In the first album by Bandit There is talk of adolescence, a provincial adolescence that winds through the buildings, scooters, schools that become prisons, prisons that become supermarkets and supermarkets that become discos. In the first album we are catapulted into an urban universe simultaneously futuristic and nostalgic, where the buildings stand out and change as we listen to the stories of relationships and situations that all of us children of the 90s have experienced: we are catapulted into a stroboscopic sphere that at each rotation becomes more bright, iridescent, ironic, politically incorrect, larger, and more magnificent, A supernova of universal existential judgment becoming a black hole that puts us in the condition of laughing and ashamed of ourselves. The second album is always the most difficult but Bandit in this case makes it, reconnecting to the semantic air of nostalgia already present in his first work, transfiguring it to a more adult age and adding a abundant pinch of anger and some tiny grains of hope: an age in which the working world has disappointed us, an age in which the teenage raids we still remember to make them, an age in which we changed and we continue to change in the most formed people but not yet satisfied because of a society that does not represent us: the phrase echoes us “At 20 you are really stupid ” Because we are in an age, the 30 years, in which the illusions have faded or are dyeing of so delicate and sad pastel colors. Bandit's second album is the echo of a generation, always the one born in the 90s, which still fights to have a working and life condition other than the legalized slavery perpetuated by previous generations: the work done on our generation was exactly the one done for the plastic packs of the Mulino Bianco sacks. We have been told that we would have been who we wanted, to pursue our passions also in the world of work, that we could have shone and not to work as employees or workers for life and that we would have been beautiful, soft and rich in filling. We then opened the package: the sack is deflated, soft and rubbery with a tiny jam pepper inside. The world of work is a lager full of underpaid VAT games with an unsustainable cost of living for anyone and a series of geriatric monsters unable to leave space and have the sacrosanct intelligence to crevine. We are disillusioned and dissatisfied but we continue to fight and dream to make sure that our pastel colors picture can still have bright details.
Gray It was born as a story of a sweet and sour love (perhaps) at a distance for work reasons. Milan, work metaphor, makes people gray, like the long shadow of a deception that sucks everyone's soul. In a passage of shades Bandit slaps us violently by dragging our corpse (and that of his beloved) from Milan to the bottom of the sea, making us magically a marine star and observes and encourages us while we go back live red, we dance in the waves and we remember we have forgotten a lot of things and not to be able to live as before. Gray is the first track, the trace of awareness.
Love rally The second track is the trace of the rebellion towards a working power that takes more and more slaves and with less and less time for us and for our lives: “Sparami on one foot, let us pretend to be sick, we remain in bed and we desert together” says Bandit and perhaps this is the only alternative that we can really consider, a bit like children who grew up that pretend to have the colic not to go to school.
Dormitory With the third track you enter the author's delusional mind. In a grotesque dialogue between itself in the middle of the rebellion, anarchist, while he screams desperately in a megaphone towards a overwhelming power and a society that does not reflect him that oppresses him, and a fascist conservative himself but with apparently calm homosexual tendencies but which then also explodes in a scream of disapproval towards an increasingly fluid society, Bandit teaches us and guides us within the contradictions of our beauty. Weigh by reiterating us, if someone is still not clear, that there is no longer one right and a left but only an agglomeration of systems aimed at oppressing the individual. In a predator and contradictory state there is no longer a differentiation valued nor less than a political part to be taken: you only have to try to be afloat desperately without getting fugitive to blood with the sand.
Dreams Perhaps my favorite track, the album breaks in two, perfectly explains the dreams of our generation of thirty -year -olds in search of something ideal idyllic in order to escape from a working and rutary life that kills us every minute. They are our dreams that simultaneously sink us, make our existence collapse under a Slavine that drags away the last greed of time and dignity but that simultaneously lead us to find more or less creative solutions: “The dreams that fill the bags under our eyes, which make us heavy eyelids not like our light and carefree wallets […] I swear to you that this is the last chance I give to the world before doing a robbery […] Or we will go with the return carers on an Iveco six months a year in Romania “musically the track reminiscent of a carrion, a ninnannena with a tripled rhythm of waltz that the left -wing left -wing can sing to the children who cannot afford.
Nostalgia & the parka These two songs must be taken in pairs and both sineddochi are in their way: Bandit transports us to a more carefree signifier (but which immediately becomes bitter in the meaning) with Nostalgiatribute to Glory of Tozzi and those relationships of the thirty years in which you find yourself, but in which perhaps you would really like to avoid finding yourself. Gloria is a girl but also the cry of liberation in a world that everyone takes a little more conformist, however, thinking of being out of the choir: it seems that to be intellectual you have to be so uninformed that it sucks those who are really intellectual and certainly does not need to flaunt him. But is it the system he has traced us into a trap and we like alloccies do not fall there or is it precisely the system itself that has transformed us all into alletted? The intellectual outside the choir transfigures into a conformist and paradoxically the conformist becomes a rare pearl for his blocked authenticity. Compared to Gloria, then, much better Jessica who in her ignorance is authentic and unarmed, like the beauty of the most lucid and transparent intelligence now very rare. More rare than a diamond, more delicate than a Java rhinos. With Parkaclear tribute to Guccini and his Eskimo (no longer innocent but indecent), Bandit transfigures a symbol and makes the absence the trick also here to talk about something else: here Bandit speaks to us about the progressive fall of youth ideals due to a society that suddenly suddenly. By making the bike again, with the wind in the hair and next to an old friend sometimes, however, you can at least remember them, those ideals.
Zarathustra Last trace, closing of the album: perhaps one day we will have the good fortune to be nobody for a day, to have some peace and silence in our ephemeral existence. In a society that wants to us most connected, richer, more performing, less intelligent, more intelligent, less idealist, more idealistic, with more time and less time, it takes everything, nothing, assholes and drunks, radical and fascists, rich and without money, Negroes, Jews, Communists. The system takes it as Bowie, everything and the opposite of everything but without his personality and his disruptive. Understanding the eternal struggle between good and evil, between right and wrong, between what we want and what we detest is not banal and Bandit, a little in the guise of the prophet Zarathustra, try here to explain it as well as trying to explain to us the intrinsic diversity of humans. So what is the only solution to all the existential and corporate tragedy that Bandit launched us for 40 minutes? There are two solutions, perhaps three: ironic poetry, love for someone, changing point of view. With very powerful Sinth the journey ends, making us awaken from a agitated but wonderful sleep.
Daniel D`Amico for SANREMO.FM
