Bruno Martino
I Grnadi Successi Originali

Bruno Martino, “I grandi successi originali”, 2 CDs, 2009, Sony

After having done justice to one of the most repugnant yet acclaimed albums in history, here we are again to comment on music for the tender-hearted tough guys who scoff at the easy trends of the “No wave” hooligans, and similar existential suburban fools.

We got to know Bruno Martino (1925-2000), this great gentleman with a “crooning” just softened by a rare delicacy of manner and soul, on the occasion of watching “Romanzo Criminale” (2005), one of the very few successful films by that dolt M. Placido: a guilty delay, therefore. One of his flagship songs, “Estate”, was indeed included in the film's soundtrack (the same song was reinterpreted by various black jazz musicians, and inevitably ruined by their glaring lack of melodic taste: among others, Chet Baker and the half-breed Joao Gilberto, who even made a bizarre bossa nova out of it). We were enchanted and began searching for works by the Roman Maestro, a superb performer, albeit by chance.

Particularly skilled as a pianist (he gained proficiency under the direction of Armando Trovajoli), Martino released twenty-five studio albums (plus ten compilations) in over twenty years of activity.

“E la chiamano estate” (Califano-Zanin-Martino) is a soft romantic sketch, in which the lover recalls, with painful sighs, the beloved lost who knows where: perhaps in a hovel on the Aurelia, in the light of a moon as if there were no tomorrow. A little orchestra between light jazz, dance hall symphonic, and protoambient comments on Martino's graceful and poignant singing. The finale recalls certain escapes for debutantes from “One Hundred and One Dalmatians”.

Noteworthy is the brushwork on “Fai male”; once again the little orchestra in great form, and the protagonist who, with a noble spirit, tries to dissuade the other party from establishing a relationship that would only bring pain.

“Cos’hai trovato in lui” is another doleful song, with almost noir lounge transformation and piano digressions close to certain Africanoid assumptions. Excellent sax intervention, which reprises the main theme without distorting it. In the end, the audience applauds stiffly.

“Estate” (firstly “Odio l’estate”) is one of the most important tracks in the history of Italian music. Imaginative lyrics, again piano and rhythm section from a well-bred black combo to white etiquette, Martino's “crooning” here reaches celestial peaks. Unfortunately, these cursed recurring applause slightly spoil the listening of an otherwise impeccable performance. It should be remembered that the track was also interpreted by Mina and Califano, as well as by real clowns of the current Italian singer-songwriter scene.

Also luxurious is “Forse”, which questions the reasons of the heart, faced with a love full of doubts and unresolved anxieties. Subdued sax, then again the cursed piano played like an ordinary Chuck Berry, but with more style; the central theme is illusion (Sanskrit “maya”).

More disappointed love in “Rimpiangerai”, where Martino admonishes the reluctant beloved; it continues between dreams, soft caresses, sweet moments, and the certainty that the woman, as an inherently evil creature, cannot destroy everything. A little organ wisely repeats the refrain, while the rhythm section performs an impeccably bold job.

Legendary is the “rendition” of “Roma non fa la stupida stasera” (among the authors Trovajoli): “manna li mejo grilli pe’ fa’ cri cri/presteme er ponentino/più malandrino che c’hai/Roma nun fa’ la stupida stasera”, verses entered into legend. Again a doubling with a little organ and sublime syncopated piano digressions.

The first disc closes with two legendary overseas standards: “September Song” and “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, both remarkable in interpretation. In the first, decently presentable and well-tuned female backing vocals render the piece almost dreamlike, while an off-kilter guitar sadly overlaps the almost boogie rhythm section; the sax reigns; in the second, there is an almost psychedelic filter in the clear instrumental progression. When Martino's clear and emphatic voice enters, there is no longer room for anyone else.

In the second CD, less interesting because it is more focused on philologically rendering some Anglo standards, noteworthy are “Canzone di Orfeo”, melancholically lysergic (here Martino sings in a non-despicable French), the interesting “L’amore è una cosa meravigliosa”, the sumptuous crescending swing “Mai e poi mai”, with an orchestral bridge worthy of Wagner, the sinuously sustained “Too Young”, “Cry Me a River”, with an aorish “incipit” (here Martino sings in English sounding Japanese), “westcoast” rhythm section (like Colaiuta-Phillips) and exquisite keyboard embroideries à la J. Cain, and the grand finale of “As Time Goes By”, played and sung better than Sam in “Casablanca”, thirty years later: on one side there were the Nazis playing the eternal role of the bogeyman, while at the time of Our Hero, the fury of various coined terrorism was rampant, which Martino successfully attempted to flow into a sort of strategy of détente.

An indispensable masterpiece, therefore, both historically and qualitatively; only the 2-3 interpretations of worn-out songs taken from the Neapolitan-Brazilian repertoire can be censored. If necessary, another “plus” that should totally convince you to purchase: Martino was a dear friend of Sandro Ciotti.