BOLOGNA VIOLENTA - Oblomovismo

In 1859 the Russian writer Ivan Alexandrovich Goncharov published the novel "Oblomov", long regarded as one of the great masterpieces of Russian and European literature. The main trait of the protagonist Oblomov, from which the term oblomovism derives, is inertia: the perpetual postponement of any action, an absolute lack of will (in the novel's first hundred pages he never manages to find the strength to get up, always finding an excuse to put it off). This happens partly out of idleness, but probably above all because the questions Oblomov asks himself during his endless days spent sleeping on the sofa never find an answer. In a life made up of one long unchanging sequence of actions, the question "When does one start living?" never gets a proper answer.

If oblomovism was a metaphor for the inertia of the wealthy nineteenth-century Russian bourgeoisie, later swept away by revolution, Nicola Manzan – now at the seventh album of his project Bologna Violenta – updates Goncharov's ideas to the present day, comparing Oblomov's years spent on the sofa to our own time spent on our phones, a sort of imaginary sofa that drains our energy. The Oblomov of the 2000s vents his rage behind a screen, metaphorically shouting on social media, yet remaining stuck in the very same inertia as Oblomov, unable to imagine any possibility of changing society, as if on an immense sofa that follows him through every moment of the day.

The sixteen short cybergrind tracks are nothing new for Manzan (aside from the partial detour of "Bancarotta morale"), and they churn a huge chunk of social-media pop culture into one big cauldron – culture that feels modern today but will likely seem anachronistic before long (perhaps within months). Irony is never in short supply, as in the brilliant title "Il vitello d'oro", which samples the recording of a woman screaming in the street that went viral on social media, or in the fake ads of "Multiscolor", or in the operatic-vocal frenzies reminiscent of Igorrr on "Fiabe francesi" and "Sofia".

The opening title track, however, hinted at different sounds, with a slow rhythm and guitar chords almost in the style of Swans. Irony intersects with racial issues on "Uomini sottosviluppati" or "L'amuleto", fake recordings that seem to belong to an era far removed from our own, but which are probably closer to us than we might imagine. "Wanna Be Satan", released ten years ago as a single and "sung" by Wanna Marchi, feels almost frightening today in its foresight.

Towards the end of the record, "Bestia uccide a sangue film" is the moment of greatest poetry. Music like a 1960s soundtrack for a fake film of the era, which, after the guitar comes in, arrives second by second at words that strike like stones, making it clear (with utterly current relevance) that "no one has the right to be happy alone" and that "we are the real lepers".

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13/06/2026