“I’m bored / And I’m not alone“
Attend the tale of those who lived their lives in glorious stereo
Dancing like kookaburras, singing in harmony
Their skins, pink and white for a while, the fashionably morose
For they wailed, ululated and wowed until the bitter end
This is what Screaming Maldini were singing and dancing about.
A long distance after The Situationists left the mortal coil
Emerged a Gestalt of harmonies, synths, guitars, bass, drums, and trumpets
Fashionable and elegant, classy prog pop, perfect for the French Riviera.
Stylish lot, loved them all, with their picture-perfect photogenic phasing faces
Who were not long for this world.
Peace was present in the park when I first witnessed them; a solo show at Riverside was grand
But it was at The Harley that they shone the best, whether supporting Johnny Foreigner
Or dabbling into the benevolence of the album launch, so packed I could barely breathe
Who were Screaming Maldini and why did they sound so advanced? We may never know
For there’s not many to tell the tale, and that’s a sad fact.
Tramlines fitted them well, in the swish haunt that Soyo was, gone too, fishbowls and all
The interview was for larks, Wilsons and Franks, you know this, right you do
In-jokes about Bond, clothes, and oblique writing approaches
It seemed I could do more, but that was all and that was the end
But the moment was prepared for.
Songs with Jurassic Parks, better days and tremendous vocals
Even a tour to Japan, to please the hardest of crowds
All of that was there, lived, loved, and now left behind
Life lost a little bit of colour, once Maldini stopped screaming
A deafening silence, and not a brighter tomorrow, that’s fer sure.
A wave goodbye to Screaming Maldini, yes, here’s our thunderous applause
Never needed secret lairs, journalists dipped in lava, and shark shooting weapons
How we wish, still, to hear from them again
Apologies for the faulty flash fiction and grainy praise, you deserved more, of this I’m sure.
Words: Sam J. Valdés López