Joseph Smalkowski (aka Copernicus) keeps any observation about humanity strictly linked to the concept of nonexistence, an obstinate quest for convincing everybody to “turn subatomic” constituting the basis of Cipher And Decipher. Consequently, the futile concepts on which men all over the world clash and fight are going to mean less than zero. The accent is sinister, like that of a devilish street preacher approaching people at the bus stop to announce their impending death. Or, if thus preferred in this particular instance, a hoarse hybrid of Saturday Night Live’s Don Pardo and Vincent Price circa Thriller. Yet he’s often persuasive: take a look at what’s said in “Where No One Can Win” – a not-so-indirect attack against the inconsiderate wars constantly sought by the American administration – then tell me that the guy’s not right. You might think that 70 minutes of now vibrant, now disheartened rants could demolish the nerves; in a way, this is correct – especially if you’re a member of the “artificial positivity and half-full glasses” club. The accompanying band is shaped by thirteen first-rate professionals led by keyboardist Pierce Turner; they improvise everything in the very moment in which Copernicus starts to recite his caustic poems. Ably shifting from rock and funk to complete freedom, transiting through Brazilian rhythms that add a dose of absurdist flavor to the whole, even quoting Pink Floyd (despite a wrong transcription of “Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun” on the booklet), the musicians help the boss in affirming once again an inimitable artistic personality which, I’m sure, is not cherished by many. Not that this is relevant when nothing exists.