Last Thursday, in the company of
DrBrunvand , blissfully watched the performance of Mr. Roman. Ridgway.
Few people in the room, but the good (the white heads were supernumerary and according to my theory, never too popular with those who know me, the goodness of a concert is increasing as a function directly proportional to the number of white heads that will be present) and the old sacred monster who carves the night with his warm voice and expertly paced.
Introduction and background are my specialty but I tend always to move away from the heart of the matter: I come to the point.
A guy credited with excellent references dall'onniscente dr.Brunvand, discussing more of what's not, with a typical Milanese accent comes out with: "...... bheee, perchèeeee know, I come in March at the Slint Bolognaaaaa ....". OH PORCOCAZZO. THE DREAM CONCERT FOR LIFE, a flash of light LASTED two albums and then vanished into oblivion, those words barely mumbled is dominated by waves of feedback, BURNED THE POST ROCK ICON. The Slint.
And it's true. I was aware of the reunion, I knew that tickets for the ATP in February were fucked up for months, thrill to the idea to play the fool and go to London but who had expected that this Milanese with controcazzi would be able to conveniently travel comfortably on a silver platter?
and names as well as the surnames are heavy: Dave Pajo, Ethan Buckler and Brian McMahon, micacazzi.
As is now clear that Pink Floyd will play together again on Planet Earth, the only damn concert that was left was the quartet of Louisville: I have always said that Bologna is my favorite city.
Link, Bologna, March 4: The indie rockers brullonulla has warned.
