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Rating: It was back in 1987 when De Gregori, particularly inspired, released his last great album, "Terra di nessuno." Then came, in order, "Miramare 19.4.89," mediocre, "Musica leggera," useless, "Canzoni d'amore," banal, "Prendere e lasciare," terrible, a couple of collections, "Amore nel pomeriggio," overrated. Followed, in a not-at-all coincidental manner, a grandiloquent (but essentially useless) summer Italian tour together with Fiorella Mannoia, Pino Daniele, and Ron.
For all those fans, heated and militant, hearing him hum "Compagni di viaggio" sends shivers and even a bit of fear. Why can't the Prince, or perhaps we should start calling him the ex-Prince, compose masterpieces like "Atlantide" or the magnificent "Leva calcistica della classe '68" anymore? One feels like answering I don't know, but one remains inevitably disappointed and, likewise, bewildered. To those who reproach him for no longer being politically aligned, or at least for resting on his laurels, De Gregori responds promptly with a fiercely militant, strikingly leftist album, "Il fischio del vapore."
Not all doughnuts, however, have a hole. "Il fischio del vapore" is undeniably a courageous album, even outdated, a convincing response to those who, for years, have criticized and mocked him. The passion is there, De Gregori is alive. But too much passion, too much courage, too much (or perhaps too little?) intellectual honesty makes "Il fischio del vapore" a work curiously unsuccessful. There are a bunch of nice songs (be they protest songs, leftist, clearly communist-influenced, some even partisan): "Il feroce monarchico Bava", "L'attentato a Togliatti", the inevitable "Saluteremo il signor padrone" and "Bella ciao". Alongside De Gregori, plays and sings the sixty-year-old Giovanna Marini, known mostly by a rather limited elite of anarchists and militant communists. De Gregori, who knew and loved Marini since the pioneering days of Folkstudio, seems to revere the singer-songwriter almost as if she were a Goddess. The Prince, intimidated and aloof, leaves plenty of musical space to the guitar (not exceptional either) of Giovanna Marini and unfortunately limits himself to hum here and there some verse as a patch.
And so, the anarchic and surreal force of the songs (among which the controversial "Il fischio del vapore") seems to get lost and break up in the name of a presumed banal and defeatist moralistic intellectualism. A little something is saved, but it's not much ("Bella ciao", now almost a hit from the Romagna riviera, always makes a nice effect) and it must be acknowledged to De Gregori and Marini for having shown courage and tenacity in wanting to re-propose to the general public songs and nursery rhymes that, over the decades, risked disappearing or even being forgotten by those who, in their youth, sang and shouted them. Therefore, praiseworthy intentions, but not an excellent result. Lots of grit but little artistic refinement: De Gregori, for once, is content and, as an old Italian proverb says, manages to get by. He never strikes, never wounds: everything remains indissolubly on the surface. This time, passion and militancy have contributed to leveling under the guard level an interesting and laborious, curious and tenacious album. An album that had to base all its strength on words and that instead, sometimes, tends to go on with unnecessary and pedantic musical solos.
"Il fischio del vapore", produced by Sony, represents for De Gregori a commendable and ambitious misstep (the next album, "Pezzi," is a masterpiece) and represents, for the little-known Giovanna Marini, a starting point and an unexpected national senile popularity. The album sold quite a lot, but less than what Sony hoped.
Tracklist
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