Franco Battiato
L'ombrello e la macchina da cucire

I love this artist, I love this work.

I dare say that the album itself feels as solitary as the umbrella and the sewing machine that give it its title, with few mentions, it went almost unnoticed. It's a fact. However, I don't even dare to suppose that it has left such a fleeting memory in the minds of fans of the Sicilian singer-songwriter; on the contrary, I am certain I am not the only one who has been struck by the uniqueness of this work, the result of musical experimentation that further proves to me the excellence that Battiato manages to achieve in completing his musical projects.

The lyrics are by the philosopher Sgalambro. I won't delve into their content; I perceive them as images, and they appear evocative. The concepts elude me, but they leave me with a pleasant desire to question their meaning. And these pleasant sensations derive from the splendid musical arrangement that gives them the compositional refinement of this artist. Each track has its own uniqueness.

The keyboards (of which Battiato has absolute mastery) form the basis of each composition (except for "Un vecchio cameriere", whose melancholic singing rests on the adagio of a Haydn quartet) and there are many, always perfect, choruses that alternate with the tracks of the keyboards, now sustained, now more delicate. The voice, unmistakable, is on this occasion often warm and suggestive, the atmosphere I perceive is melancholic, contemplative.

The tracks follow one another, the images overlap: the dinner serving terrible wine, the guest who can't stand inebriation ("L'ombrello e la macchina da cucire"), the sea air, the rosaries composed of orange slices, the rotten smell of the old port ("Fornicazione"). The choruses of the rhythmic "Breve invito a rinviare il suicidio" and the soprano's voice intervention in the soft atmosphere of "Piccolo Pub" are beautiful. Surprising "Gesualdo da Venosa", which begins with sung/spoken words, prelude to an upbeat, almost dance-like rhythm, with perfectly blended voice and chorus. "Tao" echoes between the walls of a temple, and "Moto Browniano" (with a cryptic but, as mentioned, original and captivating text) blends listening and meditation. As stated, "Un vecchio cameriere" requires a very high sensitivity, not only musical, to make the combination of chamber music and singing perfect. Finally "L'esistenza di Dio", a lively piece in which he engages in a dialogue on theological themes with students in a hypothetical anatomy classroom. The ending recited by the female voice reading a passage from a Sgalambro book might seem pretentious... If it weren't Franco Battiato, who possesses the gift of creating melodious alchemies that fascinate, of experimenting by blending sounds in a way that accommodates his intent to never stagnate within the standards in which he could be relegated. "La voce del Padrone," "Caffè de La Paix" (the masterpiece following the album I'm talking about), "L'imboscata," and "Dieci Stratagemmi" are some episodes that can give an idea of how his search is always evolving because the expression of his music-making is in perfect symbiosis with his being a man and artist.