Undoubtedly a point less for Liga, who now falls into the commercial.
His latest album appears rather skimpy: 10 tracks plus the initial intro; in none of these tracks is there a real rock charge, and the three guitars sound like one and a half. The only noteworthy track is ''Il Giorno dei Giorni'', which brings out a rather predictable riff but manages to supplant the banal and repetitive tune of ''Happy Hour'', a catchy but long boring song. The other more ''vigorous'' songs include ''Vivere a orecchio'', which remains justifiably anonymous, misunderstood as it was conceived without great aspirations, and also ''E’ più forte di me'', which presents us with an obsessive repetition of little notes at a rather brisk pace.
Following are the more melodic ballads, such as ''L’Amore conta'', which doesn't say anything truly original, and ''Sono qui per l’amore'', mushy and slow, but already more listenable, more pleasant. Passing through yet another slow piece, ''Lettera a G'', there remain two other anonymous songs, ''Cosa vuoi che sia'', a song also without too many pretensions, with very predictable lyrics, and ''Giorno per giorno'', which shows poor arrangement and certainly no better lyrics. I almost forgot a song heard time and again on the radio, ''Le donne lo sanno'', which frankly does not add anything relevant, neither to the lyrics nor to the music. It is a lively piece, yes, but undeniably lacking.
There is really, excluding the first single taken from the album, no note worthy of mention in ''Nome e Cognome'', which turns out to be an album conceived to round out the rocker from Emilia's huge earnings. Too bad that today this title is decidedly too tight for him.
To the 180,000 at Campovolo, this new LP by Liga will be enjoyable because it contains all those ingredients that made him famous.
Not a masterpiece, something more than mere management.
Ligabue, first and foremost, is like marinated eel: either you love it or you hate it.
A few hours after the second complete listen, the aftertaste is pleasant, with a scent of plains and fog, with the alibi of rock that must never be missed by a roaring Emilian.
The King of Summer is Big Luciano! Pavarotti? No, what are you saying?
True rock engulfs us, with Big Luciano screaming we should live by ear, which I don’t really understand, but if he says it, it’s believable.
This CD is very different; it’s one of the best rock CDs he has made because it’s a new style and also very youthful for the singer.
Ligabue ... makes us dream and face reality always with more beautiful and energetic songs.
If you want the answer, call a scientist to research it.
This is a perfect example of trash music, abominable, neither shameful nor praiseworthy.