Ivano Fossati
Lampo viaggiatore

The life of an Ivano Fossati enthusiast is not the simplest. It somewhat resembles trekking, where to reach the most enchanting places and views, one must follow the steepest paths, often getting caught in the brambles and sometimes risking getting lost. However, in the end, the rewards outweigh the annoyances, and thus not only does one get used to the musical contortions and enigmatic lyrics of our Ivano, but when they suddenly disappear, one feels a bit bewildered.

This is what happens when listening to "Lampo viaggiatore" (2003): it seems Fossati has imposed the obligation of simplicity upon himself, with surprising results. The shift is undoubtedly positive for the lyrics, which in the previous albums had reached such levels of incomprehensibility as to challenge even Bartezzaghi, a famous puzzle expert. Along with clarity, there is also a certain attention to current themes, as in "Pane e coraggio," where the drama of immigrants trying to move "from a land that hates us to another that doesn't want us" is softened into a tranquil, slowed-down reggae rhythm, with accordions more rustic than unsettling. Perhaps for the music, "streamlining" wasn’t even necessary, but Fossati must have been seized by a simplifying fever, leading to dry and edgy electro-soul like "La bottega di filosofia" and "Contemporaneo," undoubtedly the two tracks that most unsettle the old Fossati fan. The model seems to be Donald Fagen's "Nightfly", which would be excellent, but the monotone voice and still rather elaborate lyrics do not blend well with these rhythms. Interesting experiments nonetheless. A bit better is "Lampo (sogno di un macchinista ferroviere)," a nursery rhyme frighteningly similar at first to Dalla's "Attenti al lupo," which then recovers thanks to a warm saxophone "with its rich speech" (as Paolo Conte would say), and the lyrics, a quick series of clear images: more than a dream, it is what a whimsical train conductor might actually see. More convincing is the return to the old passion for reggae and Caribbean rhythms, which dates back to the times of "Traslocando," not to mention "Panama." Besides "Pane e coraggio," the results include "La bellezza stravagante," with hypnotic echoes of Antillean music, and especially "Io sono un uomo libero," a true reggae track with a very sincere confessional text, which starts with: "I rarely go out and speak even less...". Yes, it is the same song more famously known in Celentano's version, who in recent times should be credited for using his enormous popularity to spread great authors among an audience that usually ignores them.

So far everything is simple and smooth, but is it possible that there's no trace of the classic "piano reflections"? They are there, they are... First there's "il bacio sulla bocca," an intense and majestic ballad featuring the accordion as the main star, but the episodes that give us back the most touching and profound Fossati are two: "C'è tempo" and "Ombre e luce." Moving and emotional, both based on the piano, which has been somewhat spared on this album, both with a beautiful theme that holds the complex thread together: in "C'è tempo," it returns at the end of each verse played by the accordion; in "Ombre e luce," it is a wonderful "interlude" of five piano notes that adorn this slow piece from start to finish, with a special magic in the velvety dialogue between the clarinet and the piano itself.

Even in small doses, Fossati lets us understand that he is still capable of digging into the depths of the soul, even if for now he prefers to stay a bit more on the surface. Pleasantly though, and with much imagination.