Biglietto Per L'Inferno
Il Tempo Della Semina

The analysis of "Il Tempo Della Semina" must necessarily begin by understanding that we are examining an unreleased album from the 1970s, which has been laboriously unearthed in an authentic musicological excavation from the only surviving master cassette, and finally mastered in 1992. The album likely would never have been published in the way we can now enjoy it. Post-productions, final mixes, or even pieces that have been permanently lost might have slightly altered the tracklist expertly brought to light by Mellow Records. However, we must adhere to the instruments at our disposal, which are not insignificant. The clear premise that becomes immediately apparent upon listening is the evident artistic maturation of Biglietto. Only after a few months, the authorial work is better blended than the previous one and is concretely the result of all the members' minds in the union. Claudio Canali is no longer solely laying the foundations for the new album project (although he remains the undeniable leader). Already from the lyrics, the communion with Giuseppe Cossa renders the content less critical and protest-oriented, steering it towards more historical and balanced analysis.
The overwhelming hard accelerations, seasoned with extraordinary and dense electronic tones, remain the unmistakable trademark, but we find ourselves facing a more sophisticated and less fragmented style. The frequent and sudden tempo changes are better combined and connected, giving rise to new, well-ordered, and balanced sound suites. A profound and early maturation confirming the unmistakable debut artistic qualities, but which were not followed by further historical tests that would have better characterized the figure of Biglietto Per L'Inferno, easily catalyzing it on even more resplendent hermitages. The titles included in this work, which could be distinguished as "almost posthumous," are seven. The scene is opened with the title track "Il Tempo Della Semina", the most convincing piece of the album. In ten minutes, the band showcases the entire repertoire of progressive rock. About three minutes of instrumental dark introduction, truly extraordinary, where the mastery of "Baffo" Banfi on electronic devices supported by the indispensable hard guitar bases of the excellent Mainetti bring Claudio Canali to open up the singing with a rough and relentless voice, delivering introspective yet ineffable lyrics. But it is the arrangement of the sound elements, as mentioned, that stands out above all. Bass and drums are truly resounding; moog and organ take the lead, creating an alternately captivating and cerebral atmosphere. The last four minutes are truly legendary. Canali's solo on the flute, progressively reaching frightening levels, is furious and accompanied in its most incisive part by the piano, which takes the piece to its conclusion.
Afterwards, the playful and brief "Mente Sola-Mente" is rendered slightly somber by Banfi's cosmic keyboards skillfully leading Canali, who sings, or rather whispers, a brief vocalization. The track was almost born as a joke. In the studios, there was a box full of rhythmic instruments, probably used some time ago for the sound effects of cartoons. The group began to play them haphazardly while "Pilly" Cossa at the piano laid down the melody. Canali added the words, and it was done. With "Vivi Lotta Pensa", we return to protest themes against the System, a popular subject in the '70s. In the projects, it was supposed to be the lead single of the album. Indeed, the structure is less elaborate, more melodic, leaving less space for turbulent and uncontrollable outbursts, staying well within the canons of a more easily understandable piece of elaborated rock. Interesting, besides the perpetual vocal display of the roaring Canali, is the clean and dominant piano-keyboard arrangement and the harder conclusion indicated by the electric guitars. The track, the only one in the entire production of Biglietto not stemming from Canali's exclusive ideology, comes from Eugenio Finardi's thoughts, who took care of producing the LP. Indeed, the political content closely reflects the repertoire of the Milanese songwriter, not receiving full approval from Banfi and the others. It was actually Finardi who urged the group to insistently seek the idea for the piece, creating not a few difficulties.
A different story with "L'Arte Sublime Di Un Giusto Regnare", which moves through medieval themes characterized by the hope inherent in the mind of a great ruler of the time. In this case, the histrionic Canali lends decisiveness and clarity to the scene with his voice. The musical framework returns to being vigorous and resolute, the use of the flute is very prominent but well-calibrated with the rest of the high-pitched sounds, such as the piano (strange but extraordinary the sound of a mysterious pin-piano) and keyboards. But it's in this track that one intuits the fundamental role that bass and drums play in Banfi and company's production. An unmistakable support that, at times, even attempts to take precedence over other instruments, much more "soloist" in general. Noteworthy is the softer interlude in the middle of the piece, where Canali recites the king's peremptory accusation to the people guilty of procreating beyond their capacity.
With "Solo Ma Vivo", the atmosphere returns somewhat to the already mentioned "Vivi Lotta Pensa". A more tried and true, well-coagulated structure, leaving little room for instrumental inspirations. Once again, Canali is superb in his singing. The solos on Mainetti's electric are memorable, driven by "Baffo" Banfi's spatial works. The lyrics relate back to "L'Amico Suicida" included in the debut album as they echo the remembrance of their friend's death between the lines.
The album closes with the splendid "La Canzone Del Padre", which nearly lays out the carefree and troubled existence of the singer, his family's disillusionment with the path of a musician, one that leads nowhere, and the refrains expressing all his bitterness. The construction line of "La Canzone Del Padre" is divided into two distinct parts, almost like two different motifs, repeating several times for just under ten minutes in total. The numerous changes in style and rhythm are back. "Baffo" Banfi and Cossa carve out, almost entirely, the most significant musical portions. Their forest of keyboards, organs, moog, and various gadgets flutter in inspirations and creative execution in the interweaving of guitar and flute.
The vinyl version also includes "Senza Titolo", a short instrumental version (the most interesting one), slightly modified from one of the foundations included in "La Canzone Del Padre".

Yet another great album. The only flaw revealed, despite the providential recovery of this important historical piece of Italian progressive music, is the sound quality of the recordings, but it is certain that at the time of post-publication, nothing better could be done. The cover is once again created by the extraordinary Cesare Monti, who devises a snapshot of the band holding a scythe. A curious anecdote binds this event tightly within the band's historical pages: while attempting to bring the scythe to Milan for the photo, tying it to the roof of Mainetti's "Mini," they were stopped by the police when the tool, loosely secured, rose vertically.