Albireon
I Passi di Liù

"Liù sleeps

A smile of pain contracts the mouth

And hands lie fallen like little birds from the nest

Liù sleeps

And outside a pale sun on the forest trees

With soft and warm light in the hour of sunset

And beyond the rippled golden edges of the clouds

Fragments of thoughts and a premature thaw"

Liù sleeps. Yet, well awake is the inspiration of the Emilians Albireon, reaching their fourth trial and full maturity, which allows them to create what we can consider, to date, their masterpiece.

Released silently in the second half of 2008, "I Passi di Liù" marks, on one hand, a clear detachment from the neo-folk/singer-songwriter dimension embraced in previous albums, and on the other hand, celebrates the happy achievement of a new formula, unique if you will, which harmoniously fuses ambient textures and sophisticated post-rock, all functional to the beautiful words of Davide Borghi, author of a concept full of meaning and deeply poetic.

Liù could be on her deathbed, attended by her lover, or a friend, an off-screen voice that passionately recounts the memories of a carefree childhood, but not without fractures ("But we danced, sometimes even among the brambles, allowing the thorns to wound our smiles" reads the chorus of the beautiful "Gli Equiseti").

Or Liù could be going through a transitional phase in her life, moving towards new horizons, leaving, not without trauma, something behind; and the narrating voice could be that of a poet, or a guardian angel, who sees through the metaphor of death the changes that occur in all our lives ("And now you smile, I'm sure of it, forgetting the clock on the wall, a shiver of wings, in the dark garden, you fly light, towards the morning" narrates the concluding "Gennaio", at the album's most intense moment).

Between early Battiato (it's impossible not to think of "Le Corde di Aries") and Current 93 of works like "Of Ruine or some Blazing Starre" and "Sleep has his House", "I Passi di Liù" is a dreamy and blurred journey on a wooden raft where, slumbering, we are lulled by the sweet lapping of the waves (frequent references to the sea and the relentless flow of currents: consider the lyrics of tracks like "Naufraghi" and "Deriva").

Rays of sun pierce the clouds in the sky, while past and present blend and fade in a feverish embrace, among timeless bucolic landscapes, the confines of a shadowy room where a bed lies, and the universe that resides in the heart and mind.

In other words: emotions, emotions, emotions.

Lightly brushed guitar arpeggios, a vibrant ambient electronica that evolves imperceptibly, glimpses of soft noise here and there vaguely recalling the esoteric experiments of early Ain Soph, while in the intense "Cendra" appears the fairy-tale voice of Paola Farasconi who recites in unison with Borghi a childish nursery rhyme (much like the duets between David Tibet and Rose McDowall): an intense and fragile emotional flow that seems to break at every moment and at every moment, like a miracle, stands up, until the unmissable twelve minutes of the concluding "Gennaio", the emotional peak of the work, perhaps the most beautiful Italian song of the last ten years.

It is difficult for me to go further, because never before are words powerless to describe the innumerable nuances with which this small-great masterpiece is impregnated, a treasure chest of emotions capable of elegantly moving between nostalgia, melancholy, and hope: a unique and perfect balance where the End is actually a new beginning, and where everything is driven by the state of grace in which the musicians find themselves, certainly not virtuosos, yet magical in investing in their work everything that was needed and in the most suitable form for the overall design.

The only note I feel to make is about Borghi's ethereal voice, which gets lost reverberated among the album's sounds, not through the fault of the talented singer, but because of a somewhat confused mix that, unfortunately, does not allow the listener to grasp all the nuances of the beautiful lyrics. In some ways, a real shame.

Finally, worth noting is the elegant booklet that accompanies the work, whose pages are adorned with illustrations by Lorenzo Borghi, the ideal visual counterpart to the melancholy and childlike moods permeating the album.

In the version I possess, there is also a DVD, which however remains a privilege of the one hundred lucky owners of the limited edition. Like me.

It won't be easy to find this album, but if it comes your way, don't miss what is probably the best Italian record release of the past year, as well as a unique work in its genre, capable of touching themes like life and death with that delicacy and maturity that remain the prerogative of few.

Truly of few.