Yes, the 80s rock star is right: Maneskin sucks – Max Del Papa

There is a lesson that dummies should learn. Give proof of yourself first, then pose yourself. While the big business of vacuum does the opposite, it imposes mannequins, poseur who have nothing to say “and they have time left”. The philosophy of the current show is easy: take the money and disappear, grab as much as you can and enjoy the turnover, so you don’t last. The Maneskins for example. Battery creation of Manuel Agnellileader of a niche group that has never had a hit in 30 years, the son of an industrialist from Abbiategrasso from whom he inherited his business genes.

Agnelli as a rock star has always been irrelevant and he knows it, on the other hand as a manager and public relations man he always knew a lot and, between a talent and a red carpet catwalk of which no one understands the premise, he has found a way to invent these four Roman boys. But they got bored before proving something, for the very simple reason that they can’t prove anything. “Ah, but they opened for the Rolling Stones.” Who did not even know who they were, as per tradition and as candidly admitted by Keith Richards. “Ah but they did the cover with Iggy Pop”. Which would easily cover with Pacciani as well. “Ah, but they have a total of millions of followers”: here falls the donkey, or the mannequin. I was angry with myself when he wrote that they don’t even have a piecebut the truth is that the songs of the Maneskin mannequins are not songs, they are reframes of other people’s stuff, like the costumes, like the hands of the boy Damiano to dive on everything he sees moving, even if it were a cactus.

And now, punctual, the slating arrives. Authoritative. At first Steve Vai, son of Zappa, not exactly a gentleman Nobody: “Who? I’m sorry, never heard of “; closely, the Porcupine Tree, creators of a sophisticated neoprogressive that starts, in spades, from the second eighties, back to the fore with a recently released album, Closure / Continuation, not easy, not for everyone, not mandatory but certainly complex; just to say, they will leave in September for a world tour. And their words about our Mannequins sound definitive as an epitaph: “They are terrible. A shoddy copy of the past ”.

Here, it’s all here, stop and go, you don’t need more. These Maneskins don’t invent anything, they are mirrors for very young larks and, all right, they will not be the first nor the last; the point is that they do it with an unbearable lightness of being crap that if it immediately ends up on the balls of the average listener that rock chews it, let alone those who have been doing it for thirty or forty years. Then the leader of the Porcupine Tree, Steven Wilson, develops his reflections and does it as a veteran, compares Billie Eilish, another who has focused on discomfort, on biting her nails and then, all of a sudden, she came up with two bowls like this, as an influencer, to the first names, and you can do as many as you like. “Tiktok music does not belong to us”.

Because it’s not music, it’s a tiktok that hammers weak brains. It’s all there: Maneskin mannequins create nothing, invent nothing, they recycle stuff unknown to the social brats, but only to them. With a weapon that wasn’t there before, however: total control of the media. That, mind you, it worked even before, only that if you weren’t worth it, if you didn’t exist, no means of information / communication dared to invest in you; now it is the opposite, the less they are worth and the more the bubble uses money, means: it is no coincidence that after his statements, Wilson was bitten, in tones between the childish and the trivial, by practically all the newspapers. And you see us there longa manus industry, which pays, which buys pages and “reviewers”, come on, let’s not fool ourselves, because we all know the game.

There is a terror, that the toy will break before having yielded everything possible: in the case of our Mannequins, the dramatic split is expected shortly, the diver Damiano who continues alone and then will end up like Tommaso Paradiso. Or Achille Lauro, another surrogate already evaporating.
But the journalists and lackeys of the sound industry can bark as much as they want, and the four “terrible” substitutes, in a qualitative sense, can fidget, dive, pose, pump, genderize themselves as much as they want: with nothing you do nothing and the parable is drawn.

It turns out that, in a while, there will be more talk of the girlfriend than the one who is engaged to the girlfriend of the Maneskin, the total apprentice who goes to the restaurant in a bra and bushy armpits as a sign of rebellion and protection of the females. One who gnagnera on himself every ten seconds and controversially declares of himself: “I am a radical slut”. You know the news, you know what a scandal. These little guys are unbearable, they have the arrogance of skip the line that are worth nothing, they have nothing to offer. They know it too. They are remote-controlled meteors, upon expiration, in their own way pathetic. They are terrible.

Max Del Papa, 6 July 2022

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Yes, the 80s rock star is right: Maneskin sucks – Max Del Papa


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