Imani Coppola
The Glass Wall

So, this is not just any review, or rather, it isn't for me: it's the hundredth one branded by Danny The Kid. Uhm, I need to come up with something special, I think, something surprising, but on second thought, perhaps not, by now I'm a "niche" reviewer and I feel inclined to remain so, therefore I continue on my path and continue with Imani Coppola, a girl, an artist who, like me, seems to have taken Oscar Wilde's maxim "one should always be a bit improbable" quite literally, making it a categorical imperative and a lifestyle and music style: we left her in 1997, we find her again in 2012 with the same free and eclectic spirit, never set and free from any stereotypes. Now Imani is thirty-five, the ironic and flirtatious hippie-hop girl from "Chupacabra" has given way to an energetic woman, somewhat moderately hysterical, who wants to make people dance with her style, clever, savvy, intelligent, and in the full bloom of her artistic maturity.

"The Glass Wall," her fourth album after the already praised "Chupacabra" (1997), "Afrodite" (2004), and "The Black And White Album" (2007), is a pop experience to try, at high levels: a boldly beautiful record, with strong colors that perfectly reflects a complex personality full of facets. Sophisticated and varied arrangements, perfect and measured use of electronic beats, prevalence of dance and urban/R'n'B sounds, with some reflective moments of great charm. From time to time, the ghost of Gloria Gaynor hovers: "Pain Killa" and "The Same Pain" are made of the same material as the immortal "I Will Survive," songs made to make the listener feel good, loaded with a sense of revenge, a zest for life, a vis vitalis, a direct and immediate empathy, yet Imani Coppola has many, many other arrows in her quiver. The dance trip of this fascinating daughter of New York City begins with the splendid self-irony of "State Of The Art", a sermon against the excessive use of technology in life and music, but strongly characterized by the heavy use of the vocoder and other cutting-edge electronic effects, a third millennium funk, which explodes into a powerful and effective chorus; this is Imani Coppola stuff, who now adds a bit of guitars to the mix in "Breakin' You In", then mimics P!nk with "Alive", anticipating her semi-electronic turn on the latest album "The Truth About Love" and in the concluding "The Future" reminds us where she started with an elegant semi-acoustic folk.

With episodes like "Ave Maria", "Catch 22", "The Wait Of The World", and "Fear & Loathing", our Imani offers a multifaceted R'n'B, direct and bold as it should be, but purged of any slightest semblance of lewdness (excuse my French), which makes me have to reuse the dark chocolate metaphor, an intense and rich taste. This is the average level, the extremes are respectively "The Kids Are Dangerous" and "Good For You", the first emotional, direct, almost a proclamation more than a song, which implodes on itself in electronic distortions, the second is her "Feeling Good": an idyll of soft, languid, dreamy sensuality, a coupling between electronics and orchestrations.

If the world turned the right way Imani Coppola would occupy that place in the sun which instead has been assigned to Lady Gaga. I know it's a comparison between chocolate and crap utterly pointless and self-serving, but it gives the idea: Imani possesses many of the supposed qualities that many see in Germanotta; the nonconformity, but Imani is so for songs like "The Kids Are Dangerous," not for dressing in steaks, or being a pop author capable of creating powerful and immediate melodies, listen to "Alejandro" and immediately after "Pain Killa" and draw your own conclusions. But these are the great crossroads of life, the choices that divide artists from circus performers: the latter become idols of the media-dependent masses and the radical chic critics, fetishes for the use and consumption of the market like a Che Guevara t-shirt or Lapo Elkann's glasses, the former perhaps have to be content to be paid homage to by Danny The Kid on DeBaser. C'est la vie...