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Chi ha seguito le gesta ciclistiche all'inizio degli anni 90, ricorderà certamente il broncio malinconico e strafottente di Gianni Bugno. Uno degli astri più abbaglianti, completi e discontinui nella storia recente delle due ruote. Uno che quando la strada si impennava sotto le ruote "pedalava sul velluto", per dirla col compianto De Zan: vincitore due volte nella montagna di Coppi, l'Alpe d'Huez (come solo Pantani e Armstrong dopo di lui) ma che in altri tapponi riusciva ad arrivare al traguardo con Cipollini e gli altri velocisti. Uno che vinceva a mani basse mondiali e grandi classiche in volata, permettendosi il lusso ( e il rischio) di esultare a 5 metri dal traguardo nonostante i suoi avversari fossero serpenti come Indurain, Jalabert o Museeuw, ma che altre corse le ha perse contro peones quali Jaermann o Gianetti. Un eroe romantico fondamentalmente, un Ettore che ebbe la sfortuna di incrociare le lame con l'imbattibile Achille delle corse a tappe, Miguel Indurain. Il Navarro imperscrutabile, una maschera enigmatica nascosta sotto il cappellino bianco Banesto e gli occhiali scuri da hidalgo, che in salita attaccava una cordicella invisibile alla ruota di Gianni, per poi bastonarlo inesorabilmente a cronometro e concedere finalmente un sorriso, avvolto in giallo, sui Campi Elisi.
Per chi ama fare paralleli tra musica e sport, non si può non paragonare Bugno a Paul Westerberg. Li accomuna la medesima faccia da schiaffi, il talento squillante (la facilità di pedalata e la postura in sella di Gianni trovano contraltare nel virtuosismo melodico del leader dei Replacements), la sregolatezza con cui hanno gestito il proprio estro (Gianni sovente scellerato nel leggere la corsa, Paul autore di una carriera solista non all'altezza del proprio palmares) e soprattutto una congiuntura temporale sfavorevole per entrambi. Per Bugno parla la nemesi navarra, per Westerberg l'essere oscurato da Stipe e Mould, arrivando oltretutto in anticipo all'appuntamento con l'esplosione dell'indie rock, non riuscendo a salire sul bus di "Nevermind" dato che il suo talento si era ormai dissanguato.
"Pleased to meet me" è tra i trofei più preziosi nella bacheca di Paul Westerberg. L'album realizzato da factotum dopo la cacciata di Bob Stinson, il tassello finale in cui la strada tracciata da "Hootenanny", "Let it Be" e "Tim", sfocia nel mosaico di un post-punk adulto, classico e maggiormente confidente con una scrittura fluida e personale, come i coevi album major dei cugini Hüsker Dü. Siamo così di fronte a un eclettico muro del suono del power-pop, undici schegge cangianti di spleen adolescenziale, autentica miniera d'oro per una generazione di alternative rockers nel decennio successivo. La perdita delle ustioni stinsoniane alla sei corde è mitigata dalla produzione di Jim Dickinson, già dietro la consolle coi Big Star: il nativo di Memphis dilata il tessuto sonoro dei Mats, arricchendolo con soluzioni quali tastiere o sax ( fino a lambire il jazz in "Nightime Jilters" ) che arricchiscono il canzoniere di un Westerberg in stato di grazia, senza perdere in tensione e credibilità.
E che la band di "Third/Sister Lovers" sia l'eminenza grigia dei Mats versione 1987 lo si evince del resto dalle irresistibili armonie di "Alex Chilton": omaggio a Sua Maestà del power pop, la cui ombra si estende pure nel pastiche r&b di "I Don't Know" e in quella "Can't Hardly Wait" (occhio ai fiati!) in cui è ospite proprio l'autore di "Thirteen". Per non parlare di "Valentine", rallegrata dal calore bianco di un organetto delizioso e da un Westerberg mai così sensuale ( Evan Dando avrà prestato parecchi ascolti). I Replacements più tradizionali affiorano nei riff stonesiani, al curaro, dell'iniziale "I.O.U.", nel prepotente nitore di "Never Mind" e nei consueti assalti da teppistelli: "Red Red Wine" e l'aspra "Shooting Dirty Pool", gli unici in cui la contumacia di Bob si faccia invero sentire.
E poi due diamanti lucenti nel canzoniere dell'ormai ex kid del Minnesota. "The Ledge", asfissiante anticipazione dei marosi esistenziali anni 90. Le chitarre secche come colpi di frusta, la sezione ritmica martellante e ipnotica, e un Westerberg a fil di gola nell'affrescare uno spaccato di teenage angst affilato come un filmato di Gus Van Sant. E la morbida e fatalista ballata jingle-jangle "Skyway", ideale conclusione della triade "Byrds vs Velvet Underground" aperta dalle "Sixteen Blue" e "Unsatisfied" nel capolavoro "Let it be". Ma allora c'era ancora Stinson ad affrescarne le forme con oscuri e disperati presagii. Qui Paul è solo - giusto un filo di mellotron aggiunto da Dickinson fluttua come vibrazione celestiale - oltre la cupa skyline di Minneapolis, dove "It don't move at all like a subway/ It's got bums when its cold like any other place/It's warm up inside".
In fuga verso la vetta, come Gianni Bugno.
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 I.O.U. (02:59)
Get me out of this little stinkin' fresh air
Ninety days in the electric chair
Step right up son
Gonna show you something ain't never been done
You're all fucked
Listen, it don't cost much
I lay down the line that you touch
Never do what you're told
There'll be time, believe me, when you're old
You're all wrong and I'm right
Please be on your honor
Please be on your side
(Back in here)
Listen to the story all right
I'm losing all I own on that dotted line
Step right up son
Gonna show you something ain't never been done
You're all wrong and I'm right
You see I want it in writing, I owe you nothing
I want it in writing, I owe you nothing
I want it in writing
02 Alex Chilton (03:15)
If he was from Venus, would he feed us with a spoon?
If he was from Mars, wouldn't that be cool?
Standing right on campus, would he stamp us in a file?
Hangin' down in Memphis all the while.
Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
Cerebral rape and pillage in a village of his choice.
Invisible man who can sing in a visible voice.
Feeling like a hundred bucks, exchanging good lucks face to face.
Checkin' his stash by the trash at St. Mark's place.
Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
I never travel far without a little Big Star
Runnin' 'round the house, Mickey Mouse and the Tarot cards.
Falling asleep with a flop-pop video on.
If he was from Venus, would he meet us on the moon?
If he died in Memphis, then that'd be cool, babe
Children by the million wait for Alex Chilton when he come around
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song.
I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song.
03 I Don't Know (03:22)
Do we give it up? (I don't know)
Should we give it hell? (I don't know)
Are you makin' a fortune? (I don't know)
Or don't you wanna tell? (I don't know)
Should we give it up? (I don't know)
Or hang around some more? (I don't know)
Should we buy some beer? (I don't know)
Can I use your hairspray?
One foot in the door, the other foot in the gutter
The sweet smell that you adore, yeah I think I'd rather smother.
Should we top it off? (I don't know)
It's startin' to smoke.* (I don't know)
Who's behind the board? (I don't know)
They tell me he's a dope. (I don't know)
What the fuck you sayin'? (I don't know)
Our lawyer's on the phone. (I don't know)
How much are you in for? (I don't know)
What did we do now?
One foot in the door, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that they adore, I think I'd rather smother
One foot in the door, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that they adore, well I think I'd rather smother
(4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12)
Are you guys still around? (I don't know)
Whatcha gonna do with your lives? (Nothin'!)
One foot in the *fuckup*, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that you adore, hey I think I'd rather smother
One foot in this door, the other one in the gutter
The sweet smell that they adore, oh I think I'd rather smother
04 Nightclub Jitters (02:45)
Nightclub jitters, I take a drink before I hit the town
Night life critters scurry to that sultry, smoky sound
Hurry now the sun is goin' down
To the nightclub jitters, only thing that scares me is the dark
The night life critters: "What's the cover? Where should we park?"
Stay at home just once for a lark.
They say "Now don't be a stranger."
It really don't matter to me
I'd be willing to wager
That it don't matter much if we keep in touch
Nightclub jitters, I take a drink before I hit the town
Night life critters, they scurry to that sultry smoky sound
Oh hurry now the sun is goin' down
They say "Now don't be a stranger."
Hell, it really don't matter to me
I'd be willing to wager
That it don't matter much if we keep in touch
Don't matter much because I got a touch
In the nightclub
In the nightclub
05 The Ledge (04:07)
THE LEDGE (4:04)
All eyes look up to me
High above the filthy streets
Heed no bullhorn when it calls
Watch me fly and die, watch me fall
I'm the boy they can't ignore,
For the first time in my life, I'm sure
All the love sent up high to pledge
Won't reach the ledge
Wind blows cold from the west
I smell coffee, I smell doughnuts for the press
A girl that I knew once years ago
Is tryin' to be reached on the phone
I'm the boy she can't ignore
For the first time in my life, I'm sure
All the love sent up high to pledge...
(Repeat)
Priest kneels silent, all is still
Policeman reaches from the sill
Watch him try, watch him try his best
There'll be no medal pinned to his chest
I'm the boy they couldn't ignore
For the first time in my life, I'm sure
(Repeat)
I'm the boy for the last time in my life
All the love that they pledge
For the last time will not reach the ledge
***
08 Shooting Dirty Pool (02:23)
Rock 'n roll loudmouth, shoot 'em off black
Stroke another one now, right behind my back
Do us all a favor, get yourself a spine
Everybody's chokin' on the grapevine
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
I heard it on the airwaves, I've seen it in my glass
Get your money on the table, get your head out of your ass
You're the coolest guy that I ever have smelt
I ain't a notch on nobody's belt
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Why don't you get a haircut, sister?
That's it!
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
Shootin' dirty pool, spewin' dirty lies
09 Red Red Wine (03:01)
A bottle of Chablis, hey now, that ain't no stuff for me
Chateau Timberley, as long as I can't see
Gallo or Muscatel, either one would be just swell
I didn't come here to fight, hey just as long as that ain't white
Now I ain't no connoiseur cat - the conno-sewer/kinda sewer rat
Red red wine on Sunday
Always tastes so good
Red red wine
Red red wine
Red red wine if you would
Hey now as long as it is red, oh set 'em up until we're dead
A Saturday sippin' beer is just a jug without a year
Now I ain't no connoiseur cat, I think you guessed that
Red red wine on Sunday
Just like Martin said
Red red wine
Red red wine
Set us up 'till we're dead
I ain't no connoiseur cat, conno-sewer rat
... on Sunday
Just like Martin said
Red red wine
Red red wine
Set us up 'till we're dead
10 Skyway (02:06)
You take the skyway, high above the busy little one-way
In my stupid hat and gloves, at night I lie awake
Wonderin' if I'll sleep
Wonderin' if we'll meet out in the street
But you take the skyway
It don't move at all like a subway
It's got bums when it's cold like any other place
It's warm up inside
Sittin' down and waitin' for a ride
Beneath the skyway
Oh, then one day, I saw you walkin' down that little one-way
Where, the place I'd catch my ride most everyday
There wasn't a damn thing I could do or say
Up in the skyway
Skyway
Skyway (sky away)
11 Can't Hardly Wait (03:03)
I'll write you a letter tomorrow.
Tonight, I can't hold a pen.
Someone's got a stamp that I can borrow;
I promise not to blow the address again.
Lights that flash in the evening
Through a crack in the drapes--
Jesus rides beside me;
He never buys, and he smokes.
Hurry up, hurry up,
Ain't you had enough of this stuff?
Ashtray floors, dirty clothes and filthy jokes.
See you're high and lonesome,
Try and try and try.
Lights that flash in the evening
Through a hole in the drapes--
I'll be home when I'm sleeping;
I can't hardly wait.
I can't wait, hardly wait. (5x)
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