Ivan Graziani
Pigro

"Gli indimenticabili" is the somewhat mocking name of a series of CDs sold at bargain prices, almost always featuring artists who are already forgotten or at risk of being forgotten, a series that unfortunately includes the albums of Ivan Graziani. This means that his authentic stories, set in an Italian province populated by humanly rich and original characters, sketched with biting irony but never vulgar, no longer move an audience anesthetized by television, ready for the fake stories of some celebrities or presumed ones. Luck still hasn't stopped turning its back on Ivan Graziani, who died of cancer at 51, with countless stories still left to tell, even though his best work was between the mid-'70s and early '80s, at the end of the golden era of Italian singer-songwriters. "Pigro" (1978) is the album that caught the attention of a finally wide audience, after years of honest struggle. Penalized by a falsetto more suited for a "Cugino di Campagna" than a serious person, Ivan made up for it with his guitar technique, unique among singer-songwriters, which made him an excellent session man, in demand by many colleagues, foremost Lucio Battisti. And above all, he compensated with an immediate ability to translate into well-defined portraits that intangible "mood" which an illuminating verse by Guccini defines as the grace or the deadly tedium of living in the province.

From this state of mind emerge characters like "Paolina", a tender and shy thirty-year-old girl "bitter as salt", more than anything else condemned by her own indecisions to a life of solitude, all home and work, where even the driving lesson "with the blond instructor, who always flirts with everyone" is a small diversion. An unusually tear-jerking song, but well composed. "Gabriele D'Annunzio", with its fine interweaving of acoustic guitars, is the unmistakable portrait of an ignorant little man, married to a burly woman who beats him every night with an ox sinew. The poor man finds no better way to vent his despair than opening his collection of pornographic magazines on the bed and calling his paper women by name, the only ones capable of understanding him. A comical situation, but not too much: the laughter barely hides the tears. Even "Scappo di casa" is the story of a frustrated young man who flees from an obtuse and bigoted family in absolute indifference (Twenty days on the run and not even a radio announcement), but his rebellion ends in the ridiculous and pathetic at the bar under his house, without even the money for a cappuccino... truly nothing to do with the intense life of Kerouac's runaways! "Fango" is a rock-laden sketch of a young delinquent; the language is intentionally filthy, and besides the mud, spiders, trash, vomit, etc., appear. Those in the know would say it’s a slightly "splatter" track. All things considered, the most positive story is "Monna Lisa", which is not coincidentally imaginary. The outcome of the attempted theft of the Mona Lisa is predictable, but at least for a few minutes, the makeshift thief can quench his thirst for culture (school is a great thing, and especially if they teach you to love the masterpieces of the past, but it’s a shame you can neither see nor touch them). The music is a lively rock, with a dry and precise rhythm like the ticking of a clock, punctuated by Walter Calloni's drumming, with some precious guitar solos by Ivan. The province reappears, seen as a whole "like an island of madmen lost in the rain" in "Sabbia del deserto," another rock filled with vivacity, with a nice contribution from Claudio Pascoli's crackling sax. Less convincing, though appreciable, is the attempt to dismantle a certain sectarian culture, which then generates ignorance, in the swift "Pigro", two minutes of venomous jabs and energetic guitar strumming. A bit too insider-focused is the caustic "Al festival slow folk di B-Milano", set in the realm of the "alternative" groups of the era, which Ivan Graziani knew very well during his years of struggle.

Overall, the album is more than pleasant, and is a good starting point for those who want to know this somewhat underrated author of ours before the Market proceeds to bury him in oblivion.