Claudio Baglioni
Assolo

THE REVIEW

To tell the truth, I've been absent from Debaser for quite a while due to personal matters and – I confess – a bit of irritation over some attitudes that were neither genuinely musical nor particularly correct, which I noticed in response to what was written not only by me. But an honest and dedicated listener never gives up, and the challenge is enticing, so today I find myself wanting to respond provocatively. In 1986, I was 21 years old, and like many of my peers, my listening included serious (King Crimson) or liberating and wild music (Led Zeppelin), journeys into stellar dimensions (Pink Floyd, Yes), or forays into jazz-rock, krautrock, electronic, and avant-garde music. At the opposite extreme of all this was, of course, a certain Claudio Baglioni since other superficial and talentless musicians weren't even worth criticizing (like, Gianni Togni could serve as an example). This Baglioni had a remarkable voice both in range and timbre, which was absolutely unsuitable for rock music, and he had a certain harmonic talent in composition, not limiting himself to just four basic chords (but how many masterpieces are made of four chords or less) but rather harmonizing every transition as is customary for those who compose at the piano. The insurmountable and serious issue was his disastrous thematic and stylistic choice because Claudio dedicated himself body and soul (in the highly political 1970s!) almost exclusively to romantic laments that fascinated young girls, to stories of emotional disappointments that even Liala would have been ashamed to narrate with so many clichés, to personal and self-referential celebrations that would have made even Hendrix unlikable (at some point, Baglioni really got a big head, from the height of his star-like success and millions of copies sold). Having regularly scorned our man for about a decade, I was intrigued by the release in that '86 of a triple live album of his, as if he were David Bowie, performed for voice and one accompanying instrument at a time, either a piano, keyboard, or guitar, aided by a MIDI sequencer that operated in real-time thanks to remarkable sound direction on stage. The formula was scandalously intriguing, worthy of the vocal experiments of a Peter Hammill, so I felt like listening to this onanistic celebration that (unknown at the time) would lead to at least another twenty live albums in the style of Dick’s Picks.

Well. Today, as back then, listening to Baglioni more or less gives me hives, especially due to the excessively sugary mainstream pop arrangements that afflict nearly all the national-popular singers in Italy. However, that tour's document, without a band and arrangements, remains an unexpected and astonishing gem in his discography. Performed without frills, with few applauses during the pieces and in this unusual almost “chamber-like” form, often in medleys and wisely juxtaposed to merge different periods and influences, many of Claudio Baglioni's best songs reveal themselves as much more complex and enjoyable and manage to convey an intimate and enclosed atmosphere, with plenty of improvisations, also because there is no band and Claudio does whatever comes to his mind minute by minute, showing to be more instinctive than expected. All the notes become hearable, and he – unexpectedly, at least for me – manages to fare quite well in both playing and singing, so interesting themes and musical plots are discovered and the voice becomes the absolute protagonist, and this is no mystery, we knew the octaves and virtuosity were there. “Assolo” is an excellent live album, comparable to certain performances by Billy Joel or the best Elton John (thinking of 17-11-70, of course), although within the musically objectively limited framework of Italian singer-songwriters, with some rare and remarkable exceptions. And if it’s true that as the mega album progresses, the enthusiasm fades quite a bit, and the work proves to be consumable only in stages or by selecting the listening, it's actually the formula that proves successful: a singer with a fitting voice and potentially interesting repertoire, if dissected and offered raw, can astonish with a heartfelt, engaging, and passionate recital, sometimes unnecessarily (considering the low real value of some compositions and many lyrics) but always in a very sincere and perceptibly genuine way. Stripped of chart ambitions and dressed in chamber gowns, with some jazzy variations and not few impromptus, quite a few of Claudio Baglioni's songs demonstrate that they can be little haikus, bonsai of romanticism that, however, entirely lose the whining character that ensured their success. In conclusion, a brilliant idea in his musical path that quickly fell back into the flat dimension of increasingly plasticized arrangements and increasingly sensational lyrics, while the voice and inspiration naturally declined year after year. Today Baglioni is frankly unlistenable, at the lowest point of his uninspiring musical career, rich in successes but poor in average artistry, and he continues to release uninspired live documents and studio albums that are awful (the Christmas Album) or justifiably go unnoticed, while the nonsense of Maria’s Friends is even worse. "Assolo" thus remains a unique and isolated work, which I often enjoy listening to in the same way one listens to Toots Thielemans or Astor Piazzolla.