Ivano Fossati
Ventilazione

The reasons why Ivano Fossati disowned his old hit "La mia banda suona il rock" are numerous and reside in his mind. My hypothesis regarding this is that this infamous track was not only a hit, and as such (rightly) distant from Fossati's logic, but also a kind of "musical cliché," a sort of rock label stuck to this eclectic songwriter, even when he had already transformed into a refined alchemist of sounds. But since clichés contain a grain of truth, it can be said that this label quite accurately represents the early stages of his career, from the "progressive" beginnings with Delirium to the album "Ventilazione" (1984), a true swan song of the rhythmic Fossati.

Highly acclaimed by critics, this album is one of the most energetic and intense ever proposed by an Italian songwriter, unless one wishes to include true "rockers" among the songwriters, of doubtful value, such as Ligabue and Piero Pelù. No longer "a childlike rock, just a little Latin" (to quote the author), but a strong and decisive music, with a constant and sustained rhythm, the ideal backdrop for the lyrics, almost always based on travel images. Almost a concept album on travel, which along with the sea has always been an obsession of this author (traveling by sea is clearly the ultimate).

Very few moments of reflection; for the rest, Elio Rivagli's drumsticks strike relentlessly with powerful crashes, Guido Guglielminetti's bass pulses like a piston and the nervous electric guitar of an Ivano not yet converted to the piano keeps pace with his bandmates, to which various guests are added, some even prestigious. All this energy is regulated by particular techniques, such as the use of outdoor environments for spatial effects, and it's known that these things delight critics much more than the substance, which is nevertheless an international "sound," far more modern compared to Italian songwriting standards.

Almost a demonstration of the coexistence between the "raw" Fossati and the more experimental one, here is a brief but precious "Introduzione" instrumental, with sophisticated counterpoint games between two keyboards (Ivano himself and Gilberto Martellieri) that release a pleasant metallic and dry timbre, almost halfway between the "tubular bells" of Oldfieldian memory and a Swiss cowbell. The entrance of the rhythmic section shreds this texture instantly: "Ventilazione" starts like a rocket, a "rock libecciata" with violent gusts succeeding each other and hitting us with more or less coded messages, all marked by an urgent need to "change air" in every sense, real or figurative. One way to do this can be to travel, but at this point "Viaggiatori d'Occidente" warns us against the easy dreams of distant lands, which contribute to distancing us from our loved ones. "She thinks of the Greek lands and greater fortune, while he at the end of Bleecker Street is waiting for that moon": here are two travelers separated by an incommunicability represented by "long telephone pauses from another continent," and just to insert a truly erudite quote one could say "everyone ultimately lost in their own concerns" (Vasco Rossi, no less).

Guitar, bass, and drums whirl relentlessly, although at a more measured cadence than the subsequent "La locomotiva", which in common with the epic Guccinian ballad bears only the title. Borrowed from guitarist Adrian Belew ("The Rail Song"), it is an impression bordering on the onomatopoeic: at a certain point, the rhythm clatters in unison with the noise of this formidable machine whose feats ("of her beautiful voice, her long blown signals...") are now far away.

First and timely pause: "Il pilota", or the journey becoming routine. Effort and tension only "to see Linate become Pavia"; nothing to do with the visionary and poetic Lindbergh closed in his cabin among the stars, celebrated ten years later. The reflection plays out on a carpet of soft percussion and sweet keyboards, almost a window open to the Fossati to come. A few evocative synth notes begin a shocking rock version of "Boogie", a jazz classic by Paolo Conte, a version that the author did not seem to appreciate much. Indeed, the tight rhythm clashes a bit with the deliciously retro setting of the lyrics, but the track ultimately flows well, giving its best at the end, with Flavio Boltro's trumpet competing on par with Phil Palmer's electric guitar, almost as if to demonstrate that a typical jazz instrument can perfectly adapt to a wild solo, clearly rock in nature.

The journey continues with "Fuga da Sud Est", few and frantic words left behind in haste by someone fleeing, until the magical echo of the vibraphone-keyboards in "Parlare con gli occhi" stops us, and we end up sharing the thoughts of a certain Gianni, driving distractedly, tormented mainly by one thought ("love love... if only I had caressed your idea slowly over time you would have also taken my hand"), a thorn in the side softened by the tenderness of the music. The engine starts up again with the enigmatic "Le grandi destinazioni", whose start really has something of a wheel's departure, and at this point, Ivano, having sensed our fatigue, bids us farewell with a sort of musical chamomile like "Buona notte, dolce notte", complete with a final Arab lullaby, which truth be told seems attached to the track somewhat artificially.

You can tell that the ethnic Fossati of "Macramè" is still quite far off, but this album overall is very listenable, and with its unusual vitality may be appreciated even by those who are not enthusiasts of this valid musician.