Lucio Dalla
Bugie

The year was 1985, and Lucio Dalla changed his hat. For those of us who adored him, some from "Banana Republic" like me, others from even earlier, that could have been a signal. Moreover, the single that was playing on the radio, "Se Io Fossi Un Angelo", didn’t really excite us. It seemed banal and too simple, essentially a step back compared to the last two works, "1983" and "Viaggi Organizzati", which already back then appeared, shall we say, declining. But Dalla was to be bought sight unseen. In my case, on cassette (and then, if it was worth it, I would make the effort to get the vinyl, a very precious and sacred object that I tried to listen to sparingly, even though it sounded better, in order not to damage it). Well, I remember the first impressions of that cassette; fundamentally not so bad. But it is known that I was disgustingly biased when it came to Lucio Dalla, and I had an irresistible tendency to forgive him for almost everything. Even the change of hat (already unforgivable in itself, hindsight proves, but we never ever imagined it was a harbinger of a change of hair...my god).
Anyway, speaking of the album, the single certainly represents the least successful episode of the entire work, and, as is fitting in small countries like ours, it’s the only one that has "gone down in history", still found today in compilations, like that galactic and ultra-Christmas one, featuring three unreleased tracks, which will characterize the snows (if they come) of Christmas 2006. And this is an injustice, however, lamented like Calimero would.

The album, although the last of the good or the first of the bad (let's discuss that later), has some bullets worth firing without too much shame. There is "Chissà Se Lo Sai", tangible sign that back then there was still collaboration with Ron and Stadio (both in great form), a beautiful ballad with a little too many debts to Simon & Garfunkel, there’s "Luk", the last true test of "universal language", this time given to the "dog that talks...actually sings and when it sings it goes like this...". Then there’s "Tania Del Circo" a nice instrumental track of a distinctly jazz imprint, where the protagonists are Lucio's sax and Franco D'Andrea's piano, and that curiously in the liner notes carries a text (not bad, moreover) with the original advice "sing it yourselves...". Then two or three filler songs, but not ugly, like "Soli Io E Te", "Scusami Tanto Ma Ho Solo Te", and "Navigando", the latter composed, according to the liner notes, by "everyone", as if to underline a “team effort” that from then on would not characterize any of Lucio's works. Also beautiful is "Ribot", a little-known and entertaining chapter of the amusing history of "sports" songs, ranging from "Bartali" by Conte to "Varenne" by Jannacci, passing through many others.

What to say, ultimately, about this album? For many, as I was saying, it’s the beginning of the end. For others, Lucio was already finished there. I cannot deny that these recordings mark a transition that will have its coup de rein in the following, symbolic but fundamentally ugly "Cambio". Indeed, listening to "Cambio", and many of the subsequent ones, one might reevaluate this "Bugie" as a transitional album, not very inspired but still with a shadow of the best Dalla. However, listening closely to "Bugie", one certainly reevaluates the two previous ones, "1983" and "Viaggi Organizzati", which, still very inspired and born of a still present desire to say something, had the only flaw (deadly then, and today it would hardly be noticed...) of coming after a series of absolute masterpieces that characterized Lucio Dalla's career between the '70s and '80s, years in which, in my opinion, the Author had nothing, absolutely nothing, to envy to the most beloved, long-lived, and considered purer colleagues like De Gregori, Guccini, or even De André. As a fraternal friend of mine says, with that Dalla a part of us will always be in debt. With this one, no, but that's his fault only to a certain point. There is a moment when inspiration, the "Gong-oh" of Conte, leaves, and there’s no way to catch it again. And then one stops writing, playing, painting, filming, singing for pleasure, and continues to do it for contract. It's the eternal condemnation of (almost) all Artists.