Franco Battiato
Il Vuoto

"Dieci Stratagemmi" ended with "La porta dello spavento supremo", the manifesto of the transience of things, serene and detached acceptance of the end ("In appearance and in reality, in the physical realm and in the astral one, everything will dissolve"). An end that inevitably includes our earthly existence.

This is precisely where Battiato's latest work seems to restart, which in a certain sense must be seen as a physiological reaction to such a stance, and therefore as a point of arrival in the restless intellectual journey of the Catanese artist.

The substantial difference with the illustrious predecessor lies entirely here: "Dieci Stratagemmi" shone with such communicative urgency as to constitute an act of affirmation of intellectual independence, a real punch in the face where the author, among anger, disenchantment, and passionate metaphysical ruminations, evidently seized the opportunity to get some things off his chest and clarify his visions/positions of disappointment towards a world perceived as chaotically useless. In "Il Vuoto", however, this communicative urgency is not felt, while the escape from the complex world is already in progress. Listening to this album is like flipping through the pages of a diary: the words arise from the depths and are written hastily, without particular artifices, tongue-twisters, or semantic fireworks. Simple words from someone talking to themselves and not needing to provide any explanation.

In light of what was heard in "Dieci Stratagemmi", and in the latest restless works, a title like "Il Vuoto" can only be misleading. For Battiato, in fact, the void assumes a dual meaning: it is not, as the lead single suggested ("Il vuoto", indeed), called to exclusively represent disorientation, the abyss, the emptiness of meaning that characterizes man and contemporary society. The void, in Battiato's thought, also assumes a positive value, that is, it is identified as the space that lends itself to be filled, physically and spiritually. Like a place of hope, therefore, like the place where to begin the work of reconstructing one's identity and the sense to attribute to one's existence. The abyss, therefore, as a malady to be defeated but also as a premise for rebirth.

After sweeping everything away with his work of deconstruction, "Il Vuoto" becomes for Battiato the occasion to celebrate the rediscovery of small things: an escape from the frenzy and chaos of the complex world, and at the same time a rapprochement to nature, the silence of the woods, and the teaching of the seasons, which succeed each other like joy and happiness follow adversities.

This intent (the search for simplicity and the approach to the essence of things) is consistently reflected in the music, the lyrics, and the mood of the entire album, where a generally fresh spring air can be felt, an air of hope, a need for peace, rest, or better yet idleness from someone who has been through thick and thin. A serenity that can be glimpsed, that comes and goes, that is beyond our control, but that is there, and that is achievable by returning to the wisdom and common sense of nature. A state of affairs inexplicable, that can only be felt but not narrated, nor even explained, also because this must be sought in us, each with their own modalities.

And Battiato not only does not try to explain it to us, but doesn't even want to pretend to explain it to us: for the first time in the author's history, the texts appear to us with disarming formal simplicity, supported by a poor vocabulary and linear constructions that carefully avoid the lyrical virtuosity that has always characterized the artist's poetry.

And when in interviews Battiato has said that this is one of his most inspired albums ever, there is no doubt but to believe him. Simple words, his, undoubtedly full of deep meanings (and how could it be otherwise when talking about an artist like Battiato?), but unfortunately strictly and rigorously personal: with the inconvenience that, for those who listen and are not in the head of the singer, they may even appear, at times, of an inconceivable banality if one considers that we are talking about an author like Battiato.

In this adventure, in addition to the inevitable Manlio Sgalambro, co-author of the lyrics, and Carlo Guaitoli, on the piano and conducting the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, we find two very young groups: FSC (who already participated in the recordings of "Dieci Stratagemmi") and the MAB, a group of gritty young girls. No special guest this time to lend their talent.

The sound, in line with the lyrical dimension, abandons the complex constructions and incursions of rhythms and guitars that characterized the latest Battiato and goes on to recover an essential, crystalline, fresh sound, composed of nothing but the elegant touches of a piano, the phrasings of a guitar never protagonist, the soft carpet of minimal electronics, and the sumptuous arrangements of the orchestra. Needless to say, everything is packaged with the usual professionalism.

"Il vuoto", the lead single, didn't excite me and still doesn't: it's the pop tune to which Battiato has made us accustomed, ever since "Summer on a solitary beach", naturally modernized in sounds and arrangements. Predictable melody, irritating refrain, a painful incursion of a baritone who would like to liven up the situation, and a somewhat trivial text ("You are what you want, but you don't know what you are") that describes, with less conviction and incisiveness than in the past, the sense of frenzy, stress, psycho-social ailments, and loss of identity that characterize contemporary society.
A different discourse is due for "I giorni della monotonia", the true masterpiece of the album, as well as one of the best tracks written by Battiato in recent years, and which not surprisingly brings us straight back to the glories of "Gommalacca". An anthem to individualism, a disenchanted and devoid of any romanticism vision of love. Love that inevitably involves a clash of diversity, incommunicability, sacrifice, and the injury of the individual sphere ("I am with me, between us I chose me", says the final verse). A track that returns to us the most cynical and disenchanted Battiato, almost demonic in the self-satisfaction with which he manages to demystify the most untouchable certainties and stereotypes.
"Aspettando l'estate" is another highlight of this album, reminiscent, in its epic crescendo, of the miraculous evolutions of an unattainable track like "La cura". A song of hope and love that enters into apparent contradiction with what was expressed in the previous song. But in reality, it is the levels that are totally different: "Even if you're not here, you're always with me, for old habits, because I'll see you again, wherever you are"; it's Battiato's idea of eternity that emerges once again, the indestructible force of the spirit that goes beyond the transience of appearances. A vision of things that goes beyond the limited perception of the individual and presupposes a broader design, a cycle, an eternal return that fuels our hopes, especially in the face of adversities, which assume nothing but a temporary role.
"Niente è come sembra" instead brings us back to the most existentialist Battiato, always interested in the dualism of appearance vs reality. Unfortunately, a childishly didactic refrain like "Niente è come sembra, niente è come appare, perché niente è reale" not only appears banal but adds nothing new to the story that Franco has been proposing for years now, and which, frankly, was better expressed in the past. To save a mediocre track overall, there's the genius touch of a surreal incursion in English ("I was in my car watching for the bend, I was looking for you"), a masterstroke that brings us back to the most enigmatic Battiato.
"Tiepido aprile", for voice and strings only, is the emblem of Battiato for 2007: it's a mystical walk in the woods smelling of pine resin and carrying the lightness of clouds. A reconciliation with oneself through nature, the rest of the senses, and relief from the chaos and frenzy of the city, well represented by the following "The Game is over", which, together with the title track, is the only somewhat lively piece in the collection: this time it's the pulse of the most pressing techno that animates, between Italian and English, the visions (and issues) of the artist ("Where are we going, in the succession of time, do you have a project or not for your life?"). A pleasant interlude that wakes us up from the languid atmospheres that precede it, but certainly does not make us shout for a miracle.
"Era l'inizio della primavera" is nothing more than the encounter of a classical aria by Tchaikovsky and a text by Tolstoy adapted by Battiato, in which the spring atmospheres of "Tiepido aprile" are revisited: piano, violins, and a nostalgic glance towards the past, towards the purity of youth and the naivety of first loves. The female choirs in the finale, which give the whole a touch of English folk, are excellent.
"Io chi sono", amidst spirituality, existentialist philosophy, and quantum physics, reiterates, in my opinion, wearily, the usual themes of "Appearance and reality" ("Everything is illusory, lacks substance, everything is void"), reaffirming once again, not even too brilliantly, a story that we already know like the back of our hand.
The concluding "Stati di gioia" is instead the other true masterpiece of the album (together with "I giorni della monotonia"). Finally returns the visionary and evocative Battiato we love the most. "By chance, I discovered the state that ascends to Joy, I was chewing apple seeds in the morning light, the air ripples seemed to pulse, phrases reached me, the smell of burnt herbs, sparks of fires, distant sounds": it is the nonsense of happiness, the inexplicability of the moments that precede it, the emotion we chase throughout our existence but which remains absolutely beyond our control. It is the idea of a tiny man in the vastness of the universe who has no reason at all to take himself too seriously. The tiny man who childishly flees from nature, who wanders blindly around the world, who perseveres diabolically in his mistakes, who rushes in search of happiness, not realizing that it resides within himself. "Purification rites, within joy states, without Light or Darkness": this is the phrase with which Battiato bids us farewell, leaving us in uncertainty and with a vision that goes beyond the Manichean simplistic contrast between good and evil. There is neither light nor darkness, explains Battiato at the apex of his relativism, and only within us lies the path to reach our (personal) happiness.

Thirty-three minutes and thirty-three seconds, that flow like a glass of water: simple, linear, refreshing. In short, "Il Vuoto" is an elegant and extremely refined album that, while not a masterpiece, will not disappoint the most understanding fans. An album that testifies to an artistic talent that, after many years, among ups and downs, does not seem to wither at all. An album, unfortunately, where the inevitable ghost of déjà vu looms, but which is capable of delivering genuine joys, three to be precise: "I giorni della monotonia", "Aspettando l'estate", "Stati di gioia", among the best things ever written by our artist, but frankly too little not to leave the listener with a slight sense of disappointment.