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Rating: I confess I have "baglionated," through my fault, my fault, my most grievous fault.
But not now... not now that the very botoxed and silvery Claudio has floundered both physically (about time, my boy: you were too handsome for your age) as well as with the unnecessary musical baroquisms typical of a certain intellectual decline.
I have reached a conclusion: after a certain age, embracing minimalism is the mark of the wise, while falling into foolish orchestral-choral baroquisms is the result of a detrimental "berluscomical" egocentrism.
And Baglioni, for a few years now, indulges whenever he can. And here, he indulged to the extreme.
I tried, for heaven's sake, but the only thing I've gained is a question as big as a house: how did I get moved by "La vita è adesso" or "Oltre"?
Possible theories: I was young (the most popular), I was stupid (highly rated), I needed to dip the biscuit (the top-rated theory).
The fact is that today even a single track from this exorbitant double album seems unsustainable to me.
This is to speak of music and voice. But it's on the benevolence of the operation that I would like to pause for a moment, to assess my likely and growing senile intolerance, or the rightful (I hope) unacceptability of the detrimental benevolence from a triumph of the Italian pat on the Italian shoulder.
In this operation, probably to honor (not unjustly) the star Claudio and his history, everyone has gathered, truly everyone in the most comprehensive sense of everyone. There are 70 house guests. Without any distinction of style, quality, greatness of the past, and the work. Without any distinction, according to that scheme of deteriorated bourgeois communism that now characterizes our country for too long, where everyone has the right to do and say everything, where a driver's license (just to name one...) is a right for all and not for those who know how to drive.
The illness has now become so severe that no one notices anymore.
In other words, it's natural that Baglioni invited everyone, from Mina to Giusi Ferreri, from Battiato to Titty Iron, from Dalla to Bocelli, etc..., just as it's natural that everyone was there. It’s Italy, my friends, let's love each other, pat on the back, the whole world is a town, all eras are the same, and above all, we are all the same, all of you, the whole world equally capable, equally cunning, skilled, technical, sensitive, gifted.
And why? Can we try to say again that it is not so (also because it is NOT so!).
We can try to say that it has never been like this for religion (remember the parable of the talents) nor for ideology (read Marx, he does not say and would never say this, although he does say quite a few nonsensical things...)?
But above all, can we still say that it is not so for reality?
No: here the watchword is: we are all friends. Always. Regardless.
Except then to live in a poor country where selfishness and wickedness can be cut with a knife, and ability and genius are increasingly rare and, those few times they exist, are exportable.
The doubt is: how would those who are no longer here have behaved in this circus?
Faber, I don’t know... I leave the hypotheses to you (they make me suffer too much...).
Of Lucio Battisti's "no thank you," we are certain. And that, a bit—just a bit...—comforts us.
Tracklist and Lyrics
14 Con tutto l'amore che posso (04:55)
E lungo il Tevere che andava lento lento
noi ci perdemmo dentro il rosso di un tramonto
fino a gridare i nostri nomi contro il vento
tu fai sul serio o no...
Tra un walzer pazzo cominciato un po' per caso
tra le tue smorfie e le mie dita dentro il naso
noi due inciampammo contro un bacio all'improvviso
è troppo bello per essere vero, per essere vero, per essere vero...
Amore mio,
ma che gli hai fatto tu a quest'aria che respiro
e come fai a starmi dentro ogni pensiero
giuralo ancora che tu esisti per davvero
Amore mio,
ma che che cos'hai tu di diverso dalla gente
di fronte a te che sei per me così importante
tutto l'amore che io posso è proprio niente...
E dopo aver riempito il cielo di parole
comprammo il pane appena cotto e nacque il sole
che ci sorprese addormentati sulle scale
la mano nella mano...
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