Antonello Venditti
In questo mondo di ladri

THE REVIEW

IN QUESTO MONDO DI LADRI (1988) 6.5/10

The prophet da 'ggente, the best man, the charmer, the smart-ass, the demagogue, the populist, the everyman. No, I’m not talking about myself but about Antonello Venditti. He’s always managed to tickle the moods of the people but, credit to him, he’s always understood them before his peers: in the '70s he released “Sotto il segno dei pesci” because he understood that between the Red Brigades, street clashes, workers’ struggles and the like, the topic “politics” was hot; then came the '80s, hedonism, retreat, and he “sensed” that the wind had changed, that people were sick of politics and he took shelter in sentimental and romantic introspection (with a few small but surprising exceptions, as we’ll see later). With this in mind, after a big hit like “Cuore” in 1984 and a slightly less big one, “Venditti e segreti” in 1986, he came out in 1988 with this album whose title-track is the cheekiest thing you can imagine. Alright, you all know it, but that’s the concept: everyone’s a thief, politicians obviously, not like us ordinary folks who are all honest (yeah, sure thing). On drums, Carlo Verdone—and you can tell: there’s not a single change of rhythm, and when Verdone plays “flatness” (musical) is king. Still, it’s a smash hit—truly: the album sells 1,500,000 copies, and, it’s not even that bad (the really bad ones would come right after), but a million and a half copies is only justifiable up to a point: that year, in terms of sales, he beats Dalla/Morandi, Sting, U2, Prince, and Battiato. Only Tracy Chapman outsold him, thank goodness (that’s a masterpiece).

The album picks up where the previous one, “Venditti e segreti”, left off: less piano, more 80s-style rhythmic arrangements. Without, obviously, neglecting the classic love song: “Ricordati di me”, another crowd-pleaser. Constructed as though it were a scene from a film—maybe set at night (the city flooded by rain)—it’s a very crafty song, both musically (that “killer” sax that pierces the listener every time, mercilessly) and lyrically, because who hasn’t identified at least once in their life with the poor protagonist of the song? To quote from the book “Da una lacrima sul viso” by Paola Marrone and Paolo Madeddu, a book dear to me and one I continue to recommend, here’s the perfect concept: "[...] Ricordati di me appeals to all the rejected and slightly dumb lovers, you know, those who keep knocking even when there’s no one there or, worse still, if they have been cheated on." It would become one of his most indestructible classics, in live shows and the many, too many, greatest hits that would follow in years to come.

Side A is the weakest, besides “Ricordati di me” there’s the driving “Miraggi” with an almost tribal rhythm, telling of a love lived like a kind of obsession—if you’re content, it might even amuse you. It should also be said that from here on Venditti’s albums seem constructed with a fine chisel, as if being “assembled” by a surveyor: 40 minutes total running time; 20 minutes per side; 5 minutes per track. It’s pretty much the old slogan “Power to the Imagination” being replaced with the most antithetical, “Order and Discipline.” The first side ends with the rather boring “Mitico amore.”

Up to this point, it would be a 5-out-of-10 album, 5.5 if we’re being generous, but side B features three songs that elevate it by quite a bit. Beyond the populist title-track, “Il compleanno di Cristina” is a song worth framing, an ideal sequel to “Sotto il segno dei pesci,” musically fascinating and with a spoken passage that I’ve always found phenomenal ("...Quanto traffico stasera, scusa amore tardo un po'/sì lo so c’è quella cena, alle 10 ci sarò