Elbow
The Take Off and Landing of Everything

In April 2014, the promise of a radical change in my life unexpectedly brought with it some decisions to make and a few material needs. I found myself by chance on the Venetian walls of Bergamo Alta and, after a morning of walking under the sun, I was advised to buy two light summer jackets at interesting prices. I was proud of myself, carefully hiding my usual insecurities behind that late-summer fabric, light and soft to the touch. I didn't yet know that this would be the only time I would wear that jacket.

Ten years later, now, in this chain of stores in the historic center of Bologna, after just as many walks under a promising sun, a slight smile over me, not even too bitter, today erases all those certainties and great life plans. I see a row of inviting, economical light jackets of decent quality and good price, ready to be worn in the fitting room and then, perhaps, never again.

The radio in my head, in this spring renewal, today as then, broadcasts the changing notes of "Blue World," the opening of the curious album "The Take Off and Landing of Everything," which many will say, wrongly, is not essential, released just ten years ago, in March 2014.

The fascinating melodies and the beautiful voice of Guy Harvey move here on interesting registers and, thanks to the unsyncopated and at times whispered arrangements, we can certainly count this album as the most experimental peak of the Manchester quartet.

The turn of the two previous albums, decidedly more rock-tinted with the usual scheme of the album dotted with airy ballads and explosive vocal moments at the end of a predictable climax based on a classic-rock four-element instrumentation (see the super classic tracks "One Day Like This" or "Neat Little Row"), had reached its celebration in the album, albeit fairly predictable, with the BBC's orchestration of 2011 "Dead in the Boot."

It was a time of change for Elbow too, in 2014, and the will to break away from the classic show business patterns, despite the popularity and immense talent of its singer, somehow felt the need to rediscover their chamber indie rock origins, given the significant record releases of the same genre of those years.

But not even they knew it would be the peak and the finishing blow of a certain electroacoustic vision capable of producing "season final" hits for O.C. or similar shows. Perhaps a disappointment, a bit like for my jackets but, all in all, predictable and one you can smile about because, in the big cauldron of everything, it brings back what really matters.

By now, pop musical fluidity had devoured itself, and all subgenres of indie had become part of the features of every music genre, especially American, from non-underground hip hop to the collaborations of the Flaming Lips with Miley Cirus, not to mention Florence and The Machines as a regular collaborator of Lady Gaga and still today of Taylor Swift.

Even from the cover, it's not clear: is it a child Buddha, is it an image of regret in blue hues, is it simply a melancholic smile associated with the typical "made in Elbow" sound? A bit of this and that, but this time with time dilations and absolutely inspired lyrics, to the point of slowing down the beat to rebuild with doubled and contrapuntal vocal lines a whole series of meditations, at times really remarkable, at times more naive, making this album absolutely unique in all their discography.

The use of wind instruments is very interesting, absolutely less glossy than other productions. The Hammond, first omnipresent but behind the scenes and here instead in great shape in an advanced audio position, has a huge impact on everything. Sure, the "mantra music" style may not be perfectly successful as in other timeless great classics of the same land (precisely) such as the most spiritual solo George Harrison, but here there's not only the idea, but also a musical quality, as always in general when we talk about Elbow's music, enjoyable and in motion.

Invoking Shakespeare in the text of "Sad Captain" is a rather courageous and risky stance but gives the repeated canon of the song a path worthy of the best Verve, with a vocal melodic component that live is almost certainly capable of generating generous chills.

Also beautiful are the piano chimes and drum machines of "Colour Fields" in an atmosphere reconciling with the gut feelings that a beautiful ending sunny day can suggest.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. Sneak into that fitting room and tell myself in 2014: "Simone, what exactly are you worrying about? Keep reading, meditating. Leave these damn jackets, please."

But perhaps it is precisely the repetition of ourselves and the flaws that unite us that may teach us something we don't know if we can recognize it, repetition. Like keeping a piano touch on the beat and trying to put the guitar on the offbeat, producing songs over five minutes that can't be played on the radio, letting the music and its atmospheres speak, meditating deeply, contemplating and bringing together similar sensations of two days exactly ten years apart.

The Take Off and Landing of Everything is an album to recover, even in pieces, before it one day recovers you.