Edda
Graziosa Utopia

I never really listened to Ritmo Tribale all that much, probably because I didn't understand them or found them quite annoying. Kind of like Timoria. No, Timoria even more.
Anyway, windows that weren't mine. The sound of Ritmo Tribale didn't really cradle my obsessive-compulsive teenage thoughts; they were probably redundant, although I did see a couple of their concerts. I too have stepped on Heineken glass while Edda in a little skirt sang Oceano, but I couldn't wait to leave, because hoping they would all suddenly turn into the Talking Heads was beyond my capabilities.

I rediscovered Edda in 2012 with “Odio i vivi,” I skipped the interview with Bignardi when she hosted “L'era glaciale” on channel 2. It was 2009, and I was already quite glacial myself.

So I knew nothing about the end of Rampoldi. When I listened to Odio i vivi, I didn't know about the bridges, the drugs, India, the community. A fascinating story but, at the same time, a story like many others. In certain aspects, it reminded me of that Big Brother contestant who, caught in a moment of famous delirium, stripped live on air with intentions of defecating in the garden and on his roommates' beds. Probably one of the most punk moments in contemporary television history. The guy was then kicked out, hospitalized. He restarted his life by installing water purifiers, hoping that one day D’Urso would call him to tell his story on TV of how TV ruined his life. Imagine that.

I dedicated a compilation titled Killer Parade to him, which, needless to say, includes “Fango di Dio” from Edda's “Semper Biot.”

Then came “Stavolta come mi ammazzerai?” in 2014. And I convinced myself that this Mr. Rampoldi, aka Edda, made some amazing records. I don’t get easily excited, especially not by Italian music, but I hadn't felt such enthusiasm since the time of Tabula Rasa Elettrificata by CSI (maybe also the first by Offlaga, now that I think about it).

There's a rumor someone wanted to send Edda to Sanremo to sing a song with a chorus that went “E poi caga su di me, caga su di me.”

It's one thing to sing it, another to threaten to do it naked on live television.
Luckily, nothing came of it. I would have had to tell Edda that some Big Brother contestant served him a 6-0 6-0.

A few days ago, “Graziosa Utopia” was released, and I did quite well in the presale hunt: 58 out of 500 for the orange vinyl (there's also the marbled one and now, for the undecided ones, the marbled orange will be released).

And it's not that I define myself a fan of Edda, I'm not a fan of anyone. Maybe a bit of Theodor Adorno and John Cage, but “Benedicimi,” as loud as possible, was smashing everything with those contemporary sounds, bass and guitar screaming his usual, unmatched, visceral sound.

The album is fantastic, opening with “Spaziale,” which is a song of high-level songwriting that no longer exists. It evokes the Genoese school, the great classics of the most noble canon of Italian singing, and continues like that to the end of the album, passing from "Signora" to "Zigulì" to "Picchiami," astonishing you with this new direction from one of the most inspired singer-songwriters we've ever had.

I greatly appreciated the production that doesn't hold back on anger, dance-anger, independent American school openings, epic and anthem-like rudeness such as “Il Santo e il Capriolo.”

It feels like an "old-style" album, ten songs with few frills, a voice that's increasingly focused, less caricatural and more mature, allowing you to appreciate his unmatched poetry even more.

Someone wrote about a pop turn, he responds that he'd like to become as famous as Calcutta and comes home a winner.

Yet, looking at the initial feedback, with those few thousand views collected, on one hand, you think that God doesn’t exist; on the other, you might strive to make this album a little more known. You might even say that Edda’s splatter artwork, created by Davide Toffolo, exclusively for those who order the album directly from WoodWorm, is a museum-worthy modern art masterpiece. But in reality, it's just a drawing, just as “Graziosa Utopia” is just an album, an album that will get a “6” in those dreary internet pages with ratings or will make the likes of an aging forty-something like myself sigh. Here, I’m giving it five stars, and let's see what happens when I'm done eating.