Ivano Fossati
Discanto

It is a Fossati in a state of grace who offers us this other essay of creativity in 1990, only slightly weighed down by certain excessive and tortuous literary intellectualisms, particularly concerning the lyrics of "Lunario di Settembre" and "Confessioni di Alonso Chisciano". The first is drawn from a witchcraft condemnation sentence dated 1647, with a language somewhere between bureaucratic and baroque, appropriate to the era. The second is a profound psychological reflection on the visions and disturbances of a Don Quixote all too aware of himself. In both these ambitious compositions (calling them songs is a bit limiting), the gravity of the lyrics is more than compensated by splendid music, and particularly "Lunario di Settembre" contains an enchanting interlude for piano and voice, subtitled "Dialogue between the inquisitor and an accused."

It is an "erudite" album even outside of these two episodes: just think of the use of the traditional Portuguese guitar ("breguesa") in the evocative "Lusitania," which opens the album with elaborate rhythmic sequences of drums and percussion, and with a gallery of images, almost never landscape-like, but always evocative and capable of bringing us, as listeners and "small mediocre lonely travelers," to the shores of the Atlantic, facing the mystery of the unknown. Unusual instrumental combinations also return, like the one between the mournful sound of an oboe and the dark yet soft African percussion in the beautiful "Passalento," arguably one of the most inspired and moving songs of Fossati's entire career. "Italiani d'Argentina," a text carrying serene resignation rather than nostalgia for the homeland, relies on a rhythm reminiscent of Paolo Conte's milongas, only a bit more decisive and accelerated, in short, a bit less jazzy. The only track that can be defined as close to rock is "Discanto," in which the hard, insistent cadences adapt excellently to the lyrics, which are practically a disenchanted list of things one lives for every day.

Fossati now has skills to spare, making even a potentially very monotonous track like this enjoyable through fitting shifts in tone, always building up, until the final verse where the robust rhythmic base calms down. Small gems placed at the end are "Unica rosa," almost a play on the possible rhymes in "osa," with a sweet, soothing melody like herbal tea, and "Albertina," for piano and voice, a brief and intense female portrait. "Piumetta" is akin to a nursery rhyme invoking the figures of tarot cards, with a nice sustained rhythm and the participation of Fiorella Mannoia, the author's favorite singer, who here seems to hide and practically does little more than the counterpoint. It is perhaps the only light moment of an album as one might say somewhat tough, but excellent.