Lucio Battisti
Hegel

THE REVIEW

If, after math class, I turned to my classmates and said: "Let's go and do some gymnastics," no one would pay me any attention; but if instead I announced: "Let's go do the mandatory aesthetic exercises," some would laugh, some would be dumbfounded, some would be amazed, and off we'd go. And again: if I ask you for a hot coffee and you bring it to me shaken, it's not that we've misunderstood each other but that we understood each other in reverse. These are just some of the themes belonging to the uncharted subconscious of Pasquale Panella, which Lucio Battisti patiently transforms into music from "Don Giovanni" (1986) to "Hegel" (1994).

Music that, for Panella, is a crime, a needless substitute he would gladly do without, to the point of limiting himself to sending his lyrics by fax, letting them handle it; I'm not there to optimize the structures just to make the notes flow. Not likely, Lino. For "Hegel," it really happened like that: ring, trrrt, brrr, a fax arrives, there are the lyrics, great!

The last breath, the last proposal of Lucio Battisti, then the silence, then death, is an unexplored masterpiece that the usual chatterers of the dark room of wheat fields and blue water have downgraded to bleat, but come on, what is this stuff. The writer bears them no ill will because if you're used to octopus and potatoes turned in the microwave, you can't appreciate sushi just like that, straight away.

It's a pity because "Hegel" is the simple combination of the monstrosity of words borne aloft without rest but with enormous grace by Pasquale Panella and Battisti's appropriate melodies, never so appropriate indeed, because they fit like a silk glove. The work of Andy Duncan on production and rhythm part and Lyndon Connah on keyboards and programming is reduced to a minimum: there are no innocent evasions, there's no pause to the linearity.

Take the beginning, "At least the beginning", forgive the pun. It seems like the intro of a Pet Shop Boys b-side, yet it's the frenzy of those who "are not in need of warmth, but of a proud refreshment." No nonsense: a bass line, a synthetized drum at its best, and hands on the keyboards. Or the title track, so sober that it gives the intro and outro a primary role, and that's no coincidence. Lucio sends us a message: yes, Panella, very beautiful, okay, but there's also music. Rhythm and poetry, rhythm and prose: there's no pause, but everything falls into place because "the tight cord loved the bow, and the storm the foam; the heart loved itself, but we didn't stray...." and the intro of "Tubinga" almost disturbs until one realizes it's a hearty joke (shall we talk about the "blender in Seneca's head..."). "The Beauty Reunited" is something never heard on a Battisti album, neither in his white period nor ever, and it does justice to the title both musically and stylistically (yes, Lino, we're talking about you): verse, refine, refine, verse. The beauty stretches, rises again, indeed. "The Fashion in the Breath" is a stroke of genius, the highest point of the album. It darkens, then sheds light. An inspired Lucio keeping that joker of a lyricist in check. "Rooms like this" rises, puts the listener on the alert, enveloping and tenacious with the 'choir' that synthesizes human voices like in a chapel, and, as if by magic, comes the long-awaited meditation proposed with "Aesthetics" and then falsettoed in "The Face's Voice".

"C.S.A.R." (1992), the predecessor, was a less closed album. It’s a younger/older brother of "Hegel," because it's more friendly, see episodes like "The Metro Etcetera" or the seductive "What Will It Do Again", but also more exasperating, it pushes to the limits of moralism with "Thus the Gods Would Be". "Hegel" is a hybrid between a wink and sheer philosophy that bounces off a rubber wall, and the rubber wall is the listener. Panella has always maintained this, on the rare occasions when he opens his mouth to give interviews (almost never: well done, Lino).

"Hegel" is a magnificent mockery, the ultimate mockery, the disinterested farewell of Battisti. Electronics, heart, mind, and Panella. "Like someone retreating with a finger asking for silence: the total fullness of self".

Indeed.