Paolo Conte
Razmataz

A few days ago he turned 68, but instead of vegetating in front of the TV or playing bocce, he continues to play music and evoke emotions, and as every true Paolo Conte fan knows "emotions get tangled in the blonde hair of Angiolino's wife". There's no point in asking who Angiolino is. If Paolo Conte doesn't have the typical occupations of a retiree, he certainly has their rhythms: you have to crane your neck waiting for his album. He's like a seasoned, skilled craftsman who prefers to make few products, but of high quality, which stand out amidst a flood of cookie-cutter records. Despite this, he has recently been selling a lot, and finally also in Italy, after having conquered much of Europe.

If it's true that a full nine years have passed between the last two albums officially "by Paolo Conte," a highly interesting interlude, called Razmataz, occurred in between. An ambitious project, that of a true musical in which the nostalgic (in a good way) world of the lawyer from Asti even found a stage representation. Moreover, the "Razmataz tour" was associated with an exhibition of his drawings (some also appear on the album, and honestly, Paolo Conte expresses himself much better as a musician than a painter, there's no comparison).

In "Razmataz," with lyrics in French and English, Paolo Conte saves his increasingly hoarse voice for some precious contributions. For the more challenging songs, he wisely leaves space for young and unknown but excellent singers. Alternatively, it's the music itself that evokes the brilliant atmospheres of 1920s Paris, as well as an imaginary Mozambique, a dreamlike Africa, straight out of an Ernest Hemingway novel.In the variety of colors typical of a musical, it's inevitable to find something out of tune: a distorted comic opera air ("Pasta Diva"), a tavern blues ("The Yellow Dog") that seems like the work of a too-drunk Tom Waits, and then the French duets "Ca depend" and "La Petite Tendresse," so light they end up feeling insubstantial. But these are just imperfections: as always, moments of great inspiration are much more frequent, foremost among them "La Reine Noire," a spine-tingling melodic French song, two minutes of pure passion, in which the ghost of Edith Piaf seems to materialize; there's also the English version "The Black Queen," but it's less intriguing. Then the slow "It's a Green Dream" with Paolo Conte's voice and the piano, which anticipates the prevailing style of the latest "Elegia." The theme is then expanded and extended in the instrumental "Mozambique Fantasy (Ouverture)," placed at the end of the album, which is curious for an ouverture. It's the dream of a mysterious Africa, seen, however, from the cozy corner of a belle époque Paris, also celebrated in "Paris, Les Paris," a nice jazz piece with lyrics based on a play of words between Paris (the city) and paris (bets). Another notable slow piece for piano and voice is "That's My Opinion." Gershwin-like atmospheres appear at the beginning of "Talent Scout Man," otherwise a jazzy jest, then a nod across the Alps with "Aigrette En Sa Valse," a typical French waltz with accordion, and still exotic rhythms in the instrumental "Guaracha" and the nonsense "La Java Javanaise" where "Pape Satan Pape Satan Aleppe" with a daring poetic license, rhymes with "Pane e salam, pane e salam a fette." These are among the very few Italian words in this album, where Paolo Conte's old dream, that of his musical, becomes a reality.