Paolo Conte
Psiche

Review one.

It is already wonderful to be here in 2008 and still hear his voice.

Ever more profound, pleasantly mellowed. Detached, jovial, playful, and circus-like.

Foggy, ethereal, Felliniesque, "Psiche" is an almost perfect album. Conte writes and performs only when it makes sense. As always, he uses ten words where a Vecchioni would use a hundred and a Guccini a thousand, constantly reminding us that he is a hard and pure Piedmontese, even when France wants to claim him or the rest of Italy wants simply to call him "ours".

But he is always there, always pleasantly true to himself, with small but delightful variations. For example, in some tracks, electronics reappear after many years, fitting perfectly, while in others, the faithful musicians and familiar arrangements that have accustomed us in recent years are recognizable. All in an original and very pleasant mix.

And, as always, Conte knows how to make us dream, inventing characters, creating atmospheres, taking care of the music as much as the lyrics and voice, doing a work that is always between the literary, the cinematic, and pure musical composition.

Paolo Conte is a unique character. Each of his musical releases is an unmissable chapter. A talent and an inspiration that show no signs of diminishing, waning, or even slightly reducing.

In short: yet another autumn masterpiece, perfect for evenings by the fireplace, between barbera and chestnuts, waiting for the "zona cotechino" with its winter where, you know, "it's better".

Review two.

It is already wonderful to be here in 2008 and still hear his voice.

But beyond this, and our incurable nostalgic soul, I see very little. Many years have passed since my father, also, like me today, a lawyer from the Piedmont area, gave me a world, enclosed in that strange little cassette with the strange title, that "gelato al limon" that compositionally would mark my entire life, my thoughts, my feeling of being part -in my very small way- of the Piedmontese legal/musical world.

But let's be clear: beyond personal love, Paolo Conte has lost, and not recently, the inspiration. Since that absolute stroke of genius (spiritual testament of the best inspiration?) that was "Aguaplano", Conte has gotten us used to very high-level works, excellently written and conceived, but without the golden gift of divine illumination anymore. Here is no exception. There are acoustic/electronic arrangements, dreamlike, as already in "Sparring Partner" or as in "Parole D'Amore Scritte A Macchina", there is the "circus" and the Bechet-like America/France from soprano sax that exists, for example but not only, in "Novecento". There is always so much cinema. There are more than one self-quotations, I don't know how many are conscious and voluntary (in short: quotations or lack of musical inspiration?). In short, a new product that sounds like a greatest hits collection, a bit like "Nuvole" by De André, an excellent record (like this one) but not blessed by the Goddess of Originality.

Here is Paolo Conte in all his absolute and indisputable greatness.

But the Conte who sidestepped in front of Atahualpa, or some other God, was something else entirely.

As you can see, with my dual-colleague and eternal master, I never know how to agree with myself, even though knowing I love him like one would the best of uncles, the brightest of oracles, the most unattainable of examples.