Frammenti
L'Appeso

There are very few albums that can boast tracks so unique, beautiful, original, heartfelt, and truly out of the box in every sense of the word.

Children of working-class Turin—a city that made people suffer and still does—these were kids with great souls who, through rough words and melodies, faced their demons. In defiance of the stereotype that punk kids of those years were either full of pop arrogance or skinhead brawlers, Frammenti made introspection their main theme. And their sound, intensely personal, was melodic hardcore, but not commercial: melodic, yet wild and heartrending.

The cover shows monstrous figures submerged in the dark night of a metropolis, drawn with a childlike hand. And it fits perfectly: what you hear is exactly what you feel outside a provincial bar, late at night, just after the rain has stopped, thinking back on the last words spoken to that girl who maybe, this time, really left for good—or with that friend by your side, who has always helped you but can’t, this time; and in all this, the genius lies in the fact that the atmosphere teeters between the absolutely concrete and the utterly dreamlike. Kind of like some prog records, I’d say—first and foremost my beloved “Biglietto per l’Inferno.”

Then again, this concept isn’t new in the HC universe—Negazione docet. You know “Pezzi bui” by Skruigners? Well, this whole album is like that. Perhaps it’s the super short length, never quite giving each track time to decide what it wants to be, leaving it halfway between the tangible and violent and the abstract and imaginary, I don’t know. What’s certain is that it takes great sensitivity, and there’s certainly no lack of that.

The songs are short, schizophrenic, the vocals are high-pitched and extremely harsh, bursting into verses where the meter makes no sense and is completely warped in favor of expressiveness, with words pushed beyond the limit of pronunciation. The rhythm section stitches together extraordinary tempo changes and the melodies are superb. A real strength, in fact, is the way Frammenti always pull another ace from their sleeve: where other bands insist on sonic gloom, they bring verses and choruses to life with otherworldly melodic intuitions. The hummed “na na na” refrains are a trademark.

The tracks (some of which feature contributions from other Turin punx) I prefer are “Metropoli,” “Pace non vuol dire solo niente guerra” (both with a social focus), “Amore e rabbia” (which has a textbook verse), the beautiful “Scivolando via,” and most of all “Nadine”—but even more so the celestial triad formed by “Quello che ho” (with magnificent lyrics), “Un altro inverno” (with an ethereal bridge that always brings me to the verge of tears, maybe my favorite), and the one I’m most attached to, a song about misunderstandings between two people who love each other: “Anagrammandoti.” “Era tutto per noi,” then an instrumental section, then the cruel question: “O solo per me?” In phrases like this lies the essence of the most tormented adolescences. It doesn’t matter if these lines lack songwriter elegance: they are perfect.

The other tracks (though, joking aside, I’ve basically mentioned all of them) are, in my opinion, less impactful, but still very enjoyable.

An album, then, that gives voice to the dark corners, creating great music. Anguish, love, fear, anger, frustration, mystery. And yes, the vocals might make you laugh a little. But “Un altro inverno” in my headphones when I came home tired, alone, at night, after the chess club that was in the middle of nowhere—well, nothing beats that.

“Quello che ho è un sole che abbaglia, senza scaldare quello che sono.” Rating: 87/100.