MATERIALE PER TRE ESECUTORI E NASTRO MAGNETICO

How old are you? Tanzania! That just goes to show how many children it takes to build 4 Eiffel towers, when you're feeling like a cowboy toast on the rise.

If any of this gibberish makes sense to you, then you should probably take a closer look at Dedalus second album called Materiale Per Tre Esecutori E Nastro Magnetico, which translates into something as mundane and trivial as Material for 3 artists and magnetic tape - whatever that means. Well to take an educated guess, I think this title reflects a band that wanted to take things to the extreme, and here I am talking waaaay out there on a ledge, where only mad musicians like the David Helfgotts and surreal Amadeuses of the world venture, and then perhaps the fact that this release incorporates a fair deal of electronic meandering. -Maybe that is what the magnetic tape means? I am not so sure...

The music on offer here is totally unstructured, or else the crazy three Italians here managed to cook up the most convoluted album I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. It is like walking into a room where the music is so loud and in the middle of everything, that you struggle to make heads or tales of any of it. This is essentially free-jazz. It wobbles along like a confused renegade on acid throwing loose fragments of sound into the air - hoping for it to land on something - anything really. As a result of this, the listener, and here this term is somewhat lacking in meaning, because one really needs to be involved and fighting like one of those turtles that some people from Asia pay big bucks to see fight, - anyway, you really need to be in there with your kamikaze headbands on, swinging your uppercuts and low blows like a regular Mike Tyson of the avant guarde. This music will quite simply drop you like a bad habit, if you don't put up a fight.

It is bizarre worming snuffling electronic beats and cacophonous drumming where cello, piano, Fender piano, accordion, synthesizer, soprano ocarina, electric mandolin, plastubofono, bottle, tenor & soprano saxophone, guitars, harmonica, flute, Moroccan oboe and strange voices coalesce like some kind of unorthodox musical scarecrow made up of a hundred different musical tastes all crammed into one little album.

This is Allen Ginsberg's most out there ramblings put into sounds and noises. It is the soundtrack of going mad inside a carousel that runs on jet fuel. It's like listening to a jazz record from a mental asylum - only backwards, but first and foremost is it a record that only speaks to a small fraction of the adventurous music seekers, which is why I feel 2 stars is the right rating. This is bunkers in so many different ways, that you need to have sown your head on with bubblegum and stardust to fully grasp its full-blown insanity, and then it doesn't even begin to describe how much nonchalance it takes to actually appreciate the overt carelessness of the tracks. Oh yes this music takes prisoners - spits 'em out and goes on like a raving lunatic in cellophane and banana peels. I actually like listening to it when I work out, but I am not so sure what that says about me in the end... Maybe that I am mad enough to actually award it with 3 stars, because of how much unadulterated, inexplicable and unhinged enjoyment I get out of it?

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