Cervello
Melos

The experimental-progressive Naples of the early '70s counts among its hidden gems an extraordinary formation, essentially unique and free from any suspicion of possible derivativeness; a formation that was the protagonist of a rare, wonderful episode of "contemporary music" in the broad sense, still astonishing today for its originality and overall coherence: I'm talking about Cervello of Corrado Rustici and the lamented Gianluigi Di Franco, a group born at the end of 1971 and admired by the "alternative" public on the occasion of important events dedicated to the "new generation," not least the III Festival of Avant-garde and New Trends held right in Naples, where Our group was presented by the Osanna of Danilo Rustici, brother of Corrado.

Note how, in presenting the group, I used a singular article ("the" Cervello instead of "the" Cervelli), and this choice is anything but random: more than ever in the music of this unrivaled ensemble, indeed, you can grasp that unique sensation of "collective individuality" that materializes when all the musicians of an Ensemble think, perform, and interact as if responding to a single ordering will: not a composite and colorful collage of multiple tones and colors, the music of Cervello expresses itself in the forms of a perfect and indissoluble sound alchemy where "everything recalls everything" and each element links to the next in the imagined sequence of a "continuous flow," without a beginning or end. From the attentive listening of the whirlwind sound orgy imposed by the instrumentalists, a recurring sense of estrangement prevails, a sweet disorientation among the folds of stern, spectral, and at times distressing melodies, repositories of a mysterious and elusive ancestral charm; immersing oneself in the complex weaves and harmonic plays of the group produces the same sensation one imagines would be produced by the stupefying wine spread in Ancient Greece, made with dried grapes and diluted with water to temper its strong accents into a fruity, sweetish taste.

And Our group looks precisely at the moods and culture of Archaic and Classical Greece, as evident from the title of the work in question, the only album by Cervello, released in 1973 by Dischi Ricordi: the primary, literal meaning of "mèlos" is "song," and with "song," the Greeks meant everything concerning the sphere of the individual's "lyric" expression, as well as the realm of musical-vocal "poiesis"; the title of the majestic composition that opens the album, "Canto Del Capro," constitutes an important clue and confirms the presence of such cultured references in Cervello's creative practice: "capro" in Greek is "tràgos," and to say "canto del capro" is equivalent to saying "tragedy" ("tragodìa"), as it is believed that the winners of the first tragic contests were awarded a goat, just as it is thought that the same chorists wore masks with vague goat-like features. 

The reference to Greece is not limited to the lyrical-conceptual realm alone, as the imagery of ancient Dionysian and mystery cults manages to be perfectly translated into a musical proposal where the use of the flute prevails as a bonding agent among the timbres of other instruments, a preferred instrument of elegy and melic tradition in general (played by even four musicians out of five, that is, all except drummer Remigio Esposito, creating intricate inlays on which formidable vocal parts in odd time signatures rest); the contribution of leader Corrado Rustici is more than fundamental, a guitarist of superb intelligence and culture (qualities he would confirm in Nova), the "soul" of Cervello in a constant, obsessive, almost schizophrenic alternation of electric, acoustic, and "filtered" sounds (great use of overdubbing, for a purposely disorienting sound that develops over multiple dimensions, often difficult to separate and distinguish). The voice of Gianluigi Di Franco is often filtered and amplified, a vocalist of extraordinary interpretative mastery, capable of playing on difficult, often dissonant harmonic modulations, generally finely elaborated and pondered; notable are the powerful interventions of the sax, partly "Crimsonian" (but perhaps the parallels with Elio D'Anna are more evident) by Giulio D'Ambrosio.

It is essential to emphasize, and it is perhaps the most important aspect for a deep understanding of the work, the striking absence of keyboards, almost in the perspective of a veiled (and partially polemic) distancing from certain "canonical" English-derived Prog, which had made keyboards an indispensable component, constitutive of the "new sounds."

Conversely, in "Melos" England is far, just as the fanciful Celtic-derived sagas so dear to much of Symphonic Prog are remote: the air of the Mediterranean is felt, of a Near East even "closer" than the name itself suggests, and (in part) hints of atonal Jazz skillfully mixed with popular musical forms, characteristic of Italian tradition.

"Canto Del Capro" opens with soft and dreamlike flute hints tasked with preparing the "arpeggiated" (and chilling) entrance of Corrado Rustici, before the solemn, hieratic recitative for a sacrificial ritual that alone is worth the whole piece: "Magica danza mi porterà il seme, vivido intruglio disseta la mente"; thus enters the enthusiastic frenzy of an atmosphere populated by dancing satyrs and maenads, among rapturous vocalizations accentuated by the cymbals of the drums, until the composition fully takes shape, crossing incredible harmonic passages in terms of complexity and unpredictability: the interpretative tension remains extremely high until the end.

Equally intricate, with the voice of Di Franco finally in the foreground, is the subsequent "Trittico," up to an incredible amplified high note by the singer leading to a furious (and surprisingly controlled) explosion of screeching sounds, with Rustici's guitar conducting the dance: mood swings occur in a neurasthenic alternation.

Sweeter, I would say almost serenely "bucolic," is the shorter "Euterpe," not by chance dedicated to the muse of lyric known as "auletic" ("aulòs" in Greek is "flute"): great is the electric guitar solo that adorns this magical idyll.

Notes articulated by the bass and guitar echoes introduce the composite "Scinsione," perhaps the most markedly Jazz piece in terms of execution philosophy, suspended between precarious instrumental geometries and the group's usual (overflowing) creative verve. In "Melos," as already in "Euterpe," the suggestive vibraphone phrases executed by Rustici are once again appreciated, for another predominantly flutist and essentially relaxed, dreamy interlude. On the same wavelength (with a final fiery outburst of the guitar on vigorous drum accompaniment), "Galassia" maintains the tone before the farewell entrusted to the brief, whispered "Affresco."

Five stars for a magnificent album, unique in an Italian panorama where it deserves to carve out a place of unmatched splendor.