
Tracklist:
- Kamikaze Rock'n'Roll Suicide
- Karakiri
- Oblio
- Sayonara
- Lamette
- Garage
- Sangue del mio sangue
- Canta sempre
- Giulietta
A Beethoven e Sinatra preferisco l'insalata





What a voice. Deep, warm, vivid and bittersweet. Every note is full-bodied and enormously femine - neither a Lolita nor a femme fatale fashion, but the voice of a woman, with the placid and overwhelming charm of maturity. Responsibility and everyday life which succeeded to compenetrate with love and dreams.




An atypical singer/songwriter album, very sarcastic about the remnants of the 68 era though manifestly bound to the left-wing contestation area. The lyrics are sharp and salacious, still quite enjoyable for their cleverness even if the themes they deal of are a bit outdated.
A deeply fascinating ambient-world record, "Marco Polo" is both thick and suffused, lush and minimal, layered and discreet. Its red-heated saxophone and Fripp-like guitar velvets hover on bewitching percussion groves and space-filling synthetizer ponds, in a sultry air which sounds exotic and arcane. Gentle electronic vines crawl in with dazing gamelan-like weavings and plough a music landscape of self-intersecting arabesques. Mystery and unearthliness drip like dew from the leaves, in an oceanic expanse of reverbs and refractions.
"Marco Polo"'s a music project by saxophone player Nicola Alesini and electronic pioneer Pierluigi Andreoni. Important figures in the ambient music field collaborated to the album: Japan's David Sylvian (vocals), Pierrot Lunaire's Arturo Stalteri (bouzouki, harmonium), Roger Eno (keyboards, percussion, vocals), David Torn (guitar), Harold Budd (percussion).
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A light, elegant and meditative pop album, "In circolo" is an autumnal record for homespent rainy days just as well as it is a collection of springtime songs for afternoons in the open air. Here are its two souls: moody, delicate songs in the vein of The Smiths or Belle and Sebastian and lively, ironic episodes with the enviable quality of sounding both optimist and slightly melancoholic.
Everything shines of very fine clean guitar arpeggios, eversurprising melodic lines and turns, posh chamber arrangements. And very smart, everyday lyrics discreetly oscillanting between pensiveness and wordplay.
Perturbazione are a Piedmontese band founded in 1988. This is their first Italian language album after their debut, "Waiting to Happen".
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While the passion for dusty fanfares, village two-steps and barrel organs surely connects "Le avventure di Pinocchio" to the style of Nino Rota and Nicola Piovani, the music here sounds more homely, pure and stripped-down. Most of the eighteen tracks reduce the instruments to the bare necessity, getting to a rural and sprightly style which surprisingly reminds of Yann Tiersen's work for "Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain".
The themes are airy, elegant and memorable. The slow carillon in "Fata turchina", the coupled piano-harpsicord motif of "Birichinata" or the magic, slightly psychedelic mood of "Trasformazione di Pinocchio e Lucignolo", the askance tango "Il Gatto e la Volpe": just a few of the excellent episodes giving the LP its old-fashioned countryside charm.
Fiorenzo Carpi was a Milanese composer, active since the late Fourties in the field of theater music and - later - soundtrack music. "Le avventure di Pinocchio" is a selection from his score for the celebrated 1971 TV serial by Luigi Comencini.
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The idea behind "Sinnermen" is quite simple: Let's play some sort of new wave with loads of Morricone-like flangers'n'reverbs. The result could have sounded just as elegant and minimal as Wall of Voodoo, or as deviant and funny as Man or Astro-Man, but is actually quite dissimilar to both.
The point is that "Sinnermen" is so poorly recorded and awfully played that it sounds like nothing else. The songs are some sort of primeval cherokee-rock dirges. Organ's everywhere, the mood is rather dark and psychedelic and this would probably remind of The Stranglers (or The Doors), if only the guitars didn't desperately try to imitate The Shadows and the English pronounciation weren't so ridiculous.
So clumsy, so original and so provincial, "Sinnermen" is definitely funnier than the average Italian post-punk album. Even beautiful, here and there.
Not Moving were founded in 1981, taking their name from a DNA song. "Sinnermen" is their first LP, produced by the renown music journalist Federico Guglielmi.
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Listening to "Venexia" is being thrown in the maze of calles, scents, voices and sounds which were the soul of Venice, the melting-pot of the Mediterranean Sea. A concept album dedicated to the bicentenary of the fall of the Serenissima, "Venexia" is a deeply charming progressive folk work, almost astonishing, even moving. Entirely acoustic, extremely rich and layered, it's as firmly rooted in the Mediterranean traditions as it is projected towards a very modern and focose attitude, close to the one of the most courageous European trad-folk ensembles (Blowzabella and Bellowhead to name a few). The music is a merger of sounds and traditions: different languages and dialects; accordions, winds, psaltery and fiery hornpipes; Italian, Arabic and Balkan rhythms and melodies meet and entwine just as they probably used to meet and entwine along the channels of Venice a few centuries ago.
Calicanto are a Venetian ensemble born in 1981 and devotely committed to an ethnomusicological approach. "Venexia" is their eighth album, conceived with the cooperation of the Venice University and the Conservatory of Rovigo.
Thanks to the Italian Folk Music blog for having published this album first.
Tracklist:
"Letters" sounds like Talk Talk's "Laughing Stock" denuded of any guise of soul or emotion. What lasts in the music? The tail-swallowing stagnation of dangling piano progressions, the soaking sense of laziness of tired accordion drones, the dampened warmth of some sullen acoustic guitar chords. Then the jazzy, emptied-out atmospheres, the chamber-like breaches, the outworldly suspension of the slow minor-key tides permeating everything.
What's unique to "Letters"? Its homely creakings - a fossil recall of a hospitality which has somehow mutated in a Tortoise-like call for abstraction, made of dub drifts and sparse, cold-blooded electronic heartbeats.
Airportman are a band from Cuneo, Piedmont. This is their seventh album.
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"Aria mediterranea" is a lighter-than-air instrumental masterpiece, fusing European folklore, jazz and improvisation, progressive, minimalist and baroque nuances. The center of the music is a sparkling and very rich acoustic guitar style encompassing interwaved arpeggios, three-string strumming and skipping solo lines; breezy, elegant and free, it creates a sense of suspension which is unpredictably close to the unique feeling of Van Morrison's "Astral Weeks". John Fahey might be another ponderous but fitting comparison.
Vibes, flute, bass, percussion and very rare electric guitar interventions are the other few elements completing the palette for this unparalleled revisitation of the folk heritage.
Marcello Capra is a guitarist from Turin, active in the local beat/progressive rock scene since the late Sixties. "Aria mediterranea" is his first solo LP, with collaborations from some members of Arti & Mestieri and Procession (the band Capra was playing with at the time).
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The songs in "Don Giovanni" sound lopsided and aloof. They obey the synth-pop rule in a lunar, idiosincratic manner. They seem totally lifeless, artificial, made of plastic despite some sparse velvety warmth in the basslines, in the saxophone seductions and in the rainy, breathy synth tides. The melodies are quirky, meandery, indubitably "pop" and refined but hardly catchy. The lyrics, well, the lyrics are a closed book: almost nonsensical, blatantly post-modern and sardonic, they're captivating nevertheless and - once you've partly got into them - even evocative. With its jaunty and polished synth-funky grooves and its obliterating lyrics framed into the melodies with a total disdain for the meter, "Don Giovanni" is one of the most abstract and undeciphrable works of Italian pop music.
Lucio Battisti was the most celebrated Italian pop artist of the 60s/70s. "Don Giovanni" is his first collaboration with lyricist Pasquale Panella, and a complete departure from his previous style, which had become more and more experimental but never appeared so tough and detached before.
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