Alice
Viaggio in Italia

Imagine words that are important to you, imagine them suspended in mid-air. A magical impressionism cradles them, a light gas sustains them. A gentle sound crackling in the distance and slowly expanding as if on tiptoes. An undergrowth of rhythmic pulsations traversed by minor occurrences and concentric sounds. And then that voice with precise diction and perfect measure capable of uniting crystalline clarity and profound mystery. A kind of science of presenting and offering. A breath of music for a music of words.

This is a cover album. With hidden gems and acclaimed masterpieces by Battisti/Panella, Battiato/Sgalambro, De André, De Gregori, Fossati, Guccini, Gaber. This is an album of the heart, an island of peace to which I always return. A simple and beautiful thing called “you speak, I listen.”

Perhaps it is that I have always traversed Italian music in search of words. Exaggerating, we could call upon poetry, except that poetry is a term now completely emptied of meaning. Better not to do it then. After all, words need little. And that little is exactly what is in this album where everything serves the literary quality of the texts.

For example, “Lindbergh” by Fossati and “Atlantide” by De Gregori are small private epiphanies, that is to say mine. Phrases like “Salire nel cielo e non trovarci niente” or “Conoscete per caso una ragazza di Roma la cui faccia ricorda il crollo di una diga?” are those that make me jump every time.

That the young lady is the best interpreter of Battiato is certainly not discovered with this album. What surprises, rather, are the alchemical affinities with the Battisti/Panella pair. Perhaps it's the elegant distance of the voice, but that strange world born from the fractures and unexpected contiguities of the language seems almost to decuply its surreal understatement.

Then yes, Gaber’s “Non insegnate ai bambini,” the voice a peak of natural authority and the text a series of well-placed blows, is something that sends chills down your spine.

But it doesn't stop here. It goes further, reaching the point of setting two magnificent poems by Pier Paolo Pasolini to music. Quite a risk, I’d say. Because, you know, most of the time operations of this kind crash miserably to the ground. The young lady knows how it’s done, however, she knows it very, very well. Just pretend that it's not that important and work as much as possible in subtraction. Then, of course, you need a voice capable of everything, even barely presenting. And here all this happens.

Then, gentlemen, with a leap we arrive at track thirteen, it’s called “Golden hair.” That “Golden hair”? Yes, that “Golden Hair.” Because Alice had it ready along with “Islands” by King Crimson (another little piece of nothing!!!) and so she placed them both on the album, even though it was a project on Italian music.

But I say, Syd. Syd Barrett!!! And with a piece that's one of the most transcendent things in all music!!! But then it’s true, you really are my cosmic girlfriend!!!

Then well, maybe to redo Barrett you need to be a tad scrappier. But it doesn't matter, darling. The thought alone is enough...

Trallallà...