Carmen Consoli
Eva Contro Eva

THE REVIEW

The new album by Carmen Consoli is out!

A voice shakes me from afar, not unlike that of a delivery boy, of a newspaper vendor singing the latest hot news at the top of his lungs. And this voice entices me, surprises me, fascinates me, this yes; it was the blessed conclusion of a dismal wait of years spent in the frenetic search among the news on the official website, a utopian and naïve hope for truth amidst rumors, whispers, and gossip.

I rejoiced when, about two months ago, a message in large letters covered the homepage: the Cantantessa, as I am wont to call her, almost like a dear friend, would soon be on tour to promote her latest work, hooray!
Fans of Carmen, rejoice! I was so filled with excitement that it led me, within a week or perhaps less, to revisit her old albums twice - all of them - and remain more alert than ever. So beautiful, so innocent! So sweet, so exquisitely singer-songwriter and often perverse!

Then the big day arrived. I went "to Ricordi" and asked for it, that album with an incredibly clever and superb retro-style name, "Eva Contro Eva"! I immediately pounced on the cover. It was her, her body. Lovingly clad in a pink-pink dress and her right hand raised and clenched - the fist tight, nails pressed into the flesh. And her hair, her dark hair, sliding down gently. What a cut, what a shot, what brilliance!
I'm sure it was all her idea to simulate a clever-predator-pose-ready-to-attack-against-her-predator; innocent sullied, soiled by the horrors of the world, vile and relentless.

What sweet cunning, what depth of concepts and language!

Adrenaline, I believe, was what rushed over me when I rudely jammed the disc into the player; but what I heard did not correspond to even a minimal part of what I had hoped to hear. Of these feeble, bland ten songs of an album that is to be forgotten tout court, little is salvageable, because little is good, natural, spontaneous, and fresh as the past works of the genius Cantantessa, the myth Cantantessa, the phenomenon Cantantessa were. A pale and emaciated pseudo-cleverly-arrogant imitation of a De André light years away to whom she cannot be compared while chewing over the same recurring themes (see the shameful "Maria Catena" entirely based on gossip, cruel cunning - and ignorance - of the old gossips like annoying flies hovering around the super-hypocritical and acerbic parish community tormenting a sweet "immoral" girl... STOP!, already seen, already heard!).

Not even the strong lyricism of a cultured and refined vocabulary and of periods at the limit of intricacy holds (Il sorriso di Atlantide), nor that bitter and cynical vision of life and its pathetic and pessimistic shades - which initially was precisely the key element of Carmen's success and consecration (Piccolo Cesare, Signor Tentenna), and not even the new experiments, sometimes interesting but not exceptional (Il pendio dell'abbandono).

So, what is there to save? Everything and Nothing. Everything, because the songs are not, after all, bad; her natural writing ability cannot disappear overnight, and it never will; indeed, they are better, in certain aspects, I dare say. Nothing, because, alas, sooner or later it had to happen: Carmen Consoli is old. Don't get me wrong, thirty-three years is certainly not much, for goodness' sake (did you hear, The Punisher, take heart! ;D). However, the fact is that her virginity and amazement of a "little girl" (as Pascoli summed up childhood) have died with age, as is natural. And, if you think about it, this was in essence where all her innate charm was based: certainly not in her voice - a paradox, consequently, become so famous and beloved in its own unpleasantness - but in her appearance seemingly so unintelligent, of an erotically mischievous, astonished, sad, joyful, pensive child. And this aspect contrasted irresistibly with the tough and excessively learned lyrics, rants and speeches from professors rendered so quirky if recited by someone like her...

But now, with the experience everyone carries on their shoulders and skin, the magic trick no longer works. And, of course, "Eva Contro Eva" would undoubtedly be a work of art if it had been by any other singer, how much praise!, how many compliments!... but this does not apply to Carmen, the magical Carmen, who in the past could saw in half a valley without hurting anyone, pull a funny rabbit out of a hat, cut a tie only to fish it out whole again...
But the show is over. The Cantessa artistically is dead, long live the Cantantessa. Remember to leave a fresh rose, in the image of her spirit, when you pass by; and remember to kiss her, to caress her. To comfort her. Because she sees everything. And, I assure you, you will be lying for her own good when you distract her from her suspicions, her fears; you will speak softly, in a low voice, near her ear, so as not to disturb her:

"No, Carmen, you are not that ugly woman who sings at the Festivalbar, and smiles, and goes wild, and makes brainy hits for the joy of the Itagliani (yes, you've read it right, 'Itagliani'). And you are not the one who hugs Mario Luzzato Fegiz for her new duet with Nek. And, come on, you couldn't be the one who churns out ready-packaged albums every year, so banal, so poor... "

Perhaps she will believe it. We all hope so. Remember also to say a kind word on my behalf.
Carmen, rest in peace.