Ivan Graziani
Viaggi e intemperie

THE REVIEW

The greatness of Ivan Graziani was, paradoxically, his constant humility. Shy and reserved (compared to him, Battisti seemed like a modern Trimalchio), the man from Marche Ivan was an extraordinary guitarist who was unjustly underestimated. Critics discovered him late, and the public always snubbed him. Yet, this splendid, somewhat dazed Martian was one of the major proponents of the pop-rock genre, Italian style. A genius who could compose exciting songs ("Lugano addio") and overwhelming reggae rhythms ("Taglia la testa al gallo"). A gentleman, before an artist. After the success of "Pigro" (1978) – unforgettable the photo of the piglet on the cover – Graziani recorded, in 1980, this very interesting end-of-career album (from here on, unfortunately, the period of decline will begin) which mixes nostalgic and popular ballads with complex and dramatic tracks.

The most famous track is "Firenze", a cruel tale of love begun and ended among the monumental ruins of Ponte Vecchio and, in the author's words, the "Colosso Toscano." A true, lived, unforgettable, sad story: an English-speaking student interested in the study of philosophy arrives in Italy, falls in love, graduates and steals the girlfriend from a Florentine, perhaps, of blue blood. Between what is said and what is not, Graziani skillfully plays the weapon of words against music: few chords, limited use of guitar and drums, a lot of emotion, and a lot (perhaps too much) emotional involvement. Here's a guess: is that Florentine student (perhaps from Marche) from whom the girl is stolen, perhaps Ivan Graziani himself? "Firenze" thus is good pop. But good pop is also "Dada", another dramatic story narrated in dark and often unsettling tones ("They locked her in a room, and then beat her as if it were raining, and plenty of drugs"). This time, the guitars are more explicit and tend to dramatize, with emphatic sounds on the verge of screeching, the suffering and drama experienced by the helpless protagonist. "Siracusa", curious and very amusing, is also noteworthy, mocking the classic mafia boy, while "Angelina" is a dark and cruel story set amidst the city traffic, and the indifferent disinterest, of a large northern metropolis: Milan. The sounds are always harsh and violent, and Graziani's solos are splendid and moving. Yet, Giovanni Tommaso's arrangements tend towards excess and forced grandeur: certain tracks, which surely deserved a wiser and more intelligent treatment, are unnecessarily weighed down by some avant-garde experimentalism which is frankly unnecessary and irritating: "Olanda" is the best example of this. And even the interesting "Tutto questo cosa c’entra con il R. & R.?" (topic: rape) neither enchants nor fascinates.

A problem with the arrangements perhaps was the greatest concern, and therefore the greatest pain, for Ivan Graziani: how many songs, perhaps beautiful, were thrown away because of sensational and vulgar arrangements? But he, Ivan, was fundamentally a good man, a kind-hearted person: he would never have fired anyone, even at the cost of losing skill, sales, and stylistic achievement. And Giovanni Tommaso (a semi-incapable) should, if he had any dignity, continue to thank that great gentleman named Ivan and surname Graziani.