Old Man River
Good Morning

That most Australian musical artists did not shine for originality was already clear. Just think of Imbruglia, her husband, and his infamous yet horrendous band, Silverchair, or the (much) better although derivative The Go-Betweens or Midnight Oil. Anything is possible, from australopithecus hands, even that this curly-haired guy, who gained worldwide attention for a little beat march, would take on a stage name that corresponds to the nickname of the Mississippi River. And what does the English beat have to do with the aforementioned river? Had it been the nickname of the Thames, perhaps...

And then this little march, this "La"... Well, I've swallowed many small marches, from the old "Parklife" and "In The Country" by Blur, "Going Out" by the beloved Supergrass, to the clean "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" by Travis, the underestimated "Something To Talk About" by Badly Drawn Boy, the Scandinavian Robert Post with his "Got None," and way down to the circus beat of the Fratellis. The secret to the success of these little marches? Same rhythm, same parade march, an easy-peasy melody, a carefree execution; they are songs that you might feel like singing (if you want to) with a parapapà. And since in Italy and elsewhere britpop songs are sung like this, maybe the Fratellis were right: might as well not include any verses in the choruses at all!

This guy also seems to have come to the same conclusion: he sings his four verses, pulling out a song so stripped down, but so stripped down, that even those who love this genre (not me anymore) just can't fully appreciate it: elementary and banal, stupid with those ridiculous drunken party choruses (people screeching, people laughing...) which also arrive so soon (twenty-eight seconds in), with such banal lyrics that the Zecchino d'Oro seems like the Tenco prize... All this does not excite, does not glorify, does not bring further prestige but rather ridicules the Anglo-Saxon march as a subgenre of beat, making it lose its nobility… Here at the bottom there is at stake the good name not so much of the britpop of the nineties, but rather of "serious" tracks like "All We Need Is Love," "Yellow Submarine" and "Obladi Oblada," stuff on which books have been written!

"This genre is nonsense," the curly-haired one seems to assert while he hums, "and since they are all fools, I'll trick them (and trick their money) and make a song so stupid that one more stupid than this has never been heard." And really, he succeeded, we would say! The problem is that the British march, this nonsense of a musical subgenre, is the most noble thing pop has produced in the last fifty years! And this is the paradox, not that one is playing at writing the simplest-most elementary-most idiotic track in history! Behold, the Australian who calls himself after the Mississippi is the new holder of this record. Anyone who wants to break his record will have to sweat, especially because the title of the record-breaking track is simply "La." Francesco Salvi tried with a song, many years ago, titled "A," but it should be noted that it was not a British march.

Thus, Old Man River's album is titled "Good Morning," which is symptomatic of two things: first, that the guy, as in the video clip, seems a bit crazy but quite amiable and well-mannered; second, that the remaining ten songs differ from "La," otherwise he would undoubtedly have found it easier and more convenient to title it "Lallalla Lallalla Lallalla La La."

The connections with the Anglo-Saxon world are also present elsewhere, but no marches, and among the Fab Four, the one with whom there would be more harmony is the late Harrison. Just listen to the sitar scattered here and there, or the guitar-strummed and harmonious beat of "Trousers." The Mississippi plays its part right from the start, in the semi-sober sitar-blues of "Sunshine" (imagine it sung by the vocalist of Morcheeba), but it does not dispel the doubt that the stage name is not very apt. Then, it moves, at times, to California (or is it an Australian clone beach?) of the bonfire party of "Summer"; to the semi-deserted American countryside (or is it the Australian outback?) of the concluding "All The Things," one of those folk lullabies that only James Iha had the courage to propose again in recent times. Then, it roams in the Death Valley (or is it the Aboriginal walkabout?) in the subdued yet hallucinatory blues of "Time." For the rest, there are "pleasant drowsinesses," (not all) pleasant ballads with loooong notes, in Coldplay style of "Parachutes," such as for "Better Place," which after three little minutes electrifies along with seemingly distant choruses, or for the acoustic "O. Rein" (which stand for the initial of the name, which is Ohad, and the surname), in which Harrison's sitar marries the vocals and atmospheres of Martin and his fellows. The piano of "Parachutes" is missing: imagine adding it to these pieces...

The result is a nice album but without great personality; catchy but without moments of excellence... It's a pleasure and puts you in a good mood to listen to songs that no one has had the courage to write anymore since 1976, but this does not mean that "Good Morning" is the album of an artist who dares! It is not at all, in short, a boldly colored album, and rather than an aged whiskey it has the alcohol content of at most a couple of long drinks. This means that the album is usable on almost any occasion, and that, like all things that "survive" (in this case over the years), if it returns, it returns weakened.

All nice, but all necessarily gentle. Nothing drunk, all tipsy; nothing dreamlike, all drowsy. In pastel shades, and no bright or psychedelic colors. Even the Doors-blues of "Time" is modest: seductive, if you like enchanting but "purposely" modest. Even "La," after all, is cute, but it's too fake.

Who knows?, maybe it's Australia's fault, a land too far away to colonize, much more than America was. Maybe even today, when something must arrive there, whether English or coming from the shores of the Mississippi, it already arrives tired, diluted, "worn out." Even pop?