Giovanni Baglioni
Anima Meccanica

The phenomenon of children of famous artists has often caused embarrassment and disappointment in the music field. Dweezil Zappa, Julian Lennon, Jakob Dylan, Jerome Froese, the list is long of those who simply haven't managed to replicate the feats of their illustrious parents, even though we found some solace in the work of Jason Bonham and Jeff Buckley, for instance (but they are not on the same level as their dads, I believe). Even the young Facchinetti doesn't seem comparable to his father, who isn't exactly Wakeman either, and Marco Morandi makes one miss his father's thigh-slapping, and in short, it must be difficult to measure up; Cristiano De André knows something about this, as he has talent to spare, but he will never match that of the legendary Faber. He has all my sympathy.

Yet there is a trick to not looking bad, and it obviously consists in diversifying one's artistic activity—if you must work in this field—in such a way as not to justify embarrassing comparisons and resulting Oedipal complexes. The young Venditti acts and doesn’t dream of singing, although over the last twenty years he could have easily done better than his senior, and Asia Argento certainly acts but avoids directing horror films, so no one is tempted to compare her works to her father Dario's.

This must have been what Giovanni Baglioni, born in 1982, said to himself, who was already marked by a song that was too important and flaunted everywhere in the charts, on the radio, and on TV. I would have been happy with my paternal heritage too, given that I was born to a modest civil servant who unfortunately passed away much too soon, but I would certainly have avoided vocalizing of any kind and would have become—who knows?—an architect, a painter, an engineer, avoiding any association with songwriting that would have surely brought me bitter disappointments and perpetual frustrations. Indeed, Claudio's child—who cannot stay away from music, whether due to DNA or constant environmental influence—wisely chooses to seriously engage with the classical guitar, an instrument that his father, if I recall, has always played rather poorly ('Poster' is taken outright from a Sagreras exercise, but from the early ones).

The young man works really hard to ensure that the weighty surname is not a burden, and develops a very distinct musical personality, far removed from that of his family: after the various Sagreras and Bona, and after exhausting Bach and Villa-Lobos, Giovanni falls in love with fingerpicking guitar (but so did Claudio, who wanted that monster Giovanni Unterberger on the album 'Solo') and who does someone who is interested in the genre listen to and model after? Stefan Grossman, John Renbourn, Bert Jansch, of course. After that, since his generation is different, Giovanni becomes enamored with Michael Hedges ('Aerial Boundaries' had already sold millions of copies) and begins to study circular tapping techniques and the most open tunings possible, and ventures into an area now incompatible with that of his very proud father, who starts introducing him around with the air of someone who doesn't understand at all what his "alien" son is playing. Naturally.

After distinguishing himself at the Canadian Guitar Festival in 2007, appropriately in a distant country where they are unaware of who Claudio is, Giovanni comes to his first recording in 2009, this ‘Anima Meccanica’, an excellent record that DOES NOT feature any introduction written by the notoriously verbose father (how he managed to restrain himself, I wouldn’t know), and where the famous parents are simply thanked alongside many other people, and this seems like the least they could do considering the money they must have thrown in.

Nothing suggests that he is a child of art: Giovanni explains the genesis of the ten tracks—obviously instrumental, for solo acoustic guitar—without any reference to his lineage, and allows himself to be listened to and judged solely for his own technique and compositions, both of which are admirable and fully justify the release. It's not a caprice of a child of art, but rather the debut work of a guitarist already skilled and brimming with inspiration and technique.

The immediate reference is certainly Michael Hedges, duly updated and sped up compared to the original model, but my intrigued and interested ear catches influences of Leo Kottke, John Fahey, and even Riccardo Zappa, who produced some truly remarkable albums in the seventies. The list could continue with the already mentioned Grossman, Jansch, and Renbourn, and Tommy Emmanuel and Pat Metheny from ‘Map Of The World’, but even Steve Hackett and Anthony Phillips are likely not foreign to the listening habits of the talented Giovanni. The tracks are excellent in their individual allure and it is not worth singling any out, you pop the disc in the player and settle into an armchair. The sound quality is remarkable (Sony Music knows how to deliver when it wants) and the listening is obviously interesting especially for guitarists, but also thoroughly enjoyable for all lovers of good music: round, resonant, contemplative when needed but full of flair and that energy that the acoustic guitar can always convey when the fingers have skill. I particularly like ‘Sirena’, but you know how it is with music, and at the next listening, I will surely be struck by new details and new sensations.

In the end, listening to and appreciating this 'Anima Meccanica' also means having faith in Life’s constant capacity for renewal. Claudio would love to play an instrument like this.