Giovanni Allevi
Alien

The Allevi phenomenon has been discussed excessively, often without reason, but revealing nonetheless that in Italy, musical culture is suffering and is somehow "manipulated" by the media and insiders. It is no mystery, but rather an objective fact, that Allevi has achieved enormous artistic success without bringing anything new to the cultural journey of music as such. He has sold a multitude of records, given sold-out concerts, and created a large following of supporters ready to defend him against any form of criticism (legitimate or not): all this thanks to the publication of solo piano pieces that slavishly follow genres and styles already on the market for at least twenty years.

When an artist becomes a sensation by shifting attention to something that has existed for some time and of which he is merely an imitator, the suspicion arises spontaneously that there is a strong marketing operation behind it. Otherwise, it would be inexplicable why a young pianist becomes rich and famous by composing and playing what dozens of others have composed and played before him. The general public surely ignores names like Michael Jones, Tim Story, David Lanz, Michael Gettel (to name a few) and would be ready to declare—quite innocently—that these have copied Giovanni Allevi! But the reality is different: Allevi has been able to draw from this enormous reservoir of contemporary piano history, imposing it forcefully on an audience still virgin, which was unaware of the existence of Jones and Lanz and thus believed to have witnessed the birth, right in Italy, of the new keyboard genius.

The new album "Alien" does not change this impression at all. Indeed, considering its simplicity and immediacy, one might almost think that Allevi has taken an easy step where the road was already paved, that is, proposing a tracklist of compositions that cleverly repeat things he himself has already written.

The adjective banal can be replaced with the softer predictable, as there is no moment on this album that doesn't sound already heard. Pieces like "Secret Love" thirty years ago sounded almost laughable, or at least relegated to radio easy-listening, when proposed by the likes of Steven Shlacks or Richard Clayderman. Similarly, "Close To Me" or "Memory" range from the romantic fervor of a young Schubert to the vague intimacy of a Beethoven, but only on a superficial performative level, lacking stylistic depth. Besides, although I find it otherwise vacuous to seek in a record produced in 2010 the emotion of scores written two hundred years ago (I'll listen to Schubert then!), I also perceive a lack of inspiration that reveals hints of a tried and tested calculated operation.

Predictable music, therefore, and at times not even well executed; for example, the track "Tokyo Station"—nervous and syncopated somewhat in the manner of a Dave Grusin—loses its edge and stumbles visibly.

Predictable like the cover (conceptually even embarrassing), which insists on the clumsy and quirky image of this curly-haired artist, mixing it with piano keys (sic!) and says everything about the marketing strategies. It is no coincidence, indeed, that Allevi's large hardcore fan base consists of music enthusiasts who have grown up on a very light humus, infatuated with the character first and thus delighted by the cultured aura that listening to pure piano grants to anyone. And if this is not a great marketing operation...

It is certain that, willingly or unwillingly, Allevi and his team have had the merit of making a certain type of sound acceptable and of giving the "classical" dimension of the piano a certain dignity that seemed relegated to niche genres. The price of this merit, however, has been high in absolute terms and has once again demonstrated that the Italian public is easily fooled and lacks background.

"Alien"—that said—is certainly Allevi's least sincere album.

And with all the merits and kindness that this young man may have, it remains a terribly empty record even in the context of his discography.