Ivano Fossati
Lindbergh (Lettere da sopra la pioggia)

Who knows which obscure leader of the Ulivo came up with the brilliant idea of choosing "La canzone popolare" as the anthem for the center-left coalition... Well, whoever it was, they managed to pick the only ordinary track from a true masterpiece of Ivano Fossati's musical maturity, once again proving, if there was ever any doubt, that politicians' deafness is an innate and fairly universal trait.

"Lindbergh - Lettere da sopra la pioggia (1992)" is further proof of Fossati in his best creative season. The disappearance of certain literary pretensions makes it preferable to "Discanto", and the only flaw is precisely the infamous "Canzone popolare", a fairly banal and repetitive nursery rhyme, whose only merit (or demerit, depending on one's point of view) was serving as a good luck charm for Prodi in 1996. Its position at the start of the album allows the listener to get it out of the way quickly and immerse themselves in the more intimate and refined, typically Fossatian atmosphere, right from the next track, "La barca di legno di rosa", a text full of intricate symbolism, extremely elegant and discreet music, with a prominently featured Celtic harp worthy of the best new age, which in the finale bursts into applause-worthy virtuosity, to the point where it is a must to mention the excellent Vincenzo Zitello, a rare example of a male harpist. Fossati already has that typical passion for world music that will find its exaltation in the subsequent "Macramé". The most ethnic piece, "Mio fratello che guardi il mondo", is also one of the highest peaks of the album. Already a beautiful slow song in itself, it is further graced by the percussion of Trilok Gurtu (including the typical Indian tabla) engaged in a fascinating and intense dialogue with a clear and Western acoustic guitar. Listening is truly delightful, and for once, even the text, besides being meaningful and profound, is quite comprehensible.

Another jewel is "Sigonella", a song with a more classic setup, with an Elton John-like piano start and an understated beginning, but with a piercing central surge that leaves you breathless, highlighting the "desperate hope" of the text ("if this land stopped sinking..."). It's hard to hold back the tears. With "Notturno delle tre", there's enjoyment again: here Fossati proves capable of delivering pure jazz sensations worthy of Paolo Conte, also thanks to the skilful use of clear piano notes. The piano, by now for several albums, has replaced the guitar as his preferred instrument. "La Madonna nera" pairs an enigmatic and nonetheless irreverent text with dark and mysterious music, rich in special keyboard effects. It's not easy to find two anti-military songs on the same album: well, "Lindbergh" has this merit too. One, "Il disertore", is the translation of a poem by Boris Vian, with caustic words, sung here with a sparse guitar accompaniment. The other, "Poca voglia di fare il soldato", has a much gentler text, and even the music itself, with piano and a valuable piccolo solo, seems to evoke distant times and wars, but the basic principle remains the same. "Ci sarà (vita controvento)" is the only track with a pounding rhythm, but it is enriched by a virtuosic acoustic guitar intervention and a beautiful text that encourages hope in those who live "against the rules of the pack".

This superb album closes with "Lindbergh", a brief moment of reflection on the world seen from a plane. A comparison with the sort of predecessor "Il pilota" (from "Ventilazione") comes naturally: "Lindbergh", despite its brevity, is much more dreamlike and from the first notes imposes a cold and rarefied atmosphere, taking us into the cockpit of an old plane, very close to the stars. Which, if we want, is somewhat the purpose of the entire album.