Banco del Mutuo Soccorso
...e via

If only out of "respect" for the only album (is it a coincidence?) of Banco yet to be reviewed, I make an effort, it's appropriate to say, to fill the gap and proceed to analyze the last studio effort of the (dreadful) '80s from the Roman group. The decade certainly does not end in glory and quite prematurely with this "...... e via" which already in the title declares the relative poverty of topics from the artists remaining in the "reduced" lineup following Gianni Nocenzi's departure, and excuse me if you think it's insignificant.

Moving on to the short "A" side, aside from the catchy, but nothing more, debut track "Notte Kamikaze," there are two truly embarrassing tracks for anyone who experienced the group's initial epic: "Ice Love" and "Black out," among which it’s hard to choose the one deserving the crown of the worst until reaching: "(When We) Touches Our Eyes," a tribute (?) to perfidious Albion featuring sensational guest appearances by Anna Oxa, Riccardo Cocciante, Mike Francis (no joke, really!) along with the addition of a choir of children's voices that fits Banco like jam in seafood risotto, similar to the opening of side "B" "To the Fire," less renowned but equally poor.

The Anglo-Saxon drift is, fortunately, interrupted by "Mexico City," perhaps the best track of the lot, or perhaps better put, the least bad, including a dedication to the battered capital of the great Latin American country hit by a terrible earthquake that year (100,000 dead...) and where Banco would hold a memorable concert in '99. But fear not, they resume immediately with "Lies in Your Eyes," where, not content with having parted ways at the right moment, the good Gianni Nocenzi is forcefully (?) reinserted on keyboards... but the result, alas, does not change.

In closing, our heroes try to remind us who they were with "Baby Jane," where fragments of the Music That Was can be heard, unfortunately still (!) accompanied by a children's choir. The long-playing record ended here after thirty-four minutes or so, and even this element says a lot about the low point reached by Banco in '85. However, in the CD reissue over twenty years later, the soup was thinned with the addition of 3 bonuses or rather a triple-version one: "Grande Joe," a bit like in reissues of masterpieces from the early '70s, with the more celebrated tracks. Too bad this track is not a masterpiece, although it honestly manages to elevate the low average of the previous tracks, particularly in the mix version and the instrumental one where Maltese's measured (virtuosic) contributions can be appreciated.

I conclude with my judgment on this almost unobtainable album (is it a coincidence?) record of inconsistency, oscillating between one and two stars. It's hard to round up or down; the heart wants to punish the blemish on the career downward, but then the fear of having underestimated some dignified sounds like in the last "Grande Joe" pushes me to be moderate also considering the excellent overall acoustic performance.

Fortunately, Di Giacomo and company, understood that the right path was lost and allowed themselves a long period of rest, lasting a full 9 years until "13".