Alberto Fortis
La grande grotta

And so it was that the Milanese from Domodossola, tired of the ghost of Vincenzo, the heavy shadow of the Duomo, and living constantly on the edge between demon and sainthood, purchased a plane ticket and boarded the first flight to America - destination Los Angeles. It wasn't a business trip, far from it. But legend has it that in a place called "Baked Potato," he met some gentlemen by the names of Alex Acuna, Abe Laboriel, Dean Parks, and Mitch Holder (musicians anything but anonymous, but unknown to our protagonist at the time) and involved them in the creation of his third musical endeavor - 1981, just two years after a debut that left a mark. Indeed, "La Grande Grotta," that’s the one. An album about which I've heard it all, and perhaps even more: "it's his worst" - "no, it's just more accessible" - "it's an album made to sell, a purely commercial product" - "it's the beginning of the decline"... Well. I've heard many opinions. I hope others are now willing to hear mine.

What you hear on this album - and perhaps this is the most important thing, the first thing to say - is a performer with no more limits, a singer with a stratospheric command of his technical means. By then, anything could adapt to his voice, as he would make it personal and unmistakable. Voice-instrument, more than ever: the art of singing had revealed all its secrets to Alberto: it was just a matter of modulation, just a matter of choosing when to exaggerate and when to adopt a more modest register, when to fully exploit the potential and when to opt for simplicity, without ever stumbling over a single flaw. Rarely in Italy has there been an artist as self-aware as Fortis in the early '80s. "La Grande Grotta" has the merit of capturing him at this precise moment, as his poetics were enriched with new themes and suggestions - and the biting and ruthless irony, that was truly never lacking, permeated some of the most beautiful lyrics he ever wrote. 

Far from the city/state dualism of the soul Rome/Milan, far from the anxieties and dense tension of past days, it's time to make room for "New Days" to be spent among stars and desert sands, with infinite willingness and renewed joy of living: "the sand thins and the river flows - brilliant, in harmony with the city." Climbing without being stopped by the rain: Alberto's pen draws open skies of refreshment and hope, and shapes an extraordinary gospel crescendo for piano and organ, culminating in a guitar Solo truly worthy of the capital letter. "La Grande Grotta" of the title is a hoped-for haven of serenity for the loving protagonists, the predetermined end of a journey that, in the form of a metaphor, becomes navigation, perhaps towards the rising sun. And it is indeed the Orient that is one of the central themes of the record, so much so that it is not difficult to discern a clear connection between "China" on one side and "Rice" on the other (and not only because of the natural association of the two concepts); China, so often demonized by Western propaganda, the headquarters of the "yellow peril" always around the corner, is already a kingdom of future prosperity of which - between symbolism and concreteness - the future dominance is imagined (1981: if this isn't foresight...): "the dragon will bark, and happy will reign the music that goes din din din." The "old Europe of the waltz," indiscriminately united into a "single Country," will be part of the past, and only America will resist, although briefly, in this drastic change of perspectives ("I agree to change a bit..."): "from tomorrow the whole world will eat rice, and the bicycle will reign on the road." A very romantic and somewhat stereotyped China, there’s no denying it, but it is the West and its myths that are ridiculed - and JFK, mocked and slapped in "Marilyn," remains almost the last totem ("he, yes, he was a great leader...," but the joke is so evident that it doesn't even spare a certain "Ronnie-Ro" - and who could this be, considering we're talking about US presidents and it's '81...?).

But everyone will remember this record - and rightfully so, I add - for two masterpieces: "Settembre" and "La Nenia del Salvador." A soldier departing and "long hair" that will never be seen again, and a mysterious story of Gypsy magic in an undefined Spain in space and time. In "Settembre," a choir and a rhythmic clapping make an unforgettable melody that already would have been due to that final guitar, and in "La Nenia" the bass of Abe Laboriel" (how can one forget it in "New Frontier" by Donald Fagen?) composing irresistible legatos, a perfect frame for the mournful vocalisms of nostalgia - and the electric piano by Gary Mielke doing the rest.

Not an absolute masterpiece, but a much more beautiful and complex record than it is said to be - anything but "uncommitted," as is often said thinking of the two previous ones...