for me
Got your finger pointing at me
Distrusted
I look for wires when I'm talking to you
You'd make a great cop
11 Instrument (03:43)
That one is predetermined
That one, it finds another
This one comes in one window
Sliding out the other
We need an instrument to take a measurement
To find out if loss could weigh
We need to know value
We need to place value
In case it all comes true
Could it be loss could weigh?
It's always they that's dying
But now it's we that's dying
So sooner comes the trying to understand that loss could weigh
We've been dragged through the fire
We bragged about that fire
But suddenly we're tired
Could it be that loss could weigh?
Loss could weigh
12 Last Chance for a Slow Dance (04:38)
Coughing inside your coffin like at the bottom of the sea
Onside you're breathing too numb for asking so i will leave it outside your door
Warning the threat of morning that just extends you another day
Some lights were shining not much for seeing but you'll be leaving the way you came
Shot shooting
Shot shot
Shot shooting yourself again for what
To taste all the waste
Flare flakes a flower a burnt-out shower no one can see you were needing too shy for asking
So I will leave it outside your door pulse stalls uncut
But clotted when you had thought it would force a flow
Some lights were shining
Not much for seeing but you believe in the way you came
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di jeremy
I Fugazi più che un semplice gruppo rock sono stati un modello per tutto il mondo alternativo anni '90 e continuano ad esserlo.
Il sound è aggressivo, spigoloso, il dinamismo è esasperato da quel cantato che sembra correre avanti alla musica.
Di Kurtd
Dal quel giorno la mia vita cambiò, non glielo diedi mai più indietro.
Chi era marco? Tutto quello che voi vorreste essere.
