Lucia Bosè, Gregorio Paniagua
Io Pomodoro

"Lucia Bosè Seguramente el disco más raro e hipnótico de una actriz (en este caso italiana, pero afincada en España) metida a cantante, el de Lucia Bosè, junto al compositor Gregorio Paniagua en el disco Io pomodoro (1981)".

Let's begin by saying that "Io Pomodoro" is something else; it's an experiment by a Spanish composer and an Italian actress who, with apparent simplicity, enact an unlikely "meeting between two vectors rarely associated: talent and audacity." This dear prankster of ours, armed with solid humor, creates a bridge between ancient and modern music, mixing medieval dances and popular music pieces with electronics and psychedelia, not shunning a certain minimalism through the use of unexpected instruments and sounds which, with the contribution of Lucia Bosè's visionary lyrics, project the work into an infinite future. Gregorio Paniagua is an indefatigable experimenter, a multi-instrumentalist, who creates his own atelier to reconstruct ancient instruments depicted in manuscripts, an original person accompanied, on the other hand, by a woman with a significant destiny, Bosè indeed. The musical arsenal employed for this extravagance ranges from wind instruments, strings, percussion, piano, synthesizers of our Western tradition to instruments from other musical traditions, without forgetting a whole range of sounds and noises that blend the sacred, ancient, classical music with that kaleidoscope that is the twentieth century. There is no fathoming the why and how of this music that essentially does not exist, but there it is served, the vertigo completed by the unimaginable (for us) poetic vein of Lucia Bosè who gives us an invaluable gift: a sort of confession of her essence. This album is a UFO (Unidentified Flying Object or Unknown Flying Object) that redraws the temporal boundaries and accelerates our cyclical return to the golden age.

"Martians are green due to a lack of blood, while extraterrestrials are white; in their veins flows only the soul, sometimes I become pale because the blood runs all to the feet for fear of coagulating in the brain, and the soul lies down in the bed of my body.