Iosonouncane
Novembre / Vedrai, vedrai

«If you think you're doing something original, you're wrong».
Iosonouncane, Il corpo del reato

Iosonouncane returns and revives Numéro 1 for a canonical 45 rpm, with a new A-side and a cover on the B-side.

Novembre is built on an intriguing metaphor: objects in Cristina's bosom. If it were a reworking of the dormant idiom "covare una serpe in seno" ("to nurse a serpent in one's bosom"), it could be understood as tension for the future, a divinatory flash. So why in November, after the harvest, would Cristina nurture the vineyard in her bosom? Pascolian pedantry, it hardly matters. We imagine her buxom, with the rural backdrop complicit in this image, with a peasant girl's bosom like Bianciardi's.
Aside from the onomastics, the lexicon of the Passion and the Eucharist (the three nails in the bosom, the glass of wine) imbues a sacredness to these bucolic scenes: perhaps this idyll is a nativity scene, in a diligent ahistorical stillness marked by the perpetual cycle of the seasons, by the calendrical convention that compels Cristina and her father (her partner perhaps? The narrator?), shepherds, to eat well on December 25th, only at Christmas, as if it were an extraordinary secular event.
Incani tells it modestly, vibrating his fragile mid-tone, for once renouncing the falsetto and reminiscent of the Bolognese Bersani, also in the taste for the redundancy of metaphors (so if we want, also the Bersani of Bettola). His story without History proceeds in a waltz between renunciations and expectations, crescendoing towards bells, reverberated contralto, and triangle, for a relatively sparse arrangement.
It is a song immobilized by its dissensions, uncertain in drawing from tradition. It does not evoke like the glimpses of anthropological abstraction in Die, nor does it bear traces of the narrative vivacity of La macarena su Roma, but it does demonstrate a certain skill of Incani to glide between registers and yet maintain his balance.
The critics from Targa Tenco will duly lavish praise, but the best of Iosonouncane is to be sought elsewhere, or perhaps in the future.

Speaking of Tenco, Incani's attempt on Vedrai, vedrai seems to lie in shifting the emphasis from vocal interpretation to arrangement, a kind of Morricone-esque psychedelic surf somewhat akin to Wow, but without guitar, to avoid falling into a macho crooning in the style of Giovanardi.
He gave it a shot.