A New Year's I played on the square in Genoa.
We were the attraction of the town: the U-BOOT 70.
After New Year's rich past with "flower" of pop singers, a sharp change of direction with their tails between their legs.
The only ones to perform for the people of a dead city and adrift, with a town with no money for the organization of events in popularity because they play the few that remained, he decided to give it to the Teatro Carlo Felice, to plug the minimally holes in its economic and joy the unbearable raddled burial Genoese bourgeoisie.
Just consider me the Teatro Carlo Felice M'IMPORTAUNASEGA.
After our good concert disc 70, climbed on paco after midnight, the radio deejay 105. Three burly
human humming the words of other people's songs, abbestia fired from a laptop.
Three human cast as clumsy discoboli, T-shirts and bandanas with the logo of their popular radio arena howling and very drunk.
We will disassemble instruments, and this tendency was observed that indefinite and boundless waving and almost committed suicide for these useless gadgets memory.
Raud, Bombs, and widgeon several barrels around.
A dressing room is not heated for musicians.
Lunch or dinner not even talking about it. But the good
Luciano, drummer and singer of the group, had already done in the afternoon to buy some good bread, wine, sausage, cheese, water and Clementine.
two children accompanied the deejay.
wobbly, thin and scoglionatamente dancing.
One of them approaches me and tells me that he was ashamed to launch T-shirts at very infamous populace, despite he guzzling a liter of red wine all by myself.
I, between the softened and disgust say, "But how ..? You have the power ..!!! Can not you see all those raised hands that call you ..? Go then, dancing, dominates ..!"
Etc. etc.. etc ...
short, a cross-section REAL belpaese our EX.
A land now (alas, God forbid ...) from which ungrateful to protect our children, migrating to other countries more civilized, more attentive to popular culture. A trap
human who struggles on a square, which gasps, she's dead but still ambulatory and screaming hoarse voice, of its culture, of their feelings, to discuss principles, summary of a sense of justice, all lined up nice and asleep.
ambulatory sleepers and even thieves.
Yes, because a young French cow, drunk and carrying pouch, removed from the head of my friend Bob Callero (bass player of the U-BOOT 70 as well as part of the history of Italian music) and his beautiful cylinder fled rocket, despite his short legs and plump.
Do you remember THE GROUP OF SHIT PP PASOLINI ..???
There is a surprise then, that a pseudoumano as the current president of the Council is in power.
Happy 2011 to everyone.
PS - Let me be clear: do not spit into the pot where I eat ... simply raised his head and look at what appears before me in the eyes.
