Archaeopteryx was the work of Gianluca Lerici a.k.a. Professor Bad Trip together with ‘Benzo’ Renzo Daveti (both from La Spezia; between Genua & Pisa). Gianluca sang in the band ‘Holocaust’ (1980-82; later in ‘Azione Aliena’), Renzo was the vocalist of ‘Fallout‘.
From the www: >>Gianluca became internationally known for his designs and art for T-shirts, playing in punk bands and making contributions to alternative manifestos and magazines all over Italy and abroad. His innovative psychedelic work has been featured in several exhibitions and publications. His drawings have appeared in Primo Carnera, Stampa Alternativa, Shake, Comicland and Bizarre. […] One of his best known comics is his adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ Naked Lunch (Il Pasto Nudo, Shake Edizioni, 1992). […] Gianluca Lerici died from a cardiac arrest in November 2006 at the age of 43.
Renzo Daveti lived through and strongly contributed to the La Spezia underground of the 1980s, […] the years of Kronstadt [CSA, Centro Sociale Autogestito; “self-managed social centre”], La Spezia’s first social centre, which arose in 1987 with the occupation of the Vignale school […] He was an agitator of La Spezia’s music and art scene since ’78, a painter, graphic designer, mail-artist, creator of fanzines, organiser of exhibitions and festivals, poet, performer, DJ, etc.<<
The first issue got out in 1980-1. The 5th (1983-84) is downloadable from the internet. A native speaker, Barbara ‘PD’, summarised the content:
In the introduction it is explained why it took so long to come out with a new issue. It seems that many of the original editors lost interest in the zine and its anarcho-punk contents, so that issue 4 was supposed to be the last one. But some other editors decided to create a new issue, having received a great number of letters and other material. It was a time when punk self-productions were growing considerably. The zine takes a stand against all forms of power and in favour of the dissemination of anarchy and freedom…
HOKA HEY is an article about indigenous people of North America, their history and current situation in the “reservations” set up by the U.S. government. THE DAY THE COUNTRY DIED (‘Subhumans’): lyrics translated in Italian. TRA LUCE E ARIA… CANCRO (“between light and air… cancer”) is about pollution brought about in the city of La Spezia by Enel (national energy-company), also responsible for all sorts of dirty profit-making activities. BULLSHIT DETECTOR TWO, the Crass recs compilation double-LP (1982) – Italian translation of the presentation to be found in the album and of some of the tracks. CARNE SIGNIFICA ASSASSINO (“meat means murder”): an article describing the activity of a butcher cutting up a rabbit, after a customer asked for half a rabbit; the impression you get from reading is quite shocking and rightly so! An interview with ‘M.D.C.’ (in Italian), where they talk about Millions Of Dead Cops, the struggle in El Salvador and, interestingly, their opposition to ‘Crass’ “pacifist organisation”: ‘M.D.C.’ states they are against all forms of political organisation. They also mention their next album, Millions Of Death Children. (translation of ‘M.D.C.’ songs. Reviews of punk ZINES, mainly from the U.K. NASTRI (“tapes”) is about English alternative labels that deal with tapes only. ‘KRONDSTADT UPRISING’: Italian translation of their songs. ANATEMI! (“anathema”): a collection of texts sent to the editors by individuals and bands [‘Fallout’, ‘Impact’, …]. AGGREGAZIONE, SPUNTO DI AZIONE! (“aggregation, starting point for action”): review [by ‘Punkrazio’ Andrea Menichini] of punk-bands from the Friuli-Venezia Giulia region, that experiment with visuals/sounds and combine music with issues such as vivisection, famine, the invasion of information-technology. REFRATTARI (resisters/deserters) is a fierce criticism of La Spezia, one of the sites of the Italian navy and a heavily polluted city. ‘R.A.F. PUNK’ [Bologna]: an introduction by the band, followed by their lyrics. Lyrics of ‘KOLLETIVO’ [???]. MANGIA MERDA! (“eat shit!”): an article against politicians of that time. UNA DIRETTA DAL VIRUS DI MILANO (“live from Virus in Milan”): a report of an action carried out by the punks of Virus [social centre and venue, active 1982-87] against a conference entitled Le Bande Spettacolari Giovanili (“youth’s spectacular bands”), promoted by an institution dealing with “youth’s deviant behaviour” [read: La Notte Dell’Anarchia]. The punks disrupted the press-conference called by the conference’s promoters and occupied a theatre, organising a day and night of projections/debate/concerts. The conference didn’t take place. SCHIZOCONTATTI: a list of contacts for anyone who wants to promote libertarian and self-managed initiatives. There’s also some pages with poetry.
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‘R.A.F. Punk’ (R.A.F. = Rebel Anarchist Fraction) was an anarchist band from Bologna. The line-up was ‘Jumpy’ Gianpaolo Giorgetti (deadname) – nowadays known as ‘Jumpy’ Helena Velena (vocals), ‘Whyyot’/ ‘Whiyot’ Barbara Lolli (bass), ‘MalaTesta’ Laura Carroli (drums) & ‘Bounty Scarponacci’ Carlo Chiapparini (guitar; also ‘Anna Falkss’). Their music can be situated at the transition/intersection from 77-punk and ‘Crass’-style anarchopunk.
In ’78 ‘Jumpy’ and Laura Carroli decided to create a virtual group: ‘Rhutter Grøpp’. At the time of the transformation into ‘R.A.F. Punk’ the band was Stefano ‘Steno’ Cimato (bass), Carlo (guitar), Massimo ‘Mammo’ Poggi (guitar), Laura (drums) & ‘Jumpy’ (vocals) were in the band. When ‘Steno’ formed ‘Nabat’ he was replaced by Cristina Cavazzoni, later Beppe and after him Barbara Lolli. When the latter gave up Gabriele ‘Pedro’ Pedrini joined.
The band became very combatative/active in the 80s. Their activity went beyond music and extended to initiatives with a social impact, from leafleting to polemical protests. The nerve-centre of their actions became the Cassero, the home of the Bolognese anarchists (nowadays an LGBTQIA+ Centre). In 1982, they founded their recordlabel Attack Punk recs with the release of the compilation-EP: Schiavi Della Città Più Libera Del Mondo (“slaves of the most free city in the world”). They also did a fanzine entitled Attack Punkzine and the Cassero became the contact for the Italian scene for ‘Punkaminazione’ (a zine/newsletter for connection, communication, information, etc. put together by groups, collectives, labels in the first half of the 80s).
In 1986 the name was changed to ‘Transxxx’ but after a few concerts an internal crisis caused a split. In the meantime Carlo started with ‘CCCP Fedeli Alla Linea’, ‘Jumpy’ became Helena Velena and founded Cybercore [Company offering various video-messaging services and databases intended for different ‘sexual minorities’. “She brought transgender theory to Italy, redefining its limits in terms of the philosophy of dis-identity, studying the subject both from its positive as well as negative aspect – i.e. between living in a cyberspace and in ‘real life’. She wrote a number of books, including Dal Cybersex al Transgender, contributed to publications, writing on counter-culture, extreme music, alternative sexuality and technologies applied to the human body.”]. And Laura, among many things, did shot short movies & theatre, and opened the cultural association Vortice [project for the digitalization of subcultures].
(source: Enciclopedia del Rock Bolognese by Andrea Tinti)
From the announcement of Laura Carroli’s book – Schiavi nella città più libera del mondo; La storia dei R.A.F. Punk: “The magazines and records ‘R.A.F. Punk’ published created a community of very young resisters, aware of the disruptive force of rebel utopias. The band was armed with an iron will built on a real mission: that of shattering the ideological foundations of entertainment society and proposing new principles of equality between gender and class. […] They were four friends with fluorescent mohawks, aggressive slogans and dressed in super-sexy rags, subjected to the oppression of right-thinking people, police-repression and beatings by fascists. Concerts at the crossroads of provocative performances and insurrectional rallies capable of inflaming the brains of the kids […] Many trips to Europe aboard a beat-up car, in search of those few similar creatures with whom to share the dynamite of their ideas. A testimony full of hilarious episodes and extreme situations to be read at the same speed as a punk song, an absolutely new female point of view in the publishing panorama.”
Besides two songs on Schiavi Della Città Più Libera Del Mondo (’82), they had a track on the international P.E.A.C.E. benefit compilation (‘84). The song I Morti Di Reggio Emilia (’81) is also available online… The band was also included on compilation-tapes such as Punk United (Roberto Farano’s Disforia Tapes, ’81) & Sanitized For Your Protection (Entertainment Tapes, California, ’85).
[Translation below; with help of Raffaele Gallucci & Barbare ‘PD’]
Social death in the era of Benito Craxi [Barbara: a prominent politician, at the time also prime minister]
(When disaster looms, the slices of ham abound) [Barbara: Probably this is a metaphor: when disaster looms, people don’t want to see it. Avere gli occhi foderati di prosciutto (to have your eyes wrapped in ham) means to be blinded, to have your head in the sand.]
The January issues of various printed media; optimistic mirrors of sector-interests, began 1984 with the all too predictable editorial “Fortunately Orwell’s prophecies didn’t come true.”, removing (perhaps even consciously) – on the level of trivial logic – the fact that Orwell did not foresee that in 1984 a given situation would have arisen, but rather that in 1984 it would have in ‘full swing. As a consequence, it can be stated that the ‘prophecy’ is correct, and there was certainly no need for the New Year’s Eve party to prove it. Anyone who has been in the shit called ‘bitter reality’ lives there without the slices of ham [see previous note] knows this well. But the rest, or rather, all the others? Spiritual regression gallops alongside the atrophy of the will, and too few appear to notice it.
In the meantime they served us (twice in two months) a programme on the ‘English Youth of the 80s’, trying to show us how the protest has no longer its place in the hearts of kids, to be replaced by a harmless walk up and down King’s Road [Brob: shopping street in London where the fashion‘punks’ hang out] (even if Dave [Brob: ???] seems like a funny guy – which he is – that’s certainly not the only expression of ‘our essence’) and spending an evening at the Batcave [Brob: goth nightclub in London] being bored until four in the morning. The fact is that “they” are damn right but they CHEAT.
Even in the Jefferson [Brob: Jefferson Airplane (psychedelic rock band) ?] era, when Jimi Hendrix coalesced dissatisfaction and white/black anger, the ‘Bee Gees’ immitated those who turned their marginalization into a flag and presented themselves as a symbol of the ‘petite bourgeoisie’ who let their hair grow to keep up with the times. Even when the Edgar Broughton Band [Brob: psychedelic proto-punk rock band] was traveling around the English countryside in a dilapidated van, playing in the squares of every town, there were plenty of 18-year-olds who were loyal to the queen and disapproving that “rabble of long-haired drug-addicts” who make noise in the streets.
The crux of the discussion is that piattomarronismo (imbecility and ‘youthful’ political apathy) wasn’t created by the ‘crisis of values’, nor was the latter necessarily a result of piattomarronismo, but it has simply always existed, in different proportions, depending on the periods, but always clearly in the majority. This is because the piattomarrone isn’t the one who lives in conflict but the one who suffers, and clumsily and stumbling – given the process we’re going through now – is precisely that of an omnidirectional expansion of the conflict; the resistance-capability of the average individual as the bombing increased, determines a frightening growth of piattomarroni and piattomarronismo. And all this determines the hilarious intolerance and idiotic indifference that covers the face of those who hide in their roles of being a pain-in-the-ass compared to those who actually experience the conflict. The piattomarrone pisses himself out of fear but their unconsciousness throws him the lifesaver of “I’m laughing out loud.” and they’re never willing to admit that the situation is tragic, precisely because they hide the pain of the whip on their back; and exactly because they suffer the conflict and aren’t willing to admit that they’re amoebic, they sublimate it by sinking into the apology of the ‘opposing party’. In other eras of political hypertension (and we’re not gonna avrabble about the years ’68-‘77) this expressed itself in the rediscovery of the ‘joy of life’ and the beauty of nature, 3131 [Barbara: Chiamate Roma 3131 was a radio-show of RAI Radio 2 (1969-1995), the first attempt ever made in Italy at direct and unfiltered contact between the listener and the medium.] invited us to open the window and admire the greatness of the sun, and hid the proof that the drama of the old lady from the lower Po [Brob: river in Italy] valley was the result of a system of social relationships that were treated with the wonderful medicine of Dr. Tambroni. [Barbara: This probably refers to a character, doctor Tambroni, in a 1981 comedy, Pierino Medico della SAUB, in which the main character was interpreted by the famous Italian comedian Alvaro Vitali. No idea of what the drama of the old lady from the lower Po Valley is about…].
And from here to that naturist substrate of green meadows and skirts with flowers that managed admirably to hide the smell of teargas from the enthusiasts of the three little monkeys [Barbara: The three little monkeys representing an ancient Japanese proverb (‘see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’) that encourages avoiding involvement in negative or controversial situations.], and to create a worthy ‘fucking scapegoat’ for the former autonomists [Barbara: Autonomia Operaia (1973-79) was a movement comprising elements of the Italian extra-parliamentary and revolutionary left, opposed to the reformist left.] and/or angry feminists plunged back into the abyss of piattomarronismo. Now the atmosphere is a harder and such a scenario isn’t a sufficient antidote to clear one’s conscience, but instead we defined it as “excuse of the opposing party”. When the laceration occurs on the economic level, the spectrum of poverty haunts the city-suburbs, the future will be lay-offs and weekly allowances will not increase in accordance with the price of ice-cream in the stalls on the corner. The ‘last resort’ will be pretending that things are exactly the opposite; begging for the last pennies of happiness in the joy of consuming, begging for the last shreds of carefreeness in CONSUMERIST INTEGRATION.
Hence a swarm of screens of wealth; intended to explain that the causes of poverty can be contended (perhaps the term is too extreme) while even ignoring the result.
If the suffering occurs on a social level where the deviant isn’t the one who sells roasted chestnuts on cold winter days but the straight-haired outcast who, even just by their presence, acts as a counterbalance to the daily regimentation [Brob: extreme organisation and control of people]; their vile intolerance is expressed by ‘feeling’ or pretending to feel we’re all the same; diving into oceanic gatherings, smoothing out political, social and behavioral differences with blows of an axe, all defining themselves as pacifists, all fearful of the anti-god of the nuclear holocaust, all brothers willing to live while breathing pure carbondioxide, losing their hair due to radiation, doing all that’s necessary to nullify themselves in equality, shitting themselves in the mouth instead of swallowing sperm. In such a social reality, if the general tendency leads to the annulment of the individuality of the single person (paying homage to the psycho dictatorship, once again the excuse of the opposite party wants everything to be clear, comprehensible and easily labeled based on the simple logic: homogeneity facilitates control). What better method to avoid finding ourselves displaced and abandoned to ourselves in the face of evidence of the collapse of a society congested by its own vomit and the inert corpses of those who allowed themselves to live screwing everything and everyone, and blaming the rottenness, only when fucked back in turn, if not go with the flow and perhaps speed up the process?
Buying a Luger [Brob: a pistol] is too heroic and individualistic a gesture to be taken into consideration, therefore the piattomarrone have their lemming-mania [Brob: blindly following the crowd] in everyday life, feeding on banalities and small things, gossip, fashions, conformism and routines. Thus the intergalactic holocausts and the metaphysical disquisitions fall apart upon the observation that out of ten girls on their way to the Piazza di Porta Ravegnana [Brob: townsquare in the centre of Bologna] (under the two towers) at rush hour on any Monday, eight are wearing black stockings and the other two are of an age not suitable to conform with fashion. Certainly none of them want to look sexy and in any case they aren’t, but it’s not out of flirtatiousness nor because they have a higher stupidity-level than those who don’t follow fashion, but because this is the way of shouting to the collective unconscious “Rob my dignity but let me vegetate like this a little longer.”, without words, without strength.
In fact, the rainbow of the piattomarrone doesn’t contain any ‘heavy metal mayhem’ but perfectly reproduces the entire range of gray shades sewn onto small things, small facts, the detail, trivialities, also extending beyond belief without distinction of sexe, age, social class, geographical origin. So what? From the NEW WORLD to the reality in which we struggle with a few incoherent strokes, everything appears without solutions, too often to justify our reluctance to search. But there is a solution – and it’s fucking simple. No need to resort to suicide or to wash your feet with wine at the tavern, and continue to complain about playing the ‘trump card’. THE SOLUTION IS THERE AND IT IS THE INDIAN [Brob: ???] TO SHOW US THE WAY…
R.A.F. PUNK * band of pseudo-intellectuals, antisocial and deviant
PERSONAL COMPUTER OLIVETTI M20 – 1984: ORWELL WAS WRONG
Do you remember the story of ‘Big Brother’, who – in the year of desperation, 1984 – was supposed to spy on us all, control us, hold us in its powerful electronic coils; who knew everything and did nothing wrong? Well: it remains a fairytale: that old gentleman who hated technology and who went by the name of Orwell made a mistake in his prediction, he was unfortunately shortsighted. Certainly, one could also hypothesize that technological development, frightened by the outcomes of the whole picture, made him to take action by reversing the time-course. However, the course of history has taken the opposite direction, the new industrial revolution is that of distributed information, of small tools with great possibilities: of ‘Big Brothers’ who shrink until they become ‘personal friends’, personal computers. Here’s what Orwell’s pessimistic vision didn’t foresee: the computer for everyday use designed to solve the thousand problems that worry us; to simplify the work, to put information into place […]. In short, it’s expected that the future to which Orwell condemned us is increasingly American.
LYRICS
YOUR BIBLE
With the eye of god / religion has indoctrinated / preserved its lies / keeping fear away.
Is sacrifice essential / unnatural sin / does christianity insure against all evil / death in an afterlife?
The crucifixion as a symbol / an example for submission / how many saviours I’m seeing / dead because of religion.
The church calls its faithfuls / and the host goess from mouth to mouth / all to be saved from hell-fire.
Is religion your life / praying before going to bed / do you think it will help? or because you’re just scared?
The priets confess the christians / subjugate the masses / the cross will always be upon them / and god the tyrant will command them.
Love cannot exist in religion.
Masturbation is prohibited
you protest to go blind
this is what the catechism teaches
But if you are a HERETIC
you can say shove their cross up their ass
But if you are a HERETIC
YOU CAN SAY THIS IS THEIR BIBLE NOT YOURS
And if you are an ANARCHIST / you can say that you believe in man / and not in their untruth.
RELIGION IS JUST AN INVENTION
RELIGION IS JUST AN INSTIGATION
RELIGION, HYPOCRITICAL, DIRTY, FRUSTRATION
Is every page, every word / of your bible sacred? / This is what they taught you! / they’re the ones who command you / in the witch-hunt.
FALL OUT
SOCIAL ZOMBIES (OTHER THAN DECADENT)
11.000 doses every night / consumed only in Rome. / And how many hundreds of thousands / in every part of the planet / locking themselves up in a car / forgetting that they exist / poor people without imagination / incapable of enjoying life / THERE ARE THOSE WHO DIE AND / THERE ARE THOSE WHO LOSE THE WILL TO FIGHT / THERE ARE THOSE WHO END UP RIPPING HANDBAGS / TO BUY THEIR SOCIAL DEATH.
New York saxophonists, new-wavers / or imitators of Sid Vicious / behave in a fashionable way / teaching the charm of self-destruction / but the poor people don’t know / that a true decadent / doesn’t base their pleasures / on a single experience.
I DON’T WANT TO BE A MORALIST / I JUST FEEL INDIFFERENCE.
RECYCLED ARISTOCRACY
Social classes transparent by now / who’s the real enemy, now, / of the proletariat? / with the [???] in the left pocket / sitting in front of the café de Paris / with olives and pretzels / the pride of a social class passes. / Bourgeois aristocracy born from the French Revolution. / Great heroes of social parasitism are now turning yellow [Brob: losing leaves, aging ?] without a shot being fired / and yes Baron Lucifero [Brob: politician ?] still continues to lick the Vatican’s ass / there are even those who’ve already ended up as accountants in the office / perhaps they understood that to stay floating it’s better to go shopping at the Botteghe Oscure [Brob: medieval “dark shops” in Rome] / and perhaps marry the daughter of a bourgeois Marxist couple
NEW MIDDLE CLASS; SHITTY RECIPE.
Brob Tilt's zine-world 2 