Enrico Ruggeri
Tutto Scorre

This album is 25 years old. This artist has been composing/playing/singing for 35 years. Just to remind the kids of today that Enrico Ruggeri is NOT a music critic, even though he was on X-Factor. He is NOT a television presenter, even if he hosted Il Bivio. And he is NOT a sports journalist (for those who might remember his appearances some years ago on "Controcampo"). And, at least initially, he is NOT a writer, despite the books he has published.

This gentleman has composed some splendid work throughout his career. Sometimes he even gave his jewels to others (Diana Est, Fiorella Mannoia, Loredana Bertè). Malicious people said he wrote for others because he couldn't sing. In reality, Ruggeri – it's true – doesn’t have a great vocal range, but his warm timbre suits the music and lyrics he composes. Yes, his lyrics… beautiful, often marvelous.

An intriguing character, anyway. Starting in punk, post-punk, then becoming a singer-songwriter, and even a rocker in the early '90s. Perhaps inconsistent. And disliked by many. But original, cultured, clear-headed and never banal, often masochistically against prevailing musical tastes. Just to say, in the mid-'80s, during the boom of electronic music, he shifted towards a "chansonnier" phase, French-style, seemingly out of time and out of any scheme, to the despair of the record producers of the time.

In the middle of that decade, "Tutto Scorre" was released, composed by Enrico and his faithful Luigi Schiavone, containing ten tracks (twelve in the CD version, with the addition, among others, of the Aznavour cover "A Mia Moglie", which a couple of years later would also be included in the excellent live album "Vai RRouge").

Perhaps it was his nature, or maybe because, along with the Champagne Molotov, he spent the freezing winter of that year composing, shut away as a hermit inside a castle... The fact remains that the ten tracks are (almost all) imbued with a poignant melancholy and a seemingly irreparable pessimism, without solution. And yet, unexpectedly, there is always a flash of irony ("Noi uomini forti sappiamo a che santo votarci"), or a spark of optimism ("La vita, che ti dà dei brutti quarti d'ora, ma delle intensità"), a glimmer of furious hope ("Non traslocherò da questa vecchia casa. Non mi arrenderò. Non ti perderò..."). Ruggeri sings of time passing, slow and inexorable. And above all, he sings of ended loves, often touching delicate chords and painful keys ("Quella mano che mi davi da tenere ti serve per gesticolare"); at other times, however, with more lightness, like when, replacing his Her with another, he tells the latter, "Ti ho visto addentare un panino dentro un autogrill: a volte un dettaglio può uccidere una poesia".  

The beginning is marked by "Il Futuro E' Un'Ipotesi", with prominent synthetic keyboards, a major chord progression, fresh and pleasant pop-rock.

"In trincea" is a sort of syncopated mid-tempo, with disillusioned and vaguely angry lyrics. "La Vita Corre Ancora" is a beautiful ballad with a strange and painful pace, in which he sings of his loneliness and his weaknesses.  

"Beneficio d'Inventario" is a deliberately old-fashioned march, in which he takes pride in being changeable and inconstant (but we had already noticed this at the time...). Side A of the vinyl version closes with "Da Questa Vecchia Casa", dark and claustrophobic, one of my favorites: him locked inside, between stained walls and old curtains, and the world outside the window deceives and disillusions, scares and makes one suffer.

"Poco Piu' Di Niente" is what remains of a marriage that has come to an end: paradigmatic of the album, in a way. Guitars stand out to punctuate assorted resentments. "Non Sono Incluse Batterie" already says it all: we have been given (by mom and dad, by God, by fate, by a damn prank, you name it) a toy called LIFE, but we haven’t been given the batteries, indeed, the batteries: and the energy, the resources, we have to find them ourselves. Here a lively rock and roll is played, cute and nothing more.

But, before closing with "L'Ultimo Pensiero" (only piano, brass, and voice), pure emotions arrive: in "Savoir Faire", a top-notch rhythm section, the lyrics tear you inside. And in the following, very fast "Fantasmi Di Città", listen, listen, there we are. Yes, even you about to vote for me. And even you who just can't stand Ruggeri. The time that passes, gray and all the same days, faces we cross paths with on the street, at the traffic lights, for a moment, hand gripping the steering wheel, and the moment is already gone...

Alas, Ruggeri, how right you were: everything flows, and too quickly... even your golden moment has passed... but you artists have an advantage: when a work is a masterpiece, it takes on the gift of immortality. And this is a record that, if not "immortal", at least deserved a first review on Debaser, because it has an enormous merit: a quarter of a century later, it still arouses emotions: anger, melancholy, frustration, love, regret....