What a thought: from a childlike London pop genius of the first eighties, jolt and void of direction, emerged one of finer and long-lived musical talents that we have under arm, on whose perspective ability, long-sighted imagination, we can count. David Sylvian, living in that lisergic and productive infraworld that its condition of very well trained star allows, sends down here useful and constructive indications for all of us in the chaos. We sure have an apex here.

I cannot stress enough the importance of one of my personal heroes of all times, that Holger Czukay who was the first one, a thousand and a half years ago, to gladly stir rhythm rock, electronic noise and found objects sonorously laughing and joking on stage with the better kraut rock band of all times: Can.

The conspiracy of the two is celestial. It would appeal to me to speak for hours of the technological naiveté, of the constructive chaos, of the serenity in which these two most serious men have realized this delicious work, that would appeal also to the most “classicists” (we have, sometimes, to stop and speak with them). Because it is unimaginable today, given a sufficient experience and intelligence, to deny the opportunity, the dolcezza, the necessity of this sound.

It is beautiful to observe a sonorous object twenty years after its realization, beautiful to realize that our enjoyment then was only partial and that we are now in a position to better enjoying new nuances, details of an event that is not, thank god, lost in time. It is beautiful to find again a hope, even futile and unaware, than all the time spent to examine some edition of recorded music has not been always subtracted to worthier occupations.