Paolo Conte
Aguaplano

I won't be brief. Let me make that clear right away, but when the subject matter is so abundant and at the same time so fine, it's practically impossible to contain oneself. With "Aguaplano" (1988) for the first time we are faced with a Paolo Conte who thinks big. Until now, there had been absolute masterpieces like "Paris Milonga" and the album "Paolo Conte" from 1984, but a double album with 21 songs, a triumph of colors, fantasy, and variety like this, we followers of the Lawyer had not yet seen, and I remember well that at the time we were also a bit taken aback, in a positive sense, by this flood of God's grace, but it was easy to recover quickly, also thanks to the spectacular tour that followed the record, which could count on a band featuring, just to name a few, people like Ares Tavolazzi, Jimmy Villotti, Antonio Marangolo, Ellade Bandini, and the sensual cellist Marie Françoise Pelissier (the latter then - sigh - disappeared from the next album, who knows why).

Real musicians, jazz players forced to play standing because they were so skilled, except for Pelissier, who knew how to hold that cello in an unmistakable way... What an abysmal distance from certain useless clattering noises, but let's not digress: we are talking about "a grown-up world," and above all, about music, true music. The kind that can make you laugh, but suddenly helps you cry, and so I have already quoted the author twice. A mature but not yet old Paolo Conte, still capable of inserting some jests amidst his melancholic recollections of a magical world that once was. No, perhaps it's not his masterpiece, but it's certainly the most varied album, the one where we can appreciate the many personalities of the Lawyer. Precisely the jests, the more cabaretesque songs, are perhaps the only ones we could have done without, but it's known that in projects of such wide scope, it's practically impossible for every donut to be perfect. "Non sense" and "Gratis" represent a lesser Paolo Conte, but only because they are compared to that enchanter who dominates much of this complex and extensive work.
The enchanting exotism that has always enriched Paolo Conte's jazz presents itself in all its splendor at the beginning of the first record, with the elaborate rhythm, akin to accelerated bossa nova, of "Aguaplano", then reappearing in a captivating Caribbean "La negra", and later in "Ratafià", a lively piece with a vaguely Argentine flavor, but without Piazzolla's sadness. But to adorn this first record are the slow songs, many and inspired. Sometimes jazz-flavored "ballads" like "Baci senza memoria" and "Languida" (a title that speaks volumes). Or more peculiar ones, like "Paso doble", for piano and voice, a brilliant alternation of meditative verses with a fast and almost burlesque refrain (yes but more than thinking of you and thinking of you, I would like to meet you...). Even the charming old ladies eating ice creams from age 70 and up in "Dopo le sei" are a beautiful vignette, of very French taste. But the true masterpiece, in my opinion, of the entire "Aguaplano" is called "Max": few and vague verses, following the model already appreciated in the sublime "Hemingway", sustained by a delicate bolero, and then make way for music, a rhythmic and melodic explosion with a great show of the accordion, another instrument considered outdated, and as such loved by Paolo Conte, and by me too. Another slow one to frame: "Hesitation", a "scene of love and wonderful hesitation" described by the master with a moving dialogue, almost chamber-like, between piano and cello. This first record, absolutely perfect, is closed by "Nessuno mi ama", another evocative double-tempo song: first part very slow, preparatory, then go with the sparkling finale, literally swing, late 1930s.

Already more than satisfied, we insert the second CD, and we immediately find a refined rhythm: it's that of "Midnight's Knock Out", lent to Vanoni in its time. Even here, albeit with some pauses, quality is evident: here are two beautiful jazzy and melancholic slow songs like "Recitando" and "Troppo difficile". Particularly in the second, the text also makes one reflect. "Anni" is the twin of "Aguaplano", at least in rhythm, "Spassiunatamente" offers the improbable Neapolitan of the Piedmontese Paolo Conte, but in compensation features a clean and constant acoustic guitar accompaniment, and verses like 'na scudisciata turcomanna 'a mezza luna, in the series "how to draw a picture in six words". "Les tam-tam du Paradis", in French, instead offers drums and joyful African atmospheres. Lastly, "Jimmy, ballando", dedicated to the friend and guitarist Jimmy Villotti, an authentic crazy genius, who also plays on this record, leaves us in that typical state of satiety, of content enjoyment, but also of insinuating meditation, which one experiences at the end of an exquisite and abundant dinner, a dinner akin to this great record, overflowing with inventiveness.