Grazia Di Michele
Clichè

1970s. A golden period for singer-songwriters in Italy.

Actually, in general, for Italian songwriting because around the middle of the decade a "compilation" was released, or rather a group work clearly inspired by the women's movement, namely "Le cantautori", where some emerging female singer-songwriters offered their unknown pieces: many of these artists have disappeared from the scene or almost, today. In the second half of the '70s, the music scene in the capital is rich with ferment and the meeting point for artists is the Folkstudio, which provided the opportunity to perform in public and thus become known, committed to pursuing a precise profession, that of the musician.

At the Folkstudio, a girl arrives who loves Joni Mitchell and translates her lyrics while playing her songs, knows the milestone album "Blue" by heart (she is not the only one), and also writes her own songs, with the help of her sister Joanna, a valuable collaborator for the lyrics throughout her artistic journey. Her voice is raw, youthful because she is just twenty, lacking extensive ranges that could shatter glass; hers is rather a whispered and enchanting song and the compositions are accompanied by the guitar, the instrument where she finds refuge and through which she expresses herself in some way. Her manner is distinctive and she is noticed by Ernesto Bassignano, a singer-songwriter of the time and a journalist, who gets her a recording contract with IT.

The album "Cliché", released in 1978, takes its title from the second track, an ironic and sarcastic analysis of a rather squalid "ménage", a relationship without communication, with the sparse accompaniment of a guitar and the backing vocals at the end of the verses by Arturo Stalteri, producer and arranger of the album, and with that delicate use of the voice that makes you realize even more strongly how much this is a critique of "machismo", in plain words a "mockery", just as a genuine "mockery" will be "Tutta colpa dell'inciso", many years later, aimed at the world of record companies and "stupid songs".
The album is steeped in Latin American flavors, and even the first track, "I sogni", is influenced by these atmospheres, a song that reflects an exhortation to be brave in a difficult situation, obviously lived from a woman's point of view (also because it couldn't be otherwise, since the album arose in the context of the protest - excuse the pun - and feminism, and it was about valuing the role of women in society), so not entirely clear from the male perspective that concerns me:
"And before dreams take me by the hand/before the silence returns to grip my mind/I want to go out among people/a new discourse on life".

This last verse is connected to the sixth track, which is the first of side B of the vinyl, also the B-side of the 45 rpm released for promotional purposes (more than hard to find), "Ricomincio da zero", a very catchy and light-hearted easy rock, although the lyrics are not entirely silly, on the contrary, they are original: it still speaks of "rebellion" against the male human race, but consistently with the rest of the record abstaining from angry and harshly polemical tones.
"I stand in my direction/always meeting your shadow on the walls/it’s your best trick to move my center of gravity".

Oh, I forgot something very important, which is that the title is exactly "Da zero", with a "Ricomincio" placed in parentheses before. By what (im)probable logic I wouldn’t know and I wouldn’t even rack my brains. Following the ironic thread we find "Il problema", with lively and playful music and an original text:
"I don't know if it was distraction/or just a bit of discomfort/between my boots and your sweater/and all this wasted time/The problem might be something else/ but we were grown enough/and I say "we could have avoided/aging in your room"/The problem was me/ or the barbed wire of your thoughts/long days spent interviewing each other/my arguments and your opinions".

The last phrase is lapidary, it is the summary of a love story seen with hindsight. Well, it’s not very encouraging. But "Cliché" also deals with burning issues even today, such as child prostitution in "Canzone per Daria", or clandestine abortion recounted in "Riso e coriandoli" in verses that move:
"And he came one evening /like a Chinese shadow/brief miracle/parabola or spiral/with your eyes at the bottom of the night well/with ink threads on your wrists and light spots/while tuning your voice/to the new rhythm of the days/and adjusting your pace and breath to his/with the belly and the curve of your back seeking a new balance/a child weighs and at the craft of a mother you would have disappointed him".

Reflective songs like precisely "Riflessioni", on the condition of women, and "Ho visto gente", with a profound text that portrays misty characters "leaning towards colors /after a life turned in black and white /with only the alibi of weak imagination" or "walking with closed eyes /on the reassuring circuit of established habits/of already tested emotions" or again "filtering boredom/in corridors and funnels of light/weaving the fabric of time/with remnants of intact days and days".
A little gem is the very simple short "A giorni verrai", always on the harmonic base of the guitar, which contains a daring yet modest and natural verse at the same time:
"You'll come to tell me about you/about your new ideas/and to place your fear/between my legs".

It’s a song that holds the waiting and longing of two people who love each other but also a tinge of reproach to the certainties and care not given, addressed to the partner.
"In days you'll come to place/your hand between my hair/as if all this cold/hadn't frozen me".

Concluding the long-playing album (which was nonetheless reissued on C.D. by MP Records) is "Controluce", a very calm acoustic track that explodes after about half a minute of silence, where it seems the composition has concluded, in a musical whirlwind that, I don’t know why, but it reminds me of merry-go-rounds full of flying lights, perhaps those from the previous track. "Cliché" is, in the end, one of the few testimonies of a "female singer-songwriter movement" of the '70s, not a masterpiece since Di Michele herself doesn’t like to recall it, but certainly pleasantly listenable.