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"Don't worry about me, I've got a bed. I've got a Christmas tree inside my head..."
(Slint - Kent)
Quaranta minuti. È questa la durata di uno degli omicidi più efferati della storia della musica. Eh si, perché chi avrebbe immaginato che gli Slint, quattro ragazzotti di Louisville, Kentucky, avrebbero segnato indelebilmente il rock dei successivi dieci (e più) anni? Probabilmente nessuno. Sta di fatto che dopo l'ottimo Tweez, album molto "Albini" pubblicato nel 1989 per la Jennifer Hartman Records, i nostri ci regalano Spiderland, e la storia, come già detto, cambia.
L'esplosione diventa implosione, la violenza dell'hardcore lentezza esasperata, il cantato diviene parlato impercettibile, per poi scomparire del tutto. Si entra così, in punta di piedi, nell'era del post rock.
Nei sei brani di Spiderland, infatti, i quattro Slint disegnano un nuovo modo di fare musica, creano un nuovo modello, prontamente ignorato all'epoca, che si imprime alla perfezione nei ritmi lenti e cadenzati dell'iniziale "Breadcrumb Trail", in "Nosferatu Man", unico legame con il post-hardcore dei primi anni Dischord, nella sospesa "Don, Aman" e nei suoi accordi ripetuti all'infinito (sei minuti stranianti, dove vige l'immobilismo totale e la continua attesa di un esplosione che non arriverà mai...), nella profondità emotiva della quasi slowcore "Washer", una delle massime vette del disco, per poi giungere al rock strumentale di "For Dinner..." e alla conclusione di "Good Morning, Captain", con il recitato del cantante e chitarrista Brian McMahan e le sue suggestioni orientaleggianti.
Stop a questo punto, lo spettacolo finisce, cala il sipario sugli Slint, che si scioglieranno di lì a poco, lasciandoci solo un Ep con due brevi pezzi strumentali, pubblicato, nel 1994, "postumo" dalla Sub Pop. Letteralmente ignorati da tutti.
Solo anni dopo, quando ad affacciarsi sul panorma musicale sarebbero stati i vari Tortoise, Mogwai e Explosions In The Sky, le masse di postrockettari avrebbero finalmente compreso ogni cosa: in Spiderland, nel 1991, c'era già tutto.
Oggi, a distanza di quattordici anni, Gli Slint si riuniscono, in vista dell'All Tomorrow Parties Festival. Registreranno un nuovo disco? Daranno ancora la loro impronta alla musica dei prossimi anni? E, soprattutto, cosa ha ancora da dire una band che si riunisce dopo più di dieci anni di inattività? Tutte domande che presto troveranno le loro risposte. Basta ricordare al momento che, all'inizio degli anni '90, quattro giovincelli del Kentucky la musica la cambiarono eccome. E questo, penso, possa più che bastarci...
Elenco tracce testi e samples
01 Breadcrumb Trail (05:55)
I stepped out onto the midway. I was looking for the pirate
ship and saw this small, old tent at one end. It was blue,
and had white lights hanging all around it.
I decided to check out the tent, it seemed I could hear music coming from inside.
As I walked toward it, I passed a crowd of people at the sideshow.
I couldn't figure out why they would want to wait in line.
I pulled back the drape thing on the tent.
There was a crystal ball at the table, and behind it, a girl wearing a hat. She
smiled, and asked me if I wanted my fortune read.
I said okay, and sat down.
I thought about it for a minute, and asked her if she would rather go on the roller coaster instead.
Creeping up into the sky.
Stopping, at the top and, starting down.
The girl grabbed my hand, I clutched it tight.
I said good-bye to the ground.
Far below, a soiled man.
A bucket of torn tickets at his side.
He watches as the children run by.
And picks his teeth.
Spinning 'round, my head begins to turn.
I shouted, and searched the sky for a friend.
I heard the fortune teller, screaming back at me.
We stuck out our hands, and met the winds.
The girl falters as she steps down from the platform.
She clutches her stomach, and begins to heave.
The ticket-taker smiles, and the last car is ready.
Who told you that you could leave?
The sun was setting by the time we left.
We walked across the deserted lot, alone.
We were tired, but we managed to smile.
And the gate I said goodnight to the fortune teller.
The carnival sign threw colored shadows on her face, but I could
tell she was blushing.
02 Nosferatu Man (05:34)
I live in a castle
I am a prince
On days I try
To please my queen
Soon as I start to smile
My smiling queen
Who sits across the table
By the food she made
Like a bat I flushed the girl
And I flew out my back door
And I came to no one no more
She ran without glances
And railed like a red coal train
Eyelids are open
When the sun is high
I slip away from my queen's
Grey state
I can be settled down
and be doing just fine
Until I heard that old train
Rolling down the line
With the light she disappeared
And set me in a whirl
And i hope that beautiful girl
I set a fire burning
And I railed on through the night
I set a fire burning
And I railed on through the night
She peeked around the corner
She offered me her hand
My teeth touched her skin
Then she was gone again
Now my queen is fine
In her early grave
After that girl I'll keep her warm
There's nothing more to save
03 Don, Aman (06:28)
Don stepped outside.
It felt good to be alone.
He wished he was drunk,
Thought about something he said,
And how stupid it had sounded
He knew he should forget about it
and decided to piss, but he couldn't...
(A plane passed silently overhead, the streetlights, and the buds on the trees and the night, were still.)
It finally came, he took a deep breath.
It made him feel strong, and determined,
To go back inside.
The light.
Their backs.
The conversation.
The couples, romancing, so natural.
His friends stare,
With eyes, like the heads of nails.
The others.
Glances.
With amusement,
With evasion,
With contempt.
So distant,
With malice,
For being a sty
In their engagement,
Like swimming underwater in the darkness,
Like walking through an empty house,
Speaking to an imaginary audience,
being watched from outside, by no-one
(A song without a key)
He could not dance to anything.
Don left,
And drove,
And howled,
And laughed,
At himself.
He felt he knew what that was.
Don woke up,
And looked at the night before.
He knew what he had to do.
He was responsible.
In the mirror,
He saw his friend.
04 Washer (08:50)
Goodnight my love
Remember me as you fall to sleep
Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories
That rises from the shoes on my feet
I won't be back here
Though we may meet again
I know it's dark outside
Don't be afraid
Everytime I ever cried from fear
Was just a mistake that I made
Wash yourself in your tears
And build your church
On the strength of your faith
Please
Listen to me
Don't let go
Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me
With your empty pillow
Promise me the sun will rise again
I too am tired now
Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep
My head is empty
My toes are warm
I am safe from harm
06 Good Morning, Captain (07:39)
"Let me in", the voice cried softly
From outside the wooden door.
Scattered remnants of the ship could be seen in the distance.
Blood stained the icy wall of the shore.
"I'm the only one left, the storm took them all."
He managed as he tried to stand.
The tears ran down his face.
"Please, it's cold"
When he woke, there was no trace of the ship
Only the dawn was left behind by the storm.
He felt the creaking of the stairs beneath him
That rose, from the sea to the door.
There was a sound at the window then.
The captain started, his breath was still.
Slowly, he turned.
From behind the edge of the windowsill
There appeared a delicate hand of a child.
His face was flush and timid.
He stared at the captain through frightened eyes.
The captain reached for something to hold on to.
"Help me", he whispered, as he rose slowly to his feet.
The boy's face went pale.
He recognized the sound.
Silently, he pulled down the shade against the shadow.
Lost in the doorstep of the empty house.
"I've been trying to find my way home.
I'm sorry, I miss you.
I miss you.
I've grown taller now.
I want the police to be notified.
I'll make it up to you.
I swear, I'll make it up to you.
I miss you."
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di zigghio
Un poema sinfonico di maestoso silenzioso terrorismo acustico.
Il canto alto di una generazione disagiata e devastata.
Di sickman
Good Morning Captain, oltre ad essere una delle cose più belle che personalmente abbia mai ascoltato, ci porta lentamente fra le nuvole per poi farci rischiantare per terra.
Le chitarre, soprattutto quella di Pajo, sono le più rivoluzionarie dalla Gioventù Sonica fino ad allora.
Di Caspasian
La bellezza non è utile ma è indispensabile. La bellezza trafigge. Devastante spietata bellezza, devastante.
Uno batte nella ricerca di noi stessi, l’altro nella perdita: "Good night, my love..."
