Francesco De Gregori
Calypsos - 9 canzoni nuove

“By now I do what I want”.

This seems to be the message of the latest work from the Prince of our songwriters. And this is the phrase truly envied by those who appreciate and understand art, as well as, of course, by those who live or try to live by art.
Yes, because reaching this minimalistic and almost-Battistian freedom is not for everyone. And He, the Prince, has really tried everything: from improbable passages at various festivalbars and the like, to the publication of an unspecified number of live albums (none really useless, in truth), to collaborations with the greats (De André, Fossati…) to those with minor cult songwriters (his brother Luigi Grechi or Mimmo Locasciulli), to the systematic and Dylan-esque destruction of his most beautiful songs (among all possible examples, the – though beautiful - live “Bootleg”), to the long pauses and now, to the very brief pauses… As if we were in the marvelous seventies/eighties, when it was almost a dogma to release at least one album a year.

Here, a very short distance from the excellent “Pezzi”, a very singer-songwriterly and purely “author rock” album, comes quietly, almost unnoticed, this splendid “Calypsos”. A cult album, very small. A little gem. The cover is Battistian, meant as the work of Panella, that of the five “bianconi” (which were then four bianconi and a light brown, to be precise). And it can't be a coincidence. Prince Lucio always liked it very much: the explicit and admitted quote of the instrumental tail of “Vento nel Vento”, which he skillfully slipped at the end of the splendid “Leva Calcistica”, is there to prove it. Just as a stormy summer concert in Ricaldone, the year Lucio died, saw him alone, on stage, voice and guitar, singing a heartfelt “Anche Per Te” of which, unfortunately, no recorded traces remain to date.
Thus you read “Francesco De Gregori” at the top, with “Calypsos” handwritten in the middle (and so far everything just like the bianconi…), and below the nice idea of “9 new songs,” this a quasi-quote from Cohen. All there. Inside, appropriately, the lyrics and the names of the musicians.

Since at the Prince's house nothing happens by chance, it is useful to take a look at how the album opens and how it closes. “Cardiologia” is a classic piano and voice ballad. The kind Francesco hadn't done in a long time. That seems to have come out, to be clear, from the sessions of “Scacchi e Tarocchi”, as if it were taken from the recordings that saw the birth of “La Storia” or “Ciao Ciao”, if not even earlier (the atmosphere of “Rimmel” is sought with gentle force). Here it is made clear right away that this is the tone, far from “Pezzi”, but always and obviously in high songwriter territory.
The album, however, closes with “Tre Stelle”, a light and relaxed ballad dedicated to the greatness, also minimalist, of three-star hotels, which don't put on airs, where you feel great, spend little, and where love and sleep are absolutely peaceful.
In between, a handful of short songs (the album doesn't even reach forty minutes, which is always a good thing, since Art is not measured by quantity), serene, that cite the fifties, the usual Dylan, and often, consciously or not, his former self that still, evidently, is.

This is the album of a serene man and artist. Who has nothing left to prove and knows it very well. And who seems to want to make us understand that, first and foremost, there is no shame in one's wisdom, and then that with Art, when you have this familiarity, you can and should have fun.
Doing, indeed, what you want.

Emblematic is the beautiful composure and wise disillusionment shown to the usual journalist who asked the usual question “but of course it's the live dimension that you…”, responding with something that sounded more or less like this “meh… even concerts have kind of tired me out, maybe this summer, ten or so… but we'll see”.

By now he does what he wants. And that's good.