Lene Marlin
Another Day

THE REVIEW

We are a bunch of grouches. No one warned Lene Marlin that becoming a world-renowned chart-topping popstar would take her very, very far from her Norway for a long time. And so, amidst concerts, press conferences, and TV appearances, she felt like a lamb in the wolf's den. So, what does she do at that point? She falls into depression. The solutions are numerous: Take a flight to India (Morrissette), strip on TV (Carey), commit suicide (Pantaleone the hardware store owner on Via Gramsci). She opts for a more comfortable clinic but not without having passed through the recording studio.

For those, like me (despite the name), who experience a profound sense of anguish just by watching an entire episode of "Pingu," abstain from listening to this CD. After a four-year absence, probably due to her illness, Lene Marlin returns in 2003 with "Another Day." I admit it: I regarded "Playing My Game" (Her first album) as a solid debut, nice and unpretentious, which is why I approached her second work with some curiosity. It did not go well for me.

The first song starts, from which the album takes its title, and we realize that, in the end, Lene has not changed: still that thin and sweet voice still accompanied by those vaguely nostalgic guitar chords. Okay, I tell myself, the classic fingerprint track to reaffirm her style. Moving on. "Faces" arrives, a very delicate piece that describes the warmth of true human relationships, an exaltation of friendship. It's the turn of "You Weren't There," the first single released, which narrates, relying not only on instrumental music, the sad story of a broken relationship (reason: his disinterest) and is also a good declaration of intentions: to favor the more individual side, to compose songs capable of evoking, through music, the artist's subjective sensations, and to express through the lyrics a personal intimate diary, to move the listener. Unfortunately for her, she does not entirely succeed. And indeed, I find myself reaching the eighth song to recover a bit from the stupor, that is "Fight Against the Hours" and "Story," the ninth and final track that speaks of a missing person (either she jinxes herself, or she is by nature an unlucky soul). The rest gets lost in a whirlwind of acoustic guitars and lyrics that continually hammer the same points: she loves her man madly and will never leave him again (a theme so trite that Federico Moccia even wrote two books about it. Or three? I wouldn't know...) in "From This Day," she's fed up with his lies and lets herself drown in bitterness in "Sorry," she desperately needs him, her only anchor of salvation in "My Love" (Or was it "Fragile" by Mannoia? Who knows...), she loves her man madly and will protect him at all costs (the roles are reversed... truly original...) in "Whatever It Takes."

The record ends, and I do not deny turning off the player while carrying with me a good dose of disappointment. Let it be clear: I am of the opinion that every artist has the full faculty to convey to their listeners every emotion, both negative and positive, and consequently, in my humble opinion, it does not appear to be an exceptionally high-caliber album not because it is devoid of the slightest hint of brightness but simply because it seems to slip away without leaving marks and at times falls into total anonymity.

Totally unlike "Pingu."