Davide De Marinis
Quello che ho

We weren't born listening to Bach, Jimi Hendrix, and Paolo Conte, there is a "before," more or less embarrassing for each of us. There is a childhood, which has music that we wouldn't know how to talk about today, and an adolescence during which we make silly mistakes generally listening to things that our ensuing taste finds at least disgusting. In the dark forest of sounds that dotted my personal youth story, I want to rediscover an intimate album, stretched between introspection and fairy tale, overall salvageable, bringing to light its commendable sides and rediscovering one of the predecessors of the recent San Remo festival winner, Povia.

I am talking about "Quello che ho", an album honest right from the title, composed and mostly played by Davide De Marinis. Most will probably not even remember the artistic existence - not too distant - of this author who, in 2000, reached the runner-up spots in the youth category with the song "Quello che vuoi" only to be swallowed back into the gray and tumultuous Milanese outskirts.

"Quello che ho" at first listen might seem a bit adolescent, even commercial:
there are 4-5 very radio-friendly tracks, the melodies are terribly catchy, the words playful, and the sounds cartoonish. However, the distance of our subject from Povia and similar artists emerges only with patience.
The outcome of the album is more subjective than in other cases and tied to the ability to stop being detached observers and enter the copious and intense sentimentalism of De Marinis. If we have patience, a presumed empathetic ability, and a little bit of a child's soul, over time the album reveals a more complex nature than it seems. De Marinis' words cannot be considered banal, as they are the result of sincere introspection, words of great humanity that our artist sings with irony and lightness, with a disenchanted approach, almost as if to say, "what fault is it of mine if a man has feelings?"

Of course, today sincerity and innocence are not exactly recognized values, they are a bit annoying, but the apparent banality in this album should be read as purity and sincerity. De Marinis performs a careful and sweet analysis of the moods that grip daily life in its minimal aspects, describes lightly without lacking intensity, plays effortlessly with words that seem to flow sudden and spontaneous, giving quality to the overall work. The album constantly expresses a "peripheral and claustrophobic" condition, in many songs the absence of an external space where one can breathe freely is felt, a lack that is sweetened through dream and daydreaming. The songs seem to be born and played in a room, reflections of an apartment conceived by staring at the wallpaper and yearning for idyllic landscapes and sensations, bringing new light to the urban condition.

The album opens with the piece presented at Sanremo, "Quello che vuoi", a cheeky love story set at home, driven by a catchy and fast melody. It continues with "Gino" and "Troppo bella", two songs on the verge of nonsense, the latter of which was a lively and carefree single that animated the summer before the album's release, to the point of still being somewhat annoying today. In "Troppo bella" lies one of the album's phrases: "life doesn't have much meaning if there's no appointment." Dry, trivial, truthful, and disarming, in any case, it needed someone to restate it. Subsequently, there are four songs in a row that are light and intense, including the two singles "Cambiare aria" and "I sentimenti nascono", the best manifestos of the entire album. Speaking in four moments and two ways of personal relationships ... so simple in their birth, so difficult to continue ... "feelings are born and fall to the ground, it's useless to hide, because your eyes speak..." We move on to "Ciò che cerco" where perhaps we find one of the most innovative aspects of the album, where De Marinis' style meets jazzy and nocturnal sounds. The carefree lightness that has carried us to the halfway point leaves us for two dark and intense tracks. "Come il sale" while maintaining the sentimental scene is a bitter song, delves deep into the soul, gets lost in the gray sea of winter. Following "Quello che ho", serves as a harsh indictment against a demanding and arrogant partner and even in this case, De Marinis shows originality in becoming the singer of a theme common to many romantic relationships. The serenity returns, the sweetness returns and in simplicity, just like freshly baked bread, we find the fragrance and the best aroma of the album, "Non mi basti mai." Already from the title, I see noses turning up, but once again De Marinis will surprise by making of a difficult and slippery ground like the declaration of love, a song without rhetoric or heaviness. The fresh spontaneity of our subject does not fear obfuscation even in front of the most lamented of themes. Finally, the disc closes with a moment of real emotion - almost pathetic, in the best sense of the word - "Ho chiuso gli occhi" is a singer-songwriter song that for intensity and poetry stands out, leaving a good memory and a bit of bitterness, like lemon after a sweet tropical cocktail.

In summary, an album for sensitive souls, excellent and original for attentive and engaged listening or a sweet outline for a romantic evening. An honest, fresh album that maintains dignity in each of its pieces without major style lapses, an innovative and more lively key to read Italian songs through spontaneity and enchantment. I recommend the work to those who have an inclination for listening to others; they will find many useful points of reflection and many smiles. A final and necessary clarification regarding the rating. The "3" rating given here is meant in a relative and not absolute sense. That is, De Marinis is not being compared to the entire sonorous knowledge, but by comparing the album to other works of the same genre (much better than Povia, D'Alessio & Co).