Ligabue
Lambrusco, coltelli, rose & popcorn

The good old Lambrusco! I hadn't listened to it for years. And to think that when I was in middle school, I wore out that cassette. . .

I'll say right away that the “rustic” music of early Liga moved me more than the current “polished” version. Sure, listening to those songs again today makes me judge them with a different perspective, bringing up criticisms I wouldn't have had as a kid. However, there remains that energy that bursts forth in an almost “naive” way from these songs, making it more engaging than many of today's artificial productions.

The welcome is entrusted to the anthem Salviamoci la pelle, which immediately presents the scheme that all the “fast” tracks of the album will adhere to: we are in pure American hard rock, shrouded in sounds and arrangements (alas!) of '80s pop-rock, with the classic structure riff – two verses and choruses – final reprise. This track introduces a theme that will often recur on this record: the escape from a provincial, unsatisfying reality as the only path to live one's life (echoes of “Thunder Road” and “Born to Run”?).

Side A of the record continued with Lambrusco e popcorn: this time, the escape is that of the emigrants who sought better fortune from Italy to the New World. Stylistically, this track is less hard than the previous one and decisively leans toward pop-rock (= pop disguised as rock through a “heavy” arrangement). Camera con vista sul deserto is the first slow of the record: a beautiful slide guitar and Liga’s intense singing capture the “desertic” atmosphere well, full of mirages (if it weren't for that spaghetti western harmonica. . .). It is followed by two brisk tracks, Anime in plexiglass and Con queste facce qui: stylistically similar, the arrangements dangerously flirt with danceable '80s rock. The first song describes a futuristic setting akin to Blade Runner (in a homely-Emilian sauce. . .); the second revisits Liga’s beloved theme of how we are different from you (a theme now reiterated to exhaustion in almost all recent songs). Side A closes with Sarà un bel souvenir, a classic Liga mid-tempo track that revisits all the stylistic features of hard-rock ballads.

Side B contains the two (rightfully) most famous songs of the record: Libera nos a malo (preceded by the beautiful Intro of an alpine choir) and Urlando contro il cielo. Both are hard pieces “according to Liga”: in the first, the theme is rebellion against religious precepts; in the other, the idea of escape, against everything and everyone, returns. Urlando contro il cielo is probably the most successful Italian anthem of the '90s: it has a compelling rhythm and a “shouted” chorus that seems (is?) designed to make entire stadiums sing and jump. An interlude between these two songs is the negligible Ti chiamerò Sam, which, in my opinion, is the lowest point of the record: sung by the Orchestra Casadei, it would be a perfect little waltz for the piadina festival. . . Finally, the album closes with the slow Regalami il tuo sogno, a (not very impactful) track with some debts to the U2 of “Rattle and Hum”.

In conclusion of the listening, I can say it is not an album to discard. Despite their simplicity (which isn't always banality), at least four songs deserve a good verdict: Salviamoci la pelle, Camera con vista sul deserto, Libera nos a malo, and Urlando contro il cielo. For the rest, there are a couple of fillers and other songs “for Liga fans,” which would hardly interest a non-fan. The arrangements are often minimal, while an added value to all the tracks is Liga's voice: technically not excellent, but very intense and expressive.