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Yes. It is indeed true what a famous saying goes: love is not beautiful if it is not quarrelsome.
Quarrelsome is the classic relationship between a man and a woman. First in love, then ecstatic, overwhelmed by an irrepressible passion. And, unexpectedly, little by little they become furious, nervous, angry, insatiably vindictive towards themselves. Until they return to the initial happiness, even more in love and ecstatic than before.
Quarrelsome is Giuseppe Peveri, known as Dente, a representative of the post-songwriter current that emerged over the past two decades, along with Gianmaria Testa, Vinicio Capossela, Paolo Benvegnù, Moltheni, and others. And, just as Capossela does with Waits, or Benvegnù, at times, with Dalla, Dente cannot help but be inspired by Lucio Battisti in his rendition of a feeling like love. Adapting it his way, but always drawing inspiration from him.
And quarrelsome is the phantom figure the singer seems to address. Sometimes multiple, sometimes single. Sometimes real, sometimes illusion ("This woman is not a woman, this woman is a miracle..."), whether her name is Irene or not. Hoping this woman could be Peveri's female counterpart ("I like her, and she likes me. And I wish she would see me, that she would think exactly like me."), while he on one hand observes her distrustfully ("I make the biggest mistake ever: I trust you", "If you knew the harm you did to me when you kicked me out of a life I thought was only mine..."), and on the other hand looks reality in the face with a tinge of melancholy ("This year the flowers die in spring, I had already imagined the scene"). Yet between her and Dente, there is something in common, a relationship that will come out only in the end ("Beeswax or herringbone, we'll make a little house however we like, we'll put the bed on the floor, we'll think about back pain in the afterlife..."). This too is love, Roberto Vecchioni would say.
A love between strained universes, whose way of being brings about an excellent balance: that of an album suspended between doubts and certainties, flavors and discontent, secrets and lies, sounds reminiscent of the Battisti of "Anima Latina" ("La Presunta Santità Di Irene" could be his "Abbracciala, Abbracciali, Abbracciati") or "Una Donna Per Amico" (the melancholic rhythm of "Sole", very much like "Prendila Così"), melancholic almost bossa nova atmospheres ("Incubo"), strange choruses destined for that hard-to-forget 'her' ("Buon Appetito"), lullabies for solo piano ("Parlando Di Lei A Te"), cheerful and almost lively moments ("Quel Mazzolino"), and much more.
This is the recipe. Many acoustic sounds, a bit of brass, little electronics.
Few things, but good ones. The love Dente speaks of is beautiful, and also quarrelsome. Otherwise, it would not be love.
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