Luca Carboni
LU*CA

Three years after "Carovana," propelled by the single "Le ragazze," Luca Carboni launches into the new millennium with what is in fact the most sentimental album of his career. Already with "La mia ragazza," included in the compilation "Il tempo dell'amore," he had somehow foreshadowed what would be heard on this album. The birth of his son Samuele in 1999 softened Luca, who in "Lu*Ca" (where "Lu" stands for "Luca" and "Ca" for "Carboni," but can also be read as "Luca," meaning just the name) offers us eleven romantic and tender ballads, leaving only at the end a glimpse for social invective and a dedication not strictly amorous. "Mi ami davvero" is tasked with introducing the album, and it does so quite well: "Mi ami davvero, non come gli spot che dicono solo bugie..." and it continues in this vein throughout the verses, up to the liberating chorus "Ho scritto una lettera per te, così per sempre la leggerai". A song that brought Luca back to the top of radio airplay, simple, catchy, and above all acoustic, like the whole album, which, except for the initial part of the last song where sampled sounds are introduced, does not use electronics at all. The rest of the album, at least until "L'amore non lo sa," seems to glide like a unicum, but it depends on one's predisposition to listening. "La nostra storia," where Luca uses terms like "mietitrebbie" demonstrating a rich vocabulary, boasts a sweet introduction, like "Chiudi gli occhi," dedicated to his son Samuele, and "Una rosa per te." Luca's intention is to make the album homogeneous, without sudden jumps. "Le parole" seems more lighthearted in the introduction, but it's a false alarm, in fact in the chorus the sweetness reappears as in the previous ones, this time also seasoned with a strong melancholy vein. "Autoritratto" is one of the most beautiful tracks on the album, the alternation of the two initial chords strikes immediately, here the album begins to become not only tender but also melancholic and full of suggestions: "No, non si può guardare dentro, fino in fondo proprio no," the inscrutability of human beings, and their incommunicability, with the addition of a rainy setting ("Fuori piove e c'ho l'ombrello"). We arrive at "L'amore non lo sa," where the bard of Bologna gives us his philosophy of the sentiment, which "without history goes, because it is always newly born." This too is imbued with melancholy. With "Quante cose" instead a change of nuance occurs, this time managing to be sweet but not necessarily melancholic, as is the case in "Voglia di piangere," dedicated to his deceased mother (to whom "Madre" will be dedicated 10 years later), and where Luca cries "tears of communication". The "footnotes" of this album are left to a social reflection, "I problemi della gente," where Luca "walks under the porticoes in Bologna," thus speaking of his city, often cited in his work, to make a general discourse, and to "Stellina (dei cantautori)," one of the most intense pieces of the album, explicitly dedicated, as the booklet of lyrics states, to Renzo Cremonini, the producer who had recently passed away at the time of the album's release, who orbited around Lucio Dalla's and Fonoprint's environments, and who allowed Luca Carboni to start his career. The album deserves a bit more than "Carovana," the sound seems more polished, the tracklist more homogeneous and enjoyable, although we are still at a maximum of three stars. From this moment, Luca will space out his musical releases, and he will step back for about a decade, before the great comeback with "Fisico e politico" first, and with "Pop-up" later.