Alessandro Grazian
Indossai

Alessandro Grazian is a real son of a bitch. One of those who, when you try to take him down after "Caduto," strives to prove you wrong, and there are men who do not accept defeat but intelligent ones do. So, in 2008, "Indossai" (connected to "L'abito," an EP from 2009) introduces the Padovan Grazian to the public with new attire of a capable, shrewd, and sharp musician.

Alessandro has a sly eye. "You painted me with the wrong eyes" he sings in the second track, "Ballata," a moment after the title track and right before "E' vero," with which it forms a marriage. String arrangements, an atmosphere of a dirty and refined dance, love pills. Alessandro Grazian immediately combines dance and nostalgia, strummed and caressed strings, love and violence. Alessandro Grazian remembers everything, he has memory, and he takes an interest in black and white emotions, "Acqua" has the taste of a photograph of the grandparents never seen before and found at the bottom of a drawer in the bedroom dresser while tidying it up before emptying it. The Padovan draws from the great classics of the Italian past (Sergio Endrigo, Bruno Lauzi, Lucio Battisti) and poses a question: "Where did we lose each other?". I don't know, Ale. "Tell us we're sane", in any case, it's precisely in the past that he throws us: intimacy, storm, sentiment. Grazian's music, because it is all his, has the air of wanting to go big this time; the idea behind it is strongly felt, the thread connecting everything is visible, a thread of other worlds, of past loves, of lived air.

His is a flight from the insignificant, a flower, the violin bow collides with the roughness of the spoken word in "A San Pietroburgo" and opens the doors to white, cold, and elegant boundaries on the French "Sainte Epine" as well as on "Soffio di nero". Alessandro Grazian has a voice balancing between the reassuring and the anxious, the heartbeats of "Fiaba rossa" do not exactly end when the song does but spill over a little further, Alessandro Grazian at times has an overly precise aesthetic sense, combs his dolls with tight-toothed brushes until each hair runs along its path carefully so as not to hurt their golden heads, he manages to sing a song like "Chiasso" to a city known only as the terminal of a railway line that starts from Milan and cuts through Brianza before crossing the Swiss border. His is a distant voice, a voice that tells you that you are not alone, a voice separated by an invisible wall that must be pierced by imagination.

Whoever lacks it, stay away.