Malibran
Oltre l'Ignoto

It's 1987 when Malibran decides to make their voice heard in the "detalked show" of progressive rock, a musical genre always considered niche, almost misunderstood, and snubbed by music broadcasters. Few have truly lived through the years of this genre's emancipation; I could be first on the list, with my 23 years and my 90s "practical culture." While Area, Il Balletto di Bronzo, or P.F.M. in Italy in the '90s had been around for too long, Genesis or Jethro Tull had already branded music history, demanding global attention on their intellectual machine.

Let's quickly shift between the hemispheres of our globe, returning to Italy and specifically to Catania. Malibran's journey continues to emanate flavors of a battle that, according to them, "will be life against darkness." With heads held high, they release, after their first three releases, a progressive album that answers to no one, and that continues to stubbornly challenge a market now dominated by the disposable. A market where people no longer stop to truly listen to and enjoy music: where 12 minutes for a song are taboo for one's ears (12 minutes? Rude, vulgar!). It's with the 12:20 of "Si dirà di me" that Oltre l'Ignoto begins (2001, Mellow Records): impeccable execution, perfect composition. If the sound, as I said, does not deny its clear influences (it's impossible not to connect the flute to Anderson's Tull), within it emerge semi-electronic hints and inserts that surprise with their boldness: the piano seems straight out of an Alan Parsons composition! Their work unfolds in a concept album of eight tracks, each of which forms a glimpse of a long and infinite journey: a journey the band undertakes, amid the words of Giuseppe Scaravilli, the wind blowing the sails driven by flutes, saxophones, keyboards, violins, percussion, and courageous captains on bass (Angelo Messina), guitar (Jerry Litrico), and drums (Alessio Scaravilli). Courage that allows them to propose at the end of the album, as a ghost track, a splendid interpretation of Johann Sebastian Bach's Bouree. The care with which each piece is performed has, with each listen, freed and transported me on a journey with them, without burdening me with melancholy. I knew that at the end of the album, I would leave them to their fate: the one they themselves have charted and that Scaravilli chose to highlight on the CD's back cover.

"A long sea journey in search of new lands, with the memory of past days and enthusiasm for the days to come. Towards unknown worlds, beyond the unknown..."

In the now decaying "Seattle of Italy," as some proudly used to call it in the golden times of its (supposed) musical ferment, there is something much more tangible than a silly commercial label: Malibran.