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Rating: Incredibly, still not reviewed on Debaser, Celentano’s greatest work ever is (by now) a museum piece. I say this with benevolence and respect. Because, let’s be honest, apart from two or three albums at least worthy of mention, Celentano has never really made great records: he’s always been a singles artist, never one for cohesive albums. There was never any unity, he was often scattered, almost always pedantic and conceited, and over the years became increasingly haughty and predictable, both in his television tirades and in his records. Try listening to his entire discography from the ‘80s and early ‘90s, and you’ll only find a range of duds.
And yet 1968, a year of transition and revolution, brought benefits even to our minstrel. Buoyed, extremely so, by a single that soared to the top of the national charts with stunning ease (A-side “Azzurro”; B-side “Una carezza in un pugno”), he put together a highly respectable work, at times even surprising. Celentano has always been a mild revolutionary, he and a group of friends brought rock to Italy, but he always reveled in tradition and conservatism. And this record is proof: the very Christian Democrat Adriano throws his barbs at the youth and emerging trends, saying “I retrace my steps” (“On the road to rock’n roll, while the whole world is beat”), but, the rascal, he gets ready to make “Tre passi avanti,” and even writes a little letter. The song in question starts with a sort of monologue:
“Caro Beat
Mi piaci tanto, virgola
Sei forte perché hai portato oltre alla musica
Dei bellissimi colori
Che danno una nota di allegria
In questo mondo pieno di nebbia, punto
Però se i ragazzi che non si lavano, virgola
Quelli che scappano di casa, virgola
E altri che si drogano e dimenticano Dio
Fanno parte del tuo mondo, virgola
O cambi nome o presto finirai”
It’s undeniable, however, that the two strongest tracks are those of the single. “Azzurro” was born from an intuition by the young Paolo Conte, who had just joined the Clan, it was 1966. The RCA contract was coming to an end, it wasn’t renewed and Conte put his faith in the Clan, who welcomed him with open arms. Over time, people have better understood the context of the Clan—Celentano was the boss, even to the point of being severe and, in some cases, dictatorial. The Clan is me, the others just tag along (Don Backy knows something about that). Conte had already written the hit “La coppia più bella del mondo” for Celentano, but the turning point was meeting lyricist Vito Pallavicini. The hilarious Conte-style “march” sparked Pallavicini’s mind—I mean, he came up with lyrics that were as bizarre as they were perfectly fitting to the Celentano persona. Many thought the song was destined to flop. Conte says:
«Quando uscì ‘Azzurro’ ci fu una levata di scudi perché andava controcorrente rispetto ai ritmi dell’epoca. Sogghignarono in molti, ma io me ne infischiavo perché avevo applicato a quella canzone degli echi poetici che fanno parte della nostra sensibilità. Fui capito dal pubblico: ‘Azzurro’ ebbe un grande successo. Tutte le mie canzoni nascono con questo spirito: scrivere una musica un po’ fuori moda, un po’ segreta, che vada a cercare in fondo a noi le risonanze della nostra identità...»
Triumphant result. “Una carezza in un pugno” was the next big hit, which marked 1968 in Italy, indelibly linked to Adrianone. It was intended as the A-side (though ultimately “Azzurro” prevailed) and is the work of Gino Santercole. Quite a few critics (the usual soothsayers) of the time wrote, in short, that the song would never be successful, since it was a slow tune (with a western touch) that the public wasn’t used to, at least not from Celentano. Naturally, it did brilliantly, and somehow marked the end of Celentano’s rock period; from here on out he was more inclined to ballads or straightforward pop. What’s it about? At first glance, it seems to be about a man thinking about his beloved who’s with someone else. But Luca Sofri, in his “Playlist” (released in 2008), gives us a more mischievous take:
“Lo avete capito, no, che è una canzone che parla di masturbazione? No? Bene: riascoltatela ora che ve l’ho detto”
The album is then packed with some classics from the best Celentano, along with a few avoidable sillinesses. “Eravamo in 100.000” is about a guy who saw a girl (whom he’d like to meet) while Milan were playing Inter at San Siro (even though, neither today nor back then, could the stadium ever fit 100,000 people; there are at least 20,000 too many), but the song is fun, as is “La lotta dell’amore,” which in 2008 was parodied by Elio e le Storie Tese, together with Claudio Bisio, as “La lega dell’amore.” With “Canzone,” he goes to Sanremo, comes third, and that’s that.
The reinterpretation of the national Fred with “Buonasera signorina” is a typical affectation of Adriano at that time, thinking he could do anything beyond reasonable doubt. He does it well, but Buscaglione is something else. Always and forever.
The rest hovers between the playful and the very, very light, including the not-so-irresistible “30 donne del West,” in an album where Claudia Mori is very present. Still, when all’s said and done, this is his best album, the one where all his best ideas and energies converged. Let’s just say the very first Celentano pretty much ends here—then there’d be a second, a third, and finally a fourth one, verbose and film-obsessed (in the ‘70s and ‘80s he was Italy’s box-office champion, even though all his movies oscillate between monstrous and horrendous), and it’s nice (at least, that’s my opinion) to remember him dressed vintage, lounging on an old car from days gone by, while a plane whistles off in the sky above.
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