Elettrodomestico - ED Album Review Prose
Ed snuck up on me. Last night, I was listening to my friend's radio show Dirty Laundry with Flow J, aka Steward of the Grateful Dead House in Haight-Ashbury, aka Torchbearer of the Brotherhood of the Blaze, and also a collaborative musician involved in the overall scene package. Apparently broadcast from the top of an evergreen, which seems dangerous to me, which heightens my respect for such a show. I grew up watching Lee Majors in The Fall Guy TV series (1981).
I saw that Pietro was on as a guest! Harnessed in with a Teufelberger. Come to think of it, I'm a bit jealous because I've been trying to get Pietro on a Pod for about 8 years. I will admit that he, Jane, and I tried once, but I was embarrassingly out of practice, and I let that thing fly away like a Seagull with a mouth full of Alka-Seltzer. Plop, plopping, & fizzing, the 90s references hitting like a '20 DC glizzy on Wock, slap Like a Good Neighbor tho? I don't wanna grow up, man, so give me a break. Break me off a piece of that like a good neighbor. Seeeeyaaaa!
The beautiful artist is willing to be vulnerable, and sometimes that crashes and burns. But all that is just the work it takes to get to the juice. Some make more mistakes than others. I need to make a lot. Elettrodomestico hasn't made many, especially on the new album Ed. Favorably, that interview has long been deleted into The Abyss with a pressurized SHHHHHHHRRRRR-KOOMPH!
Speaking of Ed, Bud Brigman, played by Ed Harris in The Abyss, sacrifices himself in a pivotal scene by diving to extreme depths to defuse a nuclear bomb, and he nearly dies in the process. However, he is miraculously revived by the pink alien water morpher beings who bring him back to life, completing his arc as the film's piercing blue-eyed hero. As one settles into the tangential, vacillatory prose, Grasshopper may find peace in the now of art, the art of now, and the wadda flow of Jeffrey Lebowski. The Dude thrives in controlled and uncontrolled chaos.
Anyways, while getting hyperkinetically lost and ruminating about that failed interview attempt, I reflected a bunch on some shared energy and far-out creative collabs back during If You're A Boy or A Girl. We made videos, art photos, and mad recordings together. A vibrant era where a willing crew of freaks just kept pumping out material. With their new album out now, I decided to write a review while channeling Bret Easton Ellis as Patrick Bateman when he monologed his unnerving obsession with pop music in American Psycho. His scholarly breakdown of Genesis's discography, while delivered in the monotone precision of a sociopath, was an inspiringly hilarious take. Deeper Context: Jane, Pietro, and others volunteered their modeling prowess for a side project about a bunch of scraggly lawyers teaming up to compile an unlikely law firm of misfits and degenerate barristers. A coffee table photography book. Picture the Scene: {Cue Cindy Sherman, Diane Arbus, Lauren Greenfield} The room reeks of stale coffee, cheap cologne, hairspray, cynicism, and desperation. A den of barely functioning lawyers perched on the edge of self-destruction. With rumpled and stained suits, they shuffle through files with nicotine-stained fingers, glancing up from the top of their glasses, their desks cluttered with crushed energy drink cans, overdue invoices, whiskey flasks, and the occasional ominous-looking bottle of pills. The word 'fuck' hangs ubiquitous in the hazy, unfiltered office air. Their smiles are razor-thin, masking sociopathy that only partially conceals their laxidasical hunger for whatever scrap of power or chaos they can claw from their cases. Moreso, they just want to stay drunk. I'm barely holding it together, but I will destroy you...type of thing. Funny. A tribute to a tribute. American Legal. Not so subtle criticism of American Law. Contextual. "It's casual." Jeff Spicoli Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982) Striking imagery was captured.
A secret, much of my artwork is aging like a fine wine in the vaults. I love sitting on pure gold. I think Prince did that a lot, too. His infamous vault at Paisley Park hoards like 127 feature-length films starring Prince and maybe 68 of his unreleased albums. And 346 original paintings; sincerely yours, love, Prince. So they say. I copy Prince a lot and exaggerate a little.
Bro, get to it!
So, that Abyss scene always stuck with me. It's raw, intense, and achingly hopeful, much like Ed itself. The sound of it. This is an album that dives deep—into memory, into collaboration, into soundscapes that feel intimate and otherworldly like Jane and Pietro as the floating Abyss adjacent subaqueous elastomeric globule phantasms shimmering fire in hues of oscillating celestial Roseheim waiting to pattern new sonic life into brains like Olivier de Sagazan's Proteusian contours of the earthenware.
The surreal album cover art blends themes of domesticity, technology, and human exploration with a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, inviting the viewer to ponder the absurdity and wonder. The poetry of existence: astronauts adrift in the infinite, tethered not to stars but to a washing machine, the Earth spinning within its drum. A continuance of their nomenclature. A meditation on humanity's fragile connection to the mundane, even as we reach for the cosmos—a reminder that in our quest for meaning, we are explorers and caretakers of the beautifully absurd cycles that define us. A sibling-like hand-holding inside an inner and outer pop space. The all that is, walking us through the suffering. Floating around like the drones that now pervade the quixotic brain skies and psyches of us hopeful alien welcomers and practiced DMT doing elf greeters and jivers of the Purple Lady riding her Thrones and Ophanium. Ezekiel 1:16-18 (NIV): "Their appearance and their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel. As for their rims, they were so high that they were dreadful; and their rims were full of eyes all around." Are they angels? Yes, in the way someone loves their pets and people. "They are just...angels." Say it in a Wisconsin accent and it works well. Not literally, literarily.
While I was fixated on Flow J's consummate DJ Banter on a separate episode with a Peruvian Gnome I've done Columbian Yage' with many times, I'd noted to listen to Pietro's Dirty Laundry episode later on. First, I needed to write this as like a really long 'heeeaay' text. It has been some years.
So I turned on Ed, the second album from Elettrodomestico. Instant happy feelings. It is one of those records that compiles its own ecosystem. Really together, man. Tight and fun and serves me the nostalgia of those past times from If You're A Boy or A Girl. When during that nod to the neo-art alt-pop influences of X, Kim Deal, Blondie, Sleater-Kinney, and, of course, like, Gogos.
Memories flood: Did I mention I buried Pietro alive once? T'was for a music video prior to Elettrodomestico. His dog was pissed and smoldered daggers at me the whole time. "I'll fucking...kill you fucking weak-skinned meat sack. I have fangs, and my quick retraction Canis lupus familiaris mandible muscles have much faster twitch strength than your useless fists. I'm designed for explosive, high-intensity jaw closure and sustained hold. Fuck with me... Do it. Do it." What's up, Starsky? Ya, pissy shitzslingr, I'm burying him. It's for ART! I'll take a paw and wear it like a lucky rabbit's foot. stfu -Speaking to the track Just Like My Dog, I admit to having minor personal beef with Pietro's mut. Piercing shrieks irritate my tinnitus. No offense, Kemosabe. Kemosabe was a trite/stoned nickname I'd once given Pietro (inside my mind) when he was wearing some kind of Aztec cowboy carpet during the particular ceremonial psychedelic orbit when I accidentally turned on the yard sprinklers and drenched an entire drum circle of peaking, half-conscious, queasy, wigging spiritards. Me being one of them tards/wet fragile injurlings. Empathetically speaking, of course. Much respect. Yeah, I got the most of it. fk'n soaked my sleeping bag and all clothing. 40s° Sans back-up blanky. The thermogenesis probably acted like a stand-in for the much-needed and highly welcomed Vibratory Somatic Tremors one can experience while in such states. This natural mechanism for releasing stress is instinctively utilized by animals like elk, who, after narrowly escaping a predator's pursuit, shiver and quake in rhythmic waves, shedding the residual tension from their bodies, resetting their nervous systems, and restoring equilibrium for survival and vitality. I will take what I can get when I can get it. Serenity now, mutha fuckaaaa.
I soggied us all and only realized later that it was me who manifested this madness earlier in the day when I was attempting to help them set some nice ambiance for the upcoming expanse. Set and Setting, etc. The previously mentioned Peruvian Gnome was also present. He escaped my baptism. As the water started to hit, Pietro thought someone/I was pissing on him. Maybe the Shaman? His helper gone rogue? Is this mutiny??? ??? huh... hwhywould... I ... I can't... Is this HIM?? HE is blessing into Mine... I ... I acceptTAH! Do I? How can this... Is Bruce pretending Oracle? Is this him? Why is he...No, he is...is he laying over there and now scrambling and waking up to this devil rain as well? I know HE did this. Is this bad timing, or am I fuggin' traiiiippen?? What do I do color? Did Bruce tell Miestrosundero Taitas to…wait, Am I still catholic…I...talian. How dryness? warm to be I. warm be I? I am. Is am. It is I? isam. Israel is real. Am I Izzy Stradlin from Guns N' Roses? I really fucking AM...ONE
A Cold, Sober Clarity Blankets The Scene with an inaudible BOOMSMACK))(( "The sprinklers turned on!! Grab your stuff!!" I urgently belted out to the swamp people. Some still did not even realize what was occurring. ¡Ay, ay, ay!...coitus interruptions. Commence much tedious and mildly bothering (to the 30 unscathed others) re-situating, drying off, and re-nesting. Some itching their ears with their hind legs and nipping at some sand fleas like cute little kittens ready to resume their collective dreamscape. Fair Libra balance achieved later when attempting to endure states of inner peace during astronomical public flatulence and scromiting, aka getting well, aka purging the darkness. Ultimately and over time, this was Thee Fountain of Youth and we were the chosen ones. "The Claw! The Claw is our master. The Claw chooses who will go and who will stay." -Aliens at Pizza Planet in Toy Story (1995) All part of it. Don't judge. Also Funny. We got through it, and I learned from my mistakes, as usual. Never help a Taitas with their electrical settings. "Beastmaster! You ARE great." -Kiri’s line adds a touch of levity to the darker, more intense themes of the movie. Dar, endowed with the ability to communicate with animals, is on a quest for vengeance and justice in a world ruled by dark forces.
Pietro Straccia embodies the kind of generous collaborative spirit that elevates projects and artists he touches, making him a remarkable and magnetic creative force. His ability to seamlessly work with others fosters an environment where artistry flourishes, a testament to his inspiring approach to collaboration. Pietro's technical mastery of the guitar and instrumentation and his ambidextrous ability to play and sing with fluidity leave those of us who can't in a bit of awe. Though many greats possess such talent, Pietro's execution feels uniquely fluent. He's a studio musician wrapped into his own artist, combining precision with boundless creativity—a rare talent that makes it clear why Jane Wiedlin recognized his brilliance. A gun recognizes a gun. Despite his prowess, he carries himself with a quiet modesty that's endearing and inspiring. He has humility and a kind, gentle demeanor. His openness and warmth make him easy to love and, perhaps, more vulnerable to life's sharper edges. Pietro's artistry is deeply human. He is genuine, heartfelt, authentic, and has a musical ear that catches the waves every time. The riffs flow from him and his singular voice is constantly expanding and always catchy and nailing the hooks.
Jane Wiedlin and Pietro Straccia have crafted a world where memory and melody converge, a dreamscape of layered harmonies, raw emotions, and wry nostalgia. Listening to it feels like slipping through a hidden door, unfamiliar and known. Metaversian charming Déjà vu vécu entendu visité delivered via raw fluency and vitality. This is an album born of leaps: a dog jumping fearlessly out of a window of a second-story Oakland warehouse loft, a band throwing itself into the wild unknown of collaboration, and a Hall of Fame punk guitarist reinventing herself yet again in the glow of Hawaiian sunsets. Wiedlin's move to Hawaii, her immersion in Bowie's (the musician) legacy, and her collaborations with Pietro—all of it led to Ed, an album that marries the spontaneity of discovery with the polish of veteran artistry. That tension—between rawness and refinement, chaos and control—is what makes this album shimmer. Along with the crew of killer musicians that played so technically well, too. Ease of pop perfection.
The Moon River feels like a warm tidepool. Pietro's rich vocals ground the song, while Jane's guitar adds glimmers of light and shadow. This is a cinematic track, as though it were ripped from the soundtrack of a Jodorowsky Aronofsky film from that very night when Kemosabe wore the magic Aztecs on his shoulders like an ornate, sparkling mantle made of interconnected, living atlas moths. Morphing massive wings phosphorescent in shades of rust, cream, and soft gold. The eye spots and snake-like patterns on their wings undulate and create an illusion of a celestial, breathing tapestry harkening to Nina Sayer's (played by Natalie Portman) performance in Black Swan, bleeding from a self-inflicted wound; Nina whispers, "I was perfect," Just before the curtain falls. It is the ultimate artistic sacrifice—an offering of her very essence for the sake of transcendent performance. Her final morph is not just into the swans of the ballet but into the ideal she has been chasing all along: unachievable perfection, attained at the ultimate cost. "There can be only one!" -Connor MacLeod from Highlander (1986), Played by Christopher Lambert. \Warning - Mandala Effect Moment /// The confusion over who first said, "There can be only one!" in Highlander leans heavily toward Kurgan, a cult classic performance played by Clancy Brown, the film's towering villain, whose chilling delivery embeds the phrase into the narrative's darker undertones via his gurgling cutthroat. Kurgan's menacing tone and imposing punky Game of Thrones costume-designed presence make his utterance unforgettable, as he uses the line to taunt his opponents and assert his dominance. While Connor MacLeod echoes the phrase in the climactic moment of victory, it's Kurgan's sinister delivery that solidifies the line as more than just a declaration—it's a threat, a prophecy, and a credo of the Immortals' brutal world.
Um... I get excited. Let the train pump. That's the magic of this duo: they create not just music but specialized crystalline visual and emotional landscapes. There is only one Elettrodomestico! and there is a strong dialogue between Jane and Pietro, between past and future, between the head and the heart. Their glistening swords fight as one. Tracks like "Just Like My Dog" encapsulate this beautifully. It's a jubilant anthem of loyalty and irreverence, a love letter to the bold, fearless, ridiculous moments that make life worth living. And to silly and loving and lovable dogs. Ok, ok, for real, I like the little guy. Speaking on Bowie (not the musician). We just have a complicated Werner Herzog/Klaus Kinski kinda thing going on. Such are the dynamics of life. I love all dogs.
There's a sense of joy in their music but also risk—a willingness to embrace the unknown and trust that the net will appear like that crazy flying super dog that learned there is no net from his courageous, explorative, and imaginative mother. There's also an undeniable intimacy in Ed. Jane Wiedlin's voice, familiar yet always surprising and clear, carries a hint of playfulness and vulnerability that invites you in. A cuteness and "fabulously kitschy, woman-girl voice with a kick of maturity", as Jamie Kiffel wrote in Lollipop Magazine back in 2001.
Her cartoon and comic book character performances have a distinctive vocal charm, further highlighting her multifaceted talent. And aside from the creative stuff, anyone who can help animals find more love in this challenging world and actually does all the time... well... "I'd buy that for a dollar!" Bixby Snyder - RoboCop (1987), played by S.D. Nemeth. Interestingly, a doppelganger of Reggie Banister, who played the character named Reggie Banister, an ice cream truck-driving badass sidekick stealth hero in the cult classic Phantasm. (1979) Kinda like Bishop in Aliens. (a986) It all makes the artist is what I am saying.
In Wisconsin, people seem to recognize and celebrate rare characters like Jane more readily and obviously. Maybe it is because we/produce more interesting people because it gets -60°F (below zero that is for the Calipornians), and that is bonkers to survive through and then laugh at. She has the Wisconsin shorthand beer drinker 'Oh Ya' charm, indeed. Sometimes, I notice stark contrasts with the Bay Area mentality, where things can be overly brimming and maxed out to capacity, overdrive double plus everything. Which also has its merit. But maybe genuine and authentic specialness can get lost in the shuffle of the mayhem, insanity, drugs, and hedonic excess that runs rampant like a Chubasco gale squall ripping through the collective psyche.
In Wisconsin, the air feels different—quieter, heavier, like it carries the weight of every story whispered through pine forests and over frozen lakes, cocooning gently beneath a quilt of soft, downy marshmallow snow drifts and half-pipe backroads. Pro-tip: Downhill skis with tow rope behind a Polaris snowcat.
Weirdness is fairly oppressed there but also way more special when it hits. Streaking an outdoor movie theater showing of the original Jaws is hilarious, and people don't have to wear leather. Public nudity is less political and more silly. And then you jump in the freezing ice water of Mendota, and your dick would disappear into your spine only to jump out of your shoulder moments later and slap you in the back of your neck tho? Non-sexually. Still funny. You are not shamed, and no one is locking in on your privates while putting their hands in their pockets. Rather, you arise from the sub-zero like an icy revenant, a spectral figure of absurdity and triumph, dripping with an arctic slush that gleams like molten silver, now shadowing the flickering projection of the Jaws screen with extreme contrast during the iconic scene when Quint delivers his chilling monologue about the USS Indianapolis leaned in and softly growling, "Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes." You're no mere mortal now—you're some unholy hybrid of Sir Ernest Shackleton mixed with the magnetic, charismatic brilliance of Bill Murray tossed with Will Ferrell's character in Old School 2003 Frank the Tank. Your body a canvas of frozen goosebumps and reckless joy. Around you, the crowd erupts in laughter and awe. Alive. You drink for free that whole night. You are the fuckin' MAN!! Madison 1994.
It is a magical place, Wisconsin, and full of magical people like Jane. "She was born into the icy fires of the midwestern Mordorian tundra, and she very well may die there!" He says for dramatic effect to end this passage. May Jane never die. Drink the yak blood, Jane. Live on to Rock on Pony Boy. "The fish. They belong in the river. I don't think they'd fight if they were in the river." -Motorcycle Boy Rumble Fish (1983) Jane's cosmic spark and kaleidoscopic soul also illuminate other regions in America and always as a radiant singularity and cosmo universalist.
In preparing for this Lester Bangs Chuck Klosterman wanna-be album review, it was so fun to review some of the trivia and quotes. Jane said, "Sometimes I would write something that was so private, people would say, 'Make it more universal.' I never liked that idea. I always thou ht the more personal a song was, the more people would want to hear it." cool
On Another Day/Another Night, her vocals intertwine so seamlessly with Pietro's that it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. This track, like so much of the album, manages to feel personal and expansively universal. It's the sound of two people who have found their rhythm—literally and metaphorically. When Kate Pierson of The B-52s joins in, the album takes on another layer of depth. Her timeless and perfectly fitting presence on tracks like In Case of Misadventure and Another Day / Another Night brings a vivid new dimension, enriching the tracks with brilliance. Her voice complements Jane and Pietro's, creating harmonies that feel freshly nostalgic. A collaborative destiny and moment of serendipity captured in song.
When a slow song swoops in at the end of an album, like The Cars' Drive, Ozzy's Goodbye to Romance, The Velvet Underground's Pale Bule Eyes, Nirvana's Something in the Way, or Swingin Party by the Replacements, it feels like the lights dimming after a long, electric night. The Town of Maybe Never is a soft embrace, guiding us gently back to ourselves. It takes its time, stretching things out like a lingering conversation before getting on the bus. The momentum of the album settles, and now you're reflecting and breathing in. It's the track that offers solace, wrapping the experience in a poignant bow, a final sigh that says, We've made it. Let's rest.
And the undulating sweaty mass of bodies at Berghain in Berlin collectively stop and drop their jaws and crane their necks to the dripping condensated concrete rafters, grids, and aged beams as they take a moment to chill and take it in with the large saucers in their sic and hot European eyes. Maybe cry but then retract in collective ethereal understanding of the Muse herself. Deep beyond all us artist freaks and geeks. All the way down to the core of telepathic creativity. Wir sind die ganze Nacht wach, um Glück zu haben. Jetzt, fick das ins Knie!
Yes, this song nails it in every way. "I like sad songs. I don't know what that is. I don't know why I'm like that. Maybe it's because I am sad, but I don't feel sad. I just feel right with them." - Nico from the Velvet Underground. Wiedlin's delivery is tender, her voice cracking just enough to let the light in. Pietro's guitar work here is a masterclass in restraint and emotional precision. The lyrics—"She has forgotten everything she has ever seen"—hit like a raven's whisper in the dark, a reminder of the fleeting nature of memory and identity. It's a song that lingers, echoing in the quiet spaces of your mind long after it ends. The song that is not your mind. But maybe your mind, too. Put a pin in that.
Ed is a mischievous pop-punk energy and a bright reminder of Jane's roots in The Go-Go's and Pietro's flair for pushing boundaries. The album is steeped in influences—new wave, dream pop, Spaghetti Western? and some surf and 90s alt-rock. It is decades of musical history filtered through the unique lens of two artists who refuse to stand still and who really get along. It's worth noting the album's production, which is as much a character in this story as Jane and Pietro themselves. The warmth and clarity of the production, courtesy of Travis Kasperbauer, Mikel Ross, and Vanessa Silberman, make every note feel intentional, every pause loaded with meaning. Jane and Piet o were also deeply involved as well at Lucky Cat. Kudos to the daft-punk-esque remix of The Town of Maybe Never. A tactile variation on a theme. Joe Gore, Jay Standards, and Mike Rannle on back-ups. This is music that rewards attention. It's an album that feels as comfortable in a neon-lit club as it does in a sun-drenched living room.
Jane Wiedlin and Pietro Straccia are kindred spirits. Their friends ip, their shared history, their mutual respect—it all bleeds into the music, making Ed feel like a gift to their friends. This is an album for those who love stories, for those who find beauty in the strange and the familiar, and for those who believe in the transformative power of art.
In the end, Ed is a leap. A leap into the unknown Stracciosphere, a leap of faith, a leap of joy. And for those willing to jump with them, the rewards are endless and don't worry about the concrete two stories down. You will probably be ok. That nutty dog's chicken legs seemed unfazed by the endeavor. Made of rubber and ether, they say. A floating miracle of methy escape intensity that one dog. Fuck your fences and your walls and your boundaries mmmeeeeaaannnn!! "All we want is to ride our machines, feel the wind, and live free—no hassles, no rules, just the open road!" said Wyatt, aka Captain America, in Easy Rider, his voice steady, carrying the quiet weight of a man who's seen too much restraint in a world that promises freedom. His star-spangled helmet caught the fading sun as his words lingered like a prayer for the untethered life—a life where every horizon is reachable, and every rule is breakable. Wyatt's calm conviction was a plea for something bigger than himself, echoing down the long, empty highway like a hymn to liberty.
Trivia: These images are a few spec cover designs I made for another Elettrodomestico album/single named Avant Garden.
