•
Rating: "I had prepared a speech in which I introduced myself and invited you to come forward. But since you've already come forward by yourselves, let's start like this, I am Marco Parente"
This is how Marco Parente's concert begins on this hot and breezy evening (night) in Sava, in front of an oceanic crowd of about "something" people and two dogs.
This begins the most "surreal" concert I have ever attended.
Amidst barking dogs (in the distance), perhaps inspired by some "brilliant" interpretations by Marco (in this review, from now on, I'll call him Marco, you'll understand why).
"Today I'm alone. And there's an advantage to being alone. I can do pretty much whatever the hell I want. So now I'll do a new piece, even though I have the impression that in this square all my songs are new. But it’s a love song, so everyone can understand it, even those at that bar at the end, what's it called? Rosso Blu".
Indeed, he is completely alone on stage, no drummer, no guitarist, no bassist, no orchestra especially.
Just him, an acoustic guitar, an electric guitar, his "Buddhist" philosophy applied to the song (in short "words are nothing, even if I sing them, they're just sounds, sometimes fascinating, but just sounds") and a Japanese gadget (for which in the end he also asks for applause) that occasionally provides a background (rarely, truth be told, he usually just "tears apart" the guitars).
It goes on like this with "new" songs of which he "wisely" avoids mentioning the titles.
New for the square (the "Rosso Blu" bar turns off its signs in his face after ten minutes, almost disassociating) and a good part even for me, as I actually stopped at his beautiful album "Testa, dì Cuore" and a few tracks from the following albums.
So I only recognize "Farfalla Pensante", the "Fascino Del Perdente" (in the interpretation proposed within an excerpt from the experiment Il Rumore Dei Libri, truly bizarre) and "Succhiatori" redone in "Arctic samba" style, as he calls it.
The rest I know little about.
He is a little fearless genius, and he really does whatever the hell he wants, between electric tracks and acoustic tracks all played in a forcibly very "naive" manner.
"Am I wrong, or was there a changing of the guard? Now only the best of us remain!"
It’s practically one o'clock in the night when the concert draws to an end.
At this point, maybe there is only a "twenty" of us left, but perhaps we really are the best (the pensioners, the moms, and the children have left, among them my wife and daughter).
And he feels it.
He closes the concert with a beautiful piece where, just for a change, he splendidly caresses his guitar (peculiarity, held upside down, as he is left-handed) and "plays his voice" in place of all the missing instruments.
After that, he bids us farewell and steps down from the stage.
Then, called back by the few remaining for an encore, he delights us, defying the expectations of a song, with a reading from "The Little Prince" by Saint-Exupéry, "perfect for sending everyone to sleep" as he puts it.
And here comes the best part.
While he is just off stage again and continues to sway to the fading music (for reference, a bit like Tom Waits does when interpreting some of his songs), I, preparing to join my wife and daughter worn out in the car, practically passing by next to him:
"Hi, it's not true that no one knew you. I have your first album, "Testa, dì Cuore". I find it splendid, and I’m sorry you did so few pieces".
"That isn’t my first album, I’ve done FIVE albums" he retorts, almost annoyed.
"I’m sorry you didn’t play "Rampe di Slancio" and "Karma parente". Anyway, bye".
"Bye. Thanks for coming".
Great Marco (by now we are friends..).
Brilliant (in his own way), frank, spontaneous, disregardful of the rules, and even funny.
Which is a plus.
Loading comments slowly
