Francesco De Gregori
Bufalo Bill

Despite having recently stated himself that he does not like that definition, today De Gregori (more than Paolo Conte or De André) represents the prototype of the "Italian singer-songwriter", for his way of composing and interpreting songs, utilizing lyrics rich in metaphors never out of place, often impressive in their precision, and accompanying them with music almost anarchic in its complexity, yet almost always relying on traditional instruments. The years leading up to this album were the most fertile in De Gregori's entire compositional career, with three and a half albums ("Theorius Campus", the first, shared with Venditti), albums (especially the first two and a half) profoundly adolescent but already accomplished, intense, personal. In them is the pulsating and visible attitude of De Gregori, who without much advertising systematically refuses compromises with the music market and the tastes of the public.

At that time it was fashionable to label De Gregori as "hermetic", precisely because of his mysterious lyrics, with Marianna walking with the sun in her hair clinging to a tin paradise ("Marianna al bivio", 1973), and with Alice who didn't quite understand all the mess around her. De Gregori, despite detesting the critics' superficiality, was unfazed, and in 1974 released his most personal and intimate album, titled "Francesco De Gregori", the one with the sheep or goat on the cover. In this album, he first laconically stated that there is nothing to understand in his songs, then let loose the wings of his introspective imagination in songs even more enigmatic than the previous ones, damn beautiful but witnesses of a commercially suicidal album. The following year came "Rimmel", which catapulted him as a star of Italian pop music, without probably having desired anything like that. One must go back to 1975 to understand how difficult it was for the Prince to record a follow-up to Rimmel without upsetting his art or falling into the repetitive. De Gregori would later confess: "\"Bufalo Bill\" is my cross and delight: you see, if I could I'd probably re-do it, taking more care with the sounds and arrangements. I did it that way, bare and essential, to punish myself for having made Rimmel which had sold too much... crazy stuff!" It stands to reason that the album is splendid, inspired, revolutionary (yes, revolutionary) in the search for harmonies and lyrics that tackle topics in an elliptical manner, using metaphors evocative and mathematical in their precision. And moreover – an aspect few have noted – it is compact and clean in sounds, and we were in '76. In this album, the songs, compared to those of the past, more intense and personal, gain an extraordinary clarity and expressive breadth and an ability to transport the listener towards impalpable and indescribable suggestions (this occurs in "Atlantide" and "Ninetto e la colonia"), as well as the voice, perfect in its slightly nasal intonation and at times unrecognizable compared to previous albums. The use of piano alongside guitar, already experimented in "Rimmel", here further improves in coordination and harmony. The songs:

"Bufalo Bill"

A melancholic metaphor of the opening of horizons in America (later revealed to be counterproductive), towards the far west, in which even a real man like Buffalo ends up becoming a circus phenomenon. The music is splendid, supported at the beginning by a muted cascade of piano, which is later accompanied and slightly overshadowed by guitar, which in the end gives way to a splendid piano solo. The lyrics move with wide images and reject the pop convention of the refrain.

"Giovane esploratore Tobia"

Written in collaboration with Lucio Dalla; the music is pleasant but nothing remarkable, the lyrics speak of a boy-scout and the passivity of his life. "What is frightening about young explorers is the inconclusiveness; they learn to light fires […] . I have emblemized the character of the scout […] who must do the daily good deed […] Tobia is a person who overall dreams, who has big problems of a clean, precise, lonely childhood behind him, probably neurotic, who does these predictable things."

"L'uccisione di Babbo Natale" is – in De Gregori's own words – his only "amoral" song; it tells the end of childhood and the illusions linked to it (or perhaps the fake bourgeois who rebels and together with the proletarian kills the bourgeoisie and then comes back to her?). The lyrics are splendid, and De Gregori confirms all his ability to launch barely announced but biting and transversal messages, in a fairytale atmosphere.

"Disastro aereo sul canale di Sicilia" is a masterpiece of political foresight ("It's all the more evident/ even in the climate of détente/ that a potential attack on Arab countries/ sees Italy in the first position"), melodic ability (the splendid music in a continuous emotional crescendo), and in composing lyrics ("And the widow-making factory flew/ alone, like a bird of prey/ The sea was a blue table/ by now Africa was already closer").

In the enigmatic "Ninetto e la colonia", the sound becomes more rhythmic and the lyrics are inspired, hermetic (precisely...), with probable references to Garcia Marquez ("And under a backdrop of stars/ the company clerks/ stole all the fruit from the trees/ and took it away").

But it is with "Atlantide" that the album reaches its peak. Melancholic words but sweetly detached (and phrases that few would have used: "He now lives in Atlantis/ with a hat full of memories/ he has the face of someone who understands/ and even a tinge of sadness at the bottom of his soul/ he hides a jar of desperate beer under the bed/ and at times believes he is a hero") and piano and guitar creating a sweet soundscape, dispensing intense oneiric and underwater suggestions. It truly seems like being underwater, in Atlantis.

One seems to become apparently repetitive and excessively generous in describing this album, but the following "Ipercarmela", "Ultimo discorso registrato", "Festival" (dedicated to the death, under dubious circumstances, of Luigi Tenco and especially to Italy's reaction), are also, unequivocally, beautiful songs.

"Santa Lucia", the album's closure, is a splendid piano-voice piece, a secular prayer supported by sincere and immense phrases ("Santa Lucia / the violin of the poor/ is a sunken boat/ and a boy on the second floor/ who sings, laughs and sings out of tune /because he comes from afar/ make it sweet for him/ even the rain in the shoes/ even the solitude"). The melody is among the most catchy of the album, while keeping a wide distance from the banal and the cloying.

The maturity of De Gregori and his consistency are magnificently expressed in this album, the most complete of his entire production.