Eneide
Uomini umili popoli liberi

“Covers cities with darkness, draws shadows and falsehoods.”

This fairytale-like reflection on The evil comes from the second track of the only record by the Padua-based Eneide, a historical artifact recorded in '72, curated by the Trident, a highly respectable record label that, in the early seventies, wisely decided to publish masterpieces of progressive rock such as the self-titled album by Biglietto per l’inferno or the “famous” Dedicato a Frazz by Semiramis.

Brought into the spotlight thanks to a tour with the Van Der Graaf Generator, Eneide had the opportunity to record their first album, which, however, was only published in 1990, probably because Trident eventually chose to invest in other works, possibly due to financial problems that forced it to close down in 1975. The album was therefore self-produced and launched on the market in a limited edition.

Now, if we consider that two artists of the caliber of David Jackson and Peter Hammill remained in contact with the band until the mid-nineties, and even considered a possible collaboration with the former Eneide members in a musical project called The Dream of Oblomov (of which two pieces were published in 2011 as bonus tracks in the CD edition of Uomini umili popoli liberi), it becomes an important fact that highlights the undoubted musical quality of this work. Ten tracks, for thirty-five minutes of music, destined to resonate in our eardrums this little treasure of Italian progressive rock.

The structure of the songs is quite accessible, so much so that the album could even be considered a starting point for all those novices who would like to approach this musical style but who would first need an “acoustic training” to get accustomed more spontaneously to the compositional complexity often proposed by this genre; at the same time, however, it manages to satisfy those who are already experts in these sounds. The lyrics, in a dreamlike key, teem with abstract, cosmic, and mythological images that speak of freedom and the struggle between good and evil; in this regard, the refrain of the title track unleashes an incredible charge, supported in the instrumental parts by the flickering notes of the flute, tangible proof that in those years Ian Anderson was not scampering around the stage in vain. Also excellent are Non voglio catene (the only suite on the album) with a sublime keyboard work by Carlo Barmini, and the aforementioned The evil, built on the sparse and incisive riffs of Gianluigi Cavaliere and the thundering beats of Moreno Diego Polato.

After mentioning the “masterpieces,” it is obligatory to remember that the album, oscillating between sung songs and instrumental tracks, is of fine workmanship, therefore deserves at least a listen. The album is hard to find, but it can be listened to online. This is Uomini umili popoli liberi: a straightforward and romantic relic of a lost Italy.

Federico "Dragonstar" Passarella.