Paolo Conte
Tournée

THE REVIEW

So: let's put some order into the "live" activity published by our beloved lawyer from Asti.

The first document is "Concerti," an absolutely perfect work that closes the "first" Conte like a perfect epitaph of the true and unrepeatable golden period, accompanied by an exceptional band, essentially the same as Guccini (a clear hallmark of the "Fantini production").

Then, to document a sumptuous work like "Aguaplano," two discs: the "Live," single and a bit too "keyboard-driven," but enjoyable, and the similar, and perhaps better, product by Swiss television.

After which, Paolo Conte changed bands and produced "Tournee," "Tournee2," and "Live in Arena." I believe I haven't missed anything.

A premise is necessary: the writer firmly believes, without ever doubting it for a moment, that a cough from Paolo Conte is infinitely better than the best compositional effort of an Antonacci. I believe this is a necessary premise to understand each other, even in potential criticisms, which are always affectionate and infinitely loving.

So let's start with a criticism: Bandini, Tavolazzi, Marangolo, Villotti. These are the names of his first live band of notoriety.

What I define as "the little professors" are instead the members of the subsequent bands. Or, rather, a band that has grown until it became a true orchestra, probably his dream all along. I have always thought that when Conte sings "here's Duke Ellington, great boxer, all fans and silences," it is essentially the imagination, almost graphic and comic-like, of his own dream of being an orchestra leader. What, in the end, he realized.

But he realized it with (partially) the wrong people, going fishing in conservatories when I modestly would have considered better fishing in smoky blues-jazz clubs of the lowlands.

The little professor from the conservatory is ontologically a swot, one with an inverse proportionality between technique and soul. Except, of course, for rare and exciting exceptions (even Buscaglione had a diploma...).

But this is really the only possible criticism for an otherwise perfect concert. In everything.

Starting with the setlist. Conte came from an album I have elsewhere already defined as "strange," like "Parole D'Amore Scritte A Macchina." A definition I confirm: if objectively it is written less well and less inspired than almost all the previous ones, it is still more so than almost all the following ones, and, above all, it enjoys a magical, surreal, dreamlike atmosphere... indeed: "strange." Perhaps it's the absence of the drums, the use of the guitar as the only rhythmic instrument, the keyboards... who knows...

Anyway, that's where we came from. From a beautiful moment.

Then the unreleased: "Bye Music," perfect, splendid. As unrepeatable as it was then unrepeated; "Reveries," so beautiful as to deserve the title of a subsequent album/collection. "Pittori Della Domenica" instead harks back to the best Conte, young and very inspired. A stroke of genius? Brilliant remnant from some brilliant drawer of a lost piece of furniture in the mists of Asti?

Then the use of the backing vocalists to immensely enrich "Come Mi Vuoi?" and to retrieve the fabulous "Pretend."

And the band of little swots that turns very well under the vigilant eye of the Head who whips every cowardice.

The only thing you really can't expect is the synthetic, deep, and lively drumming of Bandini or the soaring flights of Marangolo's tenor (apparently the first to break with the lawyer, some time before...).

But the rest that you could want, desire, dream from the best "live" Conte is really all there.

And the concert, even heard after too many years, moves you. A lot.