Ho gettato mio figlio da una rupe perché non somigliava a Fabrizio Corona (Claudio Milano & Coucou Sélavy)

Ho gettato mio figlio da una rupe
perché non somigliava a Fabrizio Corona
era tutto troppo, ma non era mai abbastanza,
non sapeva raccontarsi, solo esibirsi,
non sapeva stare al mondo, quando vivere è sbancare
e poi era didascalico.

Solo i bambini, lo guardavano stupiti
ma quando capivan che non era perfetto
tornavan ai loro demoni
Solo i bambini, lo guardavano rapiti
e se cedeva alla stanchezza, seri,
dicevan “TU, non esisti”

Camminare davanti per farsi seguire, doveva, doveva.
Piangeva... davanti alla bellezza... piangeva,
ma non se ne appropriava.
Credeva in tante cose senza farne propaganda,
a che serviva? A chi è servito?
Era quello che era, quello che voleva esser,
ma mai ciò che si chiedeva

non conosceva LA realtà
non conosceva LA realtà
non conosceva LA realtà
non conosceva LA LA LA
LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA
LA LA LA LA LA (là)
LA LA LA LA LA (là)
LA LA LA LA

Solo i bambini, lo guardavano stupiti
ma quando capivan che non era perfetto
tornavan ai loro demoni
Solo i bambini, lo guardavano rapiti
e se cedeva alla stanchezza, seri,
dicevan “TU, non esisti”

Ho gettato mio figlio da una rupe, o forse è caduto,
di certo io ne avevo voglia...

Cento vite
cento morti
cento resurrezioni mi hai dato.

"Madre mia quali cento vite che all'inferno io voglio andar"
"Cento vite dato ti ho, all'inferno no, non si può"
I suoi fantasmi alla finestra: "E mamma mia, lassalo andà!"
"Vai pure, figlio ingrato, tanto nulla succederà..."
Quando furono in alto mare il bastimento non sprofondò
"Oh Caronte traghettatore il mio figlio non puoi pigliar!"
Il mio sangue è rosso e fino: i pesci del mare non lo berran
La mia carne è già corrosa: la balena non la vorrà
La mia carne è troppo pura: la balena non la vorrà
Il consiglio della madre era pura verità
Mentre quello dei fantasmi resta quello che m'ha fregat'
“Cento vite dato ti ho... tramortirle so' cazzi tuoie!”

Il coro dei critici all’ultima sponda del commiato:

(quotes from Prograchives.com – reviews to the album “Ukiyoe – Mondi Fluttuanti” by Mellotron Storm, VOTOMS, Albebaran Well, Kazza3, tmay102436, LearsFool, zravkapt, ammiraArt, tszirmay, GuldbaPP-pusy, siLLy 4, Windhawk – ready made letterario di Coucou Sélavy):

“A tapestry of chaos!
Or an "Opera for the 21st. century schizoid human being...
If by chance they encounter a good musical idea, no matter how small. they will stop and smell the flowers that come along the way”

“The Antichrist of Italian Prog”

“The vocal range of Celine Dion but the creative display of Mike Patton, the accompanying vocalists seem to dance together in the sonic dance floor and the instrumentation can create the most pleasant and addictive melodies or act as the musical equivalent of a tsunami crashing against the shores sweeping all life and structures out to sea.
You can either choose to merely skim the shallow shores and only get your feet wet or if you are brave enough you can plunge into the deepest recesses of the the oceanic trenches where only bio-illuminating creatures break the cold abysmal monotony. A sort of liquid conscious response to its fluidity and rhythmic drifting hither and tither like a jellyfish at the mercy of the tides … murky as the turbulent ocean and as placid as an alpine lake.”

“Wails and shouts, abrasive sprechstimme and guttural drones, hurried gestures and sharp breaths, lullabies, madrigals, folk or gondolier songs, and so on...”

“A series of disturbing lullabies handed over to you by a vocal sorcerer of the wind...or maybe this is neoclassical folk music with a romantic yodeller floating elegantly overhead? Like a small gig in a beautiful shrubbery with harp and violin players dangling from the trees. Some electronics, carefully placed usage of dissonance, folk music that isn't folk, classical music that isn't classical, bongos, the sound of seagulls, the odd drone and...wait for it...a boat! We have to be willing to taste a bit of something new before we proceed to knock it... I hated olives growing up. They tasted like an unwashed bellybutton or wet lycra socks, that is until I overcame my fears and tasted them again at 29. My girlfriend at the time were lying in bed with me - obviously more interested in munching on something indefinable from beneath the bed than watching The Shining with your's truly. She then kissed me softly, but instead of enjoyment and the subsequent hand down her trousers, I was repelled by the smell coming off her breath. WTF had she been eating!?!?!?!!! Yup, turns out it was olives. Irritated by this pseudo Greek lying next to me and the fact that I had to stay with her for the remainder of the night, I decided to take the plunge... 'Hand over one of those bad boys baby'...and wow am I glad I did! Not only did I overcome my fear of olives - I additionally got into her panties.”

“While listening to the album I thought of retarded children in a haunted submarine-hospital driven by an ethereal moanin' friendly jellyfish secretly carrying evil intentions”

“The state of flowing, in mind-body-spirit, as Plato would say, the realization of life and of the world as a constantly moving organism that one cannot grasp, imprison or entirely comprehend, a mystical entity of its own. The music delivers the same ''liquidness'', it always slips your fingers the exact moment you think you caught it”

“Imagine a puzzle that is consisted of thousands of tiny pieces that form a wonderful, colorful but somehow abstract and blurred picture, one that you are not so sure about what it shows. Now, try to imagine that this picture is moving, that there is motion in this puzzle and that every time you're looking at it, it seems different, as if dimensions, angles and colours dance in a mysterious movement. Finally, transfer this impression from the realm of sight to the realm of hearing, transform vision into sound. The voyage of a ship on top of a maelstrom, an odyssey within waters. One begins from a cool mountain spring, becomes river and waterfall, meets the vastness of the ocean, dissolving into the depths or swimming close to the sunny surface, turning into waves and finally mud.”

“Myself, sitting in a recliner, middle of the night, lights off, headphones on, and just "letting it take me" to where this quality of music can travel. Sometimes scary, sometimes dreamy, immersing you into Claudio Milano's "Nichelodeon" world of art.”

“Exceptions! Exceptions to the conformism of modern society and its abusive Ministry of entertainment that has always sought to shovel the same pre-fabricated pop/sonic manure on millions of ovine obedience adherents...
I experienced a live concert in Budapest, an odd 2 part presentation of Richard Strauss, followed by Bela Bartok. The Viennese classic piece was enjoyable in that everyone in the house recognized it as a familiar if not famous section from the opera Don Juan but was literally blown off the stage by Bartok's excitingly dissonant string quartets, with so much angst and Kafka-esque anguish that the whole audience was perspiring heavily, even the buzzing solitary fly landed for a breather! Visceral, personal and yet deeply emotional.
Here the same impression of distance, of oblivion, of escape and of adventure that affects and infects each listener in distinctly different ways, the polar opposite of pop music.
The voice swoons into a cauldron of sizzling electronics, colliding dissonance with praetorian beats, lilting piano rivulets, minimalist convictions in a psychotic universe, the leather pigeons in the piazza wondering who will feed them next, the martinets losing their control over the airwaves, the hustle and bustle of the night denizens gulping down a final Amaro, before seducing their pillow. The osso buco was really quite divine, signorina! The never tardy train rolls into Termini station, disgorging the coastal sailor seagulls searching for the nearest fish monger, psychopath urgencies whispering sweet everythings into the night lady's ear, alternating collapse and distant erection and finally drowning in their own liquescent fears. Oceans bubble, flying bulbous eyed fish leap into the saline sky, blustery clouds and gale force winds, all compressed into the tiniest velvet-rimmed box. Mephisto seduces, lying through his bloodstained teeth, laughing and bellowing at the innocents, the 'pazzi ragazzi' who only care about their next sensational fix, Morse code to the submariners scouring the abyss. An oceanic empire of ghostly gods, Neptune sitting on a reef, blowing a blowfish with his blowtorch while the Greek Poseidon is counting his deutschmarks (I know, its euros!), while Volturnus, Salacia, Juturna and Fontus play floating plastic cards on the back of some giant tortoise. The accordion leaks, the moray eels coughing up phlegm, the violin scales filleting the sordid sturgeon, emptying its filth onto the Via Appia.
Challenging musical adventure that is so off the charts, clearly the antithesis of pop culture, a delirious soundtrack to spook your unfriendly, square Lady Gaga-loving neighbors and the ideal background music for a naval academy diploma celebration. Like the Pope recently stated in his Argentine-tinged Italian, "In Questo cazzo"!”