Flavio Giurato
La scomparsa di Majorana

Flavio Giurato, the revelation of Italian music, a quintessential niche artist, returned after a full 23 years since his last "Marco Polo" (an album that marked the end of his "mainstream" career, although it was never of great visibility, except for his participation in "Mister Fantasy" by Carlo Massarini in 1982) with "Il manuale del cantautore," 12 beautiful tracks on social themes of yesterday and today, some of which were already released in 2002 in the first mini-version of the album. At this point, the question was: would this rekindled relationship with song be just an episode or would Luca's brother (yes indeed) continue to publish? The latter hypothesis turned out to be the winning one, and eight years after the "Manual" (few if you consider the gap between 1984 and 2007!), "La scomparsa di Majorana" arrives, dedicated to the figure of the "disappeared physicist," the most challenging album among the six of the Roman singer-songwriter. Ten tracks all different in style and duration, ranging from the introductory minute of "Los Alamos" to the 10 final minutes of "La grande distribuzione," the best song of the album along with the title track. Between these two tracks at opposite ends for duration and placement, we find the acoustic guitar arpeggio of "Sidi Bel Abbes," another short but admirable piece; "Italia Italia," an atypical song that describes the state of our country; "Tres nuraghes," where the inspiration is Sardinia and one cannot help but think of certain atmospheres of Fabrizio De André; "I cavalieri del Re," over eight minutes long and suspended between medieval fairy tales and current controversies; "Gatton gattoni" and "La banda dei topini," which form a diptych, are strongly linked songs, one with a nursery rhyme character, the other a lullaby. Then comes the song that gives the album its title, a beautiful and intense description of the "mysterious and unique disappearance of Majorana," to quote Battiato from "Mesopotamia." The song takes its title from an essay by Leonardo Sciascia from 1975 and clearly speaks of what happened on the fateful March 25, 1938. The most beautiful, chilling verses are: "Near Umbria in a convent he has taken shelter... he's down in Sicily in the most remote village, and then the disappeared physicist got lost... Naples, Palermo from port to port, in the crossing I pretend to be dead…"; the ninth and penultimate song is "In caso di cura," also inspired by the experience Giurato had as a music therapist, confirming the power of harmonics, but more generally a recollection of asylum times; and finally, the ride of "La grande distribuzione," spoken and sung, between song and theater, between orthodoxy and paradox: "Woman you are a prisoner of the Great Distribution/ And you seem to me like a blackcap solfeggiating the situation," the verses that most resemble a chorus, or the part of the "novecientomilalire," amusing and valid at the same time. The album closes, the only one of Flavio that was missing on Debasio. Giurato will surprise again, and only two years will pass, the same interval between "Il Tuffatore" and "Marco Polo," to give us another great work: "Le promesse del mondo," perhaps even more beautiful than "Majorana," and which according to the author closes, at 68, his singer-songwriter experience, formed between an analog trilogy ("Per futili motivi," "Il Tuffatore," "Marco Polo") and a digital one ("Il manuale del cantautore," "La scomparsa di Majorana," "Le promesse del mondo"). In an interview, Flavio talked about the difference in working between vinyl support and CD, where in the first case the side duration should not exceed 18 minutes, while in the second case the duration is 80 minutes and it is possible to increase the number of tracks and duration. Indeed the last two works, especially "Le promesse," contain all songs between 7 and 9 minutes. Happy listening!