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Rating:
“Dieci Stratagemmi” was an intellectually lively album. In it, Battiato was still vibrant, even though the tracklist concluded with a piece with apparently apocalyptic moods like “La porta dello spavento supremo (il sogno)”:
“Quello che c'è, ciò che verrà
ciò che siamo stati
e comunque andrà
tutto si dissolverà
Nell'apparenza e nel reale
nel regno fisico o in quello astrale
tutto si dissolverà
Sulle scogliere fissavo il mare
che biancheggiava nell'oscurità
tutto si dissolverà
Bisognerà per forza
attraversare alla fine
la porta dello spavento supremo”
The shrewd connoisseur of Battiato won't be too surprised, being used to the existentialist approach that underlies the lyrics of the Sicilian songwriter, often assisted by his philosopher friend Manlio Sgalambro: on one hand, there’s a fierce look at that material world which is dominated by vice and corruption; on the other, there’s a spiritual quest that uplifts and elevates to virtue.
In truth, in Battiato’s thinking, Death is transcended through the pursuit of the Divine (“E ti vengo a cercare” is the most well-known example). In this journey, Eastern disciplines, meditation practices are useful tools to achieve greater awareness; immortality, eventually, is found by the individual blending into the Universal, as part of a whole, and the mechanism of reincarnation plays a role in this (regarding “new forms of existence,” one should read the lyrics of “Il mantello e la spiga” and “Vite parallele”). Therefore, Death is not a novelty for Battiato, but even when the theme was previously treated explicitly, the narrative rarely was draped in dramatic tones: the stern and frowning gaze was rather aimed at the pettiness and vacuity of earthly existence; but as for Death itself, it was contemplated with serene detachment or, at worst, with irony. In “Breve invito a rinviare il suicidio,” for example, he sang:
“Va bene, hai ragione,
se ti vuoi ammazzare.
Vivere è un offesa
che desta indignazione...
Ma per ora rimanda...
E' solo un breve invito, rinvialo.”
It was 1995, Battiato was fifty years old. Just ten years later (“Dieci Stratagemmi” is from 2004) his outlook would sour; almost twenty years later the discourse would become even gloomier:
“Ho voglia di appartarmi e di seguire la mia sorte, perché morire è come un sogno.
Pura, Inaccessibile, Avvolta in una Eterna Ombra solitaria,
Oscurità, Impenetrabile, Intensa, Impervia, Immensa…
ha dato vita agli Dei, nessun uomo ha mai sollevato il suo Velo”
This is therefore the last Battiato, the one of “La polvere del branco,” a key episode of “Apriti Sesamo” (2012), to date the last album of unreleased works released by the author. Between these verses and the sentence of “La porta dello spavento supremo (il sogno),” there was “Il Vuoto” (2007), an artistically tepid album with moderate tones, which nonetheless constituted a further step for the developments of the artist's “existential positioning.” The Battiato of “Dieci Stratagemmi” was still in the world: he proudly affirmed his solitude (which was tinged with elitism in “Le aquile non volano a stormi”), fiercely claimed his intellectual independence (“I’m that”) and engaged with current issues (criticizing the international politics of the then US President George Bush JR in “Ermeneutica”), even dispensing wise advice on how to face difficult times (“Conforto alla vita”).
In “Il Vuoto” Battiato is already fleeing from the modern world: increasingly critical of the frenzy and futility of the present-day (“Il vuoto”), bored and annoyed by the chaos of modernity (“The game is over”) and even skeptical towards interpersonal relationships (“I giorni della monotonia”), he makes a further effort of introspection, cultivating his personal idea of immortality (“Aspettando l’estate”), looking fondly at the freshness of youth (“Era l’inizio della primavera”), finally finding himself contemplating the wisdom, balance, harmony of Nature (“Tiepido aprile”).
The album “Apriti Sesamo,” a sort of final chapter of an unconscious trilogy of Death, or of detachment from Life, exacerbates the tones of a journey that originated from the terrible tear of “La porta dello spavento supremo (il sogno),” fracture into which “Il vuoto” then wedged itself. In “Apriti Sesamo,” perhaps one of his musically most insipid works (a dry sound, with rock instrumentation reduced to the bone, leaving room for the sparse movements of a chamber ensemble), and with less hermetic and more explicit lyrics (let's say banal), the threat of death is the true fil rouge that connects the pieces together, revealing an obsession that cannot hide behind the usual existential convictions (which instead would see our spirit, once its journey on this earth is completed, abandon that clumsy shell that is the body to continue its path elsewhere).
Easy, right?, to hold in your pocket the awareness that Death is not the end of our existence and to wisely and serenely approach the twilight… and instead, no! The fact is that, no matter how much you believe or convince yourself that there is something “after,” the trauma of Death cannot be humanly, emotionally embraced, understood, overcome. What follows is a dry dissection that does nothing more than, by listing a series of recurring elements/themes, perhaps trivializing, definitely simplifying the complexity of Battiato’s universe, give voice to evidence that probably clashes with the idea the author wants to give of himself.
He called it “La porta dello spavento supremo,” which – he explained – must necessarily be crossed. And if from a distance, this gateway could be looked upon with a certain detachment, at a reduced distance it certainly makes a stronger impression. And to the Battiato of “Apriti Sesamo” (to whom I wish to live another thousand years!), approaching the fatal threshold takes away the smile. His gaze, proceeding, becomes grim, irony gives way to sarcasm, serenity to a certain unease, the educated and lofty periphrasis to the simple and didactic phrase: Death attracts and repels him at the same time, and it is in this dialectic that his visions remain trapped.
The refrain of the opening track “Un irresistibile richiamo” states: “Un suono di campane/ lontano, irresistibile, il richiamo/che invita alla preghiera del tramonto”: verses that recall David Tibet of Current 93 in "A Gothic Love Song” (“The bells of St. Mary call us to remember/ That life is with end”, i.e., “The bells of St. Mary call you to remember/ That life has an end”). It is the presence of the End that disturbs the songwriter's quiet life, a life constantly shattered by signals/omens indicating an imminent end to everything: present and future are planes that begin to overlap, confusing each other.
“Testamento” is a title that leaves no doubts and Battiato seems to speak to us as if he is already in the afterlife: “…e mi piaceva tutto della mia vita mortale/ anche l’odore che davano gli asparagi all’urina”, eloquent words that already make us understand how the one who utters them has in mind crossed the point of no return, and looks back with nostalgia, although shortly after he adds “noi non siamo mai morti, e non siamo mai nati”. But it is understandable: regardless of one’s beliefs, the trauma of Death is unhealable for the thinking being. There is no belief or philosophy that can justify our departure from earthly life.
“Quand’ero giovane” underscores the concept. The third track, certainly more successful than the previous one, carries with it more relaxed tones (“Viva la gioventù, che fortunatamente passa/ senza troppi problemi/ vivere è un dono che ci ha dato il cielo”), although softened by a closing line that in its simplicity imposes itself as a sentence without appeal: “Andavamo a suonare nelle sale della Lombardia, e c’era/ un’atmosfera eccezionale, la domenica, di pomeriggio, in quelle/ balere, si divertivano a ballare, operai e cameriere./ Era passata un’altra settimana”. In this last line, in fact recited with a mocking drop in pitch, all the bitterness and longing are condensed in noting that life is inexorably a slave to the passage of time: aided by the metronomic drumming of Gavin Harrison (already drummer of Porcupine Tree and King Crimson, thus accustomed to quite other scores) that with its relentless and stubborn march marks the merciless and dull flow of days.
The first words of “Eri con me” provide no comfort: “Siamo detriti, relitti umani, trascinati da un fiume in piena, che non conosce soste né destinazione”. If the song is not directly relatable to the theme of Death, it is certainly not flattering towards life and the pettiness/senselessness of the human existences that go through it.
And “Passacaglia,” even a single (!!!), adds to the dose: “Ah, come t’inganni se pensi che gli anni/ non hann’ da finire è breve il gioire”. The cheerful groove of the track is misleading and clashes with phrases that we are surprised to find in a pop album (“Viviamo in un mondo orribile” or “Vorrei tornare indietro nella mia casa d’origine/ dove vivevo prima di arrivare qui sulla Terra”).
And here we are at the masterpiece, the already mentioned “La polvere del branco”, where the obsession with Death, which permeates the entire album, is sublimated in the beautiful verses we have seen above. “Ci crediamo liberi, ma siamo prigionieri, di casi invadenti che ci abitano e ci rendono impotenti” and again “Ci crediamo liberi, ma siamo schiavi, milioni di milioni di ombre sperdute”: a suggestive, but also chilling image, evoked by the songwriter, who seems affected by bipolarity. First, in fact, he looks back at life with nostalgia, even lamenting the smell of piss, now instead he seems to even desire the end of the same and almost evokes the comfort that the seductive coils of Death could bring him.
With this track, the climax of the work is reached, which, we remember, sprang from the “call” of the Sacred, and which, reflection after reflection, led to the enunciation of an inescapable fate. The remaining tracks, illuminated by this awareness, will consolidate the vision shaped by Battiato, continuing to hammer on the themes of the a) search as the only means of individual elevation (“Caliti Junku”), the b) celebration of the mind (the instrument that is described in “Aurora” as “something amazing, a treasure/ that satisfies desire, a chest/ of every possible thing”) and the c) opposition of the world of spirit to the corruptible material world (represented by vile money in “Il serpente”).
Two words, finally, on the concluding track “Apriti sesamo,” disconnected from the rest and relegated to the status of bonus-track (but where has a bonus-track ever been seen that gives the title to the album and doesn't fit in with it at all?!?). Strange also that an album that repeatedly hits on the themes of detachment from life should wrap itself in a reassuring title capable of embodying that fantastic and exotic imagery so dear to the artist and his fans. In this choice, the record labels probably had a hand, who are not fools (after all, you sell little with Death...). But Battiato, who is no fool either, only pretended to please them, masking behind the guise of the deeds of Alì Babà and the forty thieves his insuppressible obsession.
Let’s observe, in fact, how our Friend decides to approach the famous story. He first sets up a framework in which he introduces the young woman Sherazade, the narrator of the story; then he has us delve into the events of the story itself, but at the moment of maximum tension (“When the thieves rode away at a gallop, and they were far away, Alì Babà took courage and his heart beat like a thousand horses, frightened and trembling, he repeated the magic formula: Sesamo Apriti. The rock turned on itself and like a door swung open”), at the moment of maximum tension, it was said, the narration is abruptly cut off: “At that point, dawn arose, Sherazade stopped, and the story ended”.
Those familiar with “The Thousand and One Nights” know well that the stratagem of the abrupt interruption is central to the development of the narrative plan: a Persian king, angered with the female universe (he had been betrayed by one of his wives), decides to carry out his perverse revenge by having sexual intercourse with a new wife every night, only to have her executed at daybreak. The beautiful Sherazade, having introduced herself into the king's court to stop the massacre, becomes a skilled storyteller of suggestive tales that she herself will intentionally interrupt at their peak, only to be resumed the following night: thanks to this stratagem, the young woman will not only manage to save herself from the king's murderous fury, but will, night after night, make the sovereign fall in love with her, eventually marrying him.
Similarly, Battiato, by abruptly interrupting his narration, hopes that it will go on indefinitely. But first, alas, it will necessarily be necessary to cross the threshold of the supreme fright...
“Quello che c'è, ciò che verrà
ciò che siamo stati
e comunque andrà
tutto si dissolverà
Nell'apparenza e nel reale
nel regno fisico o in quello astrale
tutto si dissolverà
Sulle scogliere fissavo il mare
che biancheggiava nell'oscurità
tutto si dissolverà
Bisognerà per forza
attraversare alla fine
la porta dello spavento supremo”
The shrewd connoisseur of Battiato won't be too surprised, being used to the existentialist approach that underlies the lyrics of the Sicilian songwriter, often assisted by his philosopher friend Manlio Sgalambro: on one hand, there’s a fierce look at that material world which is dominated by vice and corruption; on the other, there’s a spiritual quest that uplifts and elevates to virtue.
In truth, in Battiato’s thinking, Death is transcended through the pursuit of the Divine (“E ti vengo a cercare” is the most well-known example). In this journey, Eastern disciplines, meditation practices are useful tools to achieve greater awareness; immortality, eventually, is found by the individual blending into the Universal, as part of a whole, and the mechanism of reincarnation plays a role in this (regarding “new forms of existence,” one should read the lyrics of “Il mantello e la spiga” and “Vite parallele”). Therefore, Death is not a novelty for Battiato, but even when the theme was previously treated explicitly, the narrative rarely was draped in dramatic tones: the stern and frowning gaze was rather aimed at the pettiness and vacuity of earthly existence; but as for Death itself, it was contemplated with serene detachment or, at worst, with irony. In “Breve invito a rinviare il suicidio,” for example, he sang:
“Va bene, hai ragione,
se ti vuoi ammazzare.
Vivere è un offesa
che desta indignazione...
Ma per ora rimanda...
E' solo un breve invito, rinvialo.”
It was 1995, Battiato was fifty years old. Just ten years later (“Dieci Stratagemmi” is from 2004) his outlook would sour; almost twenty years later the discourse would become even gloomier:
“Ho voglia di appartarmi e di seguire la mia sorte, perché morire è come un sogno.
Pura, Inaccessibile, Avvolta in una Eterna Ombra solitaria,
Oscurità, Impenetrabile, Intensa, Impervia, Immensa…
ha dato vita agli Dei, nessun uomo ha mai sollevato il suo Velo”
This is therefore the last Battiato, the one of “La polvere del branco,” a key episode of “Apriti Sesamo” (2012), to date the last album of unreleased works released by the author. Between these verses and the sentence of “La porta dello spavento supremo (il sogno),” there was “Il Vuoto” (2007), an artistically tepid album with moderate tones, which nonetheless constituted a further step for the developments of the artist's “existential positioning.” The Battiato of “Dieci Stratagemmi” was still in the world: he proudly affirmed his solitude (which was tinged with elitism in “Le aquile non volano a stormi”), fiercely claimed his intellectual independence (“I’m that”) and engaged with current issues (criticizing the international politics of the then US President George Bush JR in “Ermeneutica”), even dispensing wise advice on how to face difficult times (“Conforto alla vita”).
In “Il Vuoto” Battiato is already fleeing from the modern world: increasingly critical of the frenzy and futility of the present-day (“Il vuoto”), bored and annoyed by the chaos of modernity (“The game is over”) and even skeptical towards interpersonal relationships (“I giorni della monotonia”), he makes a further effort of introspection, cultivating his personal idea of immortality (“Aspettando l’estate”), looking fondly at the freshness of youth (“Era l’inizio della primavera”), finally finding himself contemplating the wisdom, balance, harmony of Nature (“Tiepido aprile”).
The album “Apriti Sesamo,” a sort of final chapter of an unconscious trilogy of Death, or of detachment from Life, exacerbates the tones of a journey that originated from the terrible tear of “La porta dello spavento supremo (il sogno),” fracture into which “Il vuoto” then wedged itself. In “Apriti Sesamo,” perhaps one of his musically most insipid works (a dry sound, with rock instrumentation reduced to the bone, leaving room for the sparse movements of a chamber ensemble), and with less hermetic and more explicit lyrics (let's say banal), the threat of death is the true fil rouge that connects the pieces together, revealing an obsession that cannot hide behind the usual existential convictions (which instead would see our spirit, once its journey on this earth is completed, abandon that clumsy shell that is the body to continue its path elsewhere).
Easy, right?, to hold in your pocket the awareness that Death is not the end of our existence and to wisely and serenely approach the twilight… and instead, no! The fact is that, no matter how much you believe or convince yourself that there is something “after,” the trauma of Death cannot be humanly, emotionally embraced, understood, overcome. What follows is a dry dissection that does nothing more than, by listing a series of recurring elements/themes, perhaps trivializing, definitely simplifying the complexity of Battiato’s universe, give voice to evidence that probably clashes with the idea the author wants to give of himself.
He called it “La porta dello spavento supremo,” which – he explained – must necessarily be crossed. And if from a distance, this gateway could be looked upon with a certain detachment, at a reduced distance it certainly makes a stronger impression. And to the Battiato of “Apriti Sesamo” (to whom I wish to live another thousand years!), approaching the fatal threshold takes away the smile. His gaze, proceeding, becomes grim, irony gives way to sarcasm, serenity to a certain unease, the educated and lofty periphrasis to the simple and didactic phrase: Death attracts and repels him at the same time, and it is in this dialectic that his visions remain trapped.
The refrain of the opening track “Un irresistibile richiamo” states: “Un suono di campane/ lontano, irresistibile, il richiamo/che invita alla preghiera del tramonto”: verses that recall David Tibet of Current 93 in "A Gothic Love Song” (“The bells of St. Mary call us to remember/ That life is with end”, i.e., “The bells of St. Mary call you to remember/ That life has an end”). It is the presence of the End that disturbs the songwriter's quiet life, a life constantly shattered by signals/omens indicating an imminent end to everything: present and future are planes that begin to overlap, confusing each other.
“Testamento” is a title that leaves no doubts and Battiato seems to speak to us as if he is already in the afterlife: “…e mi piaceva tutto della mia vita mortale/ anche l’odore che davano gli asparagi all’urina”, eloquent words that already make us understand how the one who utters them has in mind crossed the point of no return, and looks back with nostalgia, although shortly after he adds “noi non siamo mai morti, e non siamo mai nati”. But it is understandable: regardless of one’s beliefs, the trauma of Death is unhealable for the thinking being. There is no belief or philosophy that can justify our departure from earthly life.
“Quand’ero giovane” underscores the concept. The third track, certainly more successful than the previous one, carries with it more relaxed tones (“Viva la gioventù, che fortunatamente passa/ senza troppi problemi/ vivere è un dono che ci ha dato il cielo”), although softened by a closing line that in its simplicity imposes itself as a sentence without appeal: “Andavamo a suonare nelle sale della Lombardia, e c’era/ un’atmosfera eccezionale, la domenica, di pomeriggio, in quelle/ balere, si divertivano a ballare, operai e cameriere./ Era passata un’altra settimana”. In this last line, in fact recited with a mocking drop in pitch, all the bitterness and longing are condensed in noting that life is inexorably a slave to the passage of time: aided by the metronomic drumming of Gavin Harrison (already drummer of Porcupine Tree and King Crimson, thus accustomed to quite other scores) that with its relentless and stubborn march marks the merciless and dull flow of days.
The first words of “Eri con me” provide no comfort: “Siamo detriti, relitti umani, trascinati da un fiume in piena, che non conosce soste né destinazione”. If the song is not directly relatable to the theme of Death, it is certainly not flattering towards life and the pettiness/senselessness of the human existences that go through it.
And “Passacaglia,” even a single (!!!), adds to the dose: “Ah, come t’inganni se pensi che gli anni/ non hann’ da finire è breve il gioire”. The cheerful groove of the track is misleading and clashes with phrases that we are surprised to find in a pop album (“Viviamo in un mondo orribile” or “Vorrei tornare indietro nella mia casa d’origine/ dove vivevo prima di arrivare qui sulla Terra”).
And here we are at the masterpiece, the already mentioned “La polvere del branco”, where the obsession with Death, which permeates the entire album, is sublimated in the beautiful verses we have seen above. “Ci crediamo liberi, ma siamo prigionieri, di casi invadenti che ci abitano e ci rendono impotenti” and again “Ci crediamo liberi, ma siamo schiavi, milioni di milioni di ombre sperdute”: a suggestive, but also chilling image, evoked by the songwriter, who seems affected by bipolarity. First, in fact, he looks back at life with nostalgia, even lamenting the smell of piss, now instead he seems to even desire the end of the same and almost evokes the comfort that the seductive coils of Death could bring him.
With this track, the climax of the work is reached, which, we remember, sprang from the “call” of the Sacred, and which, reflection after reflection, led to the enunciation of an inescapable fate. The remaining tracks, illuminated by this awareness, will consolidate the vision shaped by Battiato, continuing to hammer on the themes of the a) search as the only means of individual elevation (“Caliti Junku”), the b) celebration of the mind (the instrument that is described in “Aurora” as “something amazing, a treasure/ that satisfies desire, a chest/ of every possible thing”) and the c) opposition of the world of spirit to the corruptible material world (represented by vile money in “Il serpente”).
Two words, finally, on the concluding track “Apriti sesamo,” disconnected from the rest and relegated to the status of bonus-track (but where has a bonus-track ever been seen that gives the title to the album and doesn't fit in with it at all?!?). Strange also that an album that repeatedly hits on the themes of detachment from life should wrap itself in a reassuring title capable of embodying that fantastic and exotic imagery so dear to the artist and his fans. In this choice, the record labels probably had a hand, who are not fools (after all, you sell little with Death...). But Battiato, who is no fool either, only pretended to please them, masking behind the guise of the deeds of Alì Babà and the forty thieves his insuppressible obsession.
Let’s observe, in fact, how our Friend decides to approach the famous story. He first sets up a framework in which he introduces the young woman Sherazade, the narrator of the story; then he has us delve into the events of the story itself, but at the moment of maximum tension (“When the thieves rode away at a gallop, and they were far away, Alì Babà took courage and his heart beat like a thousand horses, frightened and trembling, he repeated the magic formula: Sesamo Apriti. The rock turned on itself and like a door swung open”), at the moment of maximum tension, it was said, the narration is abruptly cut off: “At that point, dawn arose, Sherazade stopped, and the story ended”.
Those familiar with “The Thousand and One Nights” know well that the stratagem of the abrupt interruption is central to the development of the narrative plan: a Persian king, angered with the female universe (he had been betrayed by one of his wives), decides to carry out his perverse revenge by having sexual intercourse with a new wife every night, only to have her executed at daybreak. The beautiful Sherazade, having introduced herself into the king's court to stop the massacre, becomes a skilled storyteller of suggestive tales that she herself will intentionally interrupt at their peak, only to be resumed the following night: thanks to this stratagem, the young woman will not only manage to save herself from the king's murderous fury, but will, night after night, make the sovereign fall in love with her, eventually marrying him.
Similarly, Battiato, by abruptly interrupting his narration, hopes that it will go on indefinitely. But first, alas, it will necessarily be necessary to cross the threshold of the supreme fright...
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