Nomadi
Quando ci sarai

The point of DEBASER's existence, I believe, aside from the interaction between music consumers/enthusiasts and the birth of impossible dialogues, is to include as many reviews as possible in order to have musical knowledge, a treasure chest, a depository, a place to draw advice, information, knowledge of new artists or albums of which you were completely unaware or new insights on a work you might have listened to superficially. Therefore, aside from some cases that deserve to be revisited, it would make sense to write about albums never reviewed, or barely reviewed.

My favorites, apart from some rare exceptions, have been widely and wisely reviewed by very prepared DEBASER members, but today, while dusting off the CD cabinet, the album “Quando ci sarai” by Nomadi emerged, which I think hasn't been reviewed (who would do it?) so I listened to it again. I was (or still am?) afflicted by nomadism and attended 57 of their concerts: it was wonderful to reunite with adventure companions you would see once a year in Novellara or in places at the world’s end in front of a nice cold beer discussing music. But it was rare, at least for me, to meet people who were objective and willing to challenge some of the group’s works. This thing never pleased me so much so that for a while I thought that the fans were all a bit fanatical. Every song is considered beautiful by the fans. I'm not saying masterpiece, but beautiful. That's not true.

“Quando ci sarai” is from 1996, the third work after Augusto, and it contains 10 songs, 3 performed by Nomadi and 7 I don’t know by whom. An anonymous album so much so that if you search online you won't find reviews, just the list of songs it comprises. A work that probably manages to partly keep pace with the Augusto era solely with the lyrics of the songs, starting with “Mamma musica,” an original text on sound, on music, because when you are born the first sound is a cry (“what a big face music has, what wide hips, what huge eyes, what long legs music has”). The music, however, left a bitter taste because while it is true that one of the group’s strengths is the simplicity and immediacy of the chords, in this album they have been musically a bit banal. Yet they were able to rely on the contribution of Francesco Gualerzi who, putting his voice and singing style aside, is a remarkable multi-instrumentalist and fine saxophonist. And it is he who makes the music less "flat" with his interventions in addition to young Cuban instrumentalists from what seems to be the Havana school, guests on the album.

After the titular track reflecting on a child coming into the world, “L’eredità” probably written for Ago (“the songs echo the image of those who are not there”), “Un’altra città” (where finally a guitar stroke by Cico Falzone is heard) and “Il mattino dopo” (a banal love song with too many keyboards), we finally hear the first piece by Nomadi: “Né gioia né dolore”, a song about indifference and the inability to let oneself go to emotions (“it won't be a carnival, it won't be a funeral, we won't be able to fly, we won't know how to feel bad”). The song is enriched by the percussion from young Cubans but, unfortunately, it is sung by Gualerzi. However, it is a Nomadi song. Following is the adequate “Johnny” sung by a young Danilo Sacco, where barely the rhythmic section of the band is perceived, and “Nei miei sogni” a song so embarrassing that the booklet lacks the lyrics (I swear), leading to the other two songs performed by the Emilia-based group. It begins with “Canzone per i desaparecidos” where Carletti's keyboards and the young Cuban musicians’ strings blend well with the words of denunciation for those disappeared without justice (“they have neither graves nor crosses, those voices have no faces, they are just a name on a piece of paper”) and ends with “La coerenza”, “brushed” drums and accordion written for the simple and humble people where there is the touch, among the authors, of a certain Goran Kuzminac.

What I never understood, however, is why Carletti stubbornly replaced Augusto Daolio with two singers. If you decide to go on in a band, and you want to replace a singer because they passed away, putting in two is not at all brave. That means having none at all. Sure, the legacy was enormously heavy and this did not benefit Nomadi because in a respectable band one, and only one, must be the frontman. For this reason, I think it was not a happy idea to include in an album 4 or 5 songs sung together by Sacco and Gualerzi. Besides, this “custom” had already begun in “La settima onda” and “Lungo le vie del vento,” albums only slightly better than this one. The Nomadi after Augusto seemed diminished and, at times repetitive, although in other works the musical bar was raised with the inclusion of other guitars, percussion, and violin (Sergio Reggioli) and of a bass worthy of this name (Massimo Vecchi, a virtuous and gritty bassist to whom, unfortunately, Carletti entrusted songs to interpret). Still two singers...perseverance borders on the diabolical.

No offense to those afflicted by nomadism but “Quando ci saremo” is perhaps the album that contains the most ugliness in all their discography. To them, however, I say that ultimately I was in Novellara this year.

As always, always Nomadi. But with reservations.