Parenti
Casa Di Carne

THE REVIEW

I know these musicians too little on a personal level to feel compelled to praise them at any cost. I know the “zero-kilometer” music scene of the lower Romagna area too well to remain indifferent in the face of Parenti’s debut full-length.

On paper, “Casa Di Carne” is not something to shout about as a miracle, but it is the best release to appear in these parts—nowadays increasingly infested by hard rock tribute bands from the village “sagra del salame in graticola”—in quite some time, and that in itself is news.

Musically speaking, we are in the presence of slick, saturated rock, delivered by a combo able to handle the different emotional spectrums stacked up across the 8 tracks with a fair amount of personality.

As for the content, this isn’t an easy record, and it’s probably this very aspect that holds its allure.

You have to get your hands and your heart dirty—more so than your ears—digging through the bulky wares and all the references needed to orient yourself amid the album’s themes.

Empathy takes shape through repeated listens; thus, the rhetorical figures framed within the lyrics become more familiar with each pass.

There’s a lot that’s personal, undoubtedly, and it deserves to be respected. But there is also plenty to draw from in an attempt to put order to your own past. Everyone works it out as best they can.

There are images, too: “Casa di Carne” is a fresco of the Romagna province landscape.

Nebbia e Sangiovese.

Pignoletto e peschi in fiore.

There’s politics the way you’d expect it outside certain bars. Rossa, colta.

Intuizioni, altroché slogan.

The vocal solutions are praiseworthy, at times so elaborate in their construction that they end up weak—paradoxically—in precisely those moments where they should have left a stronger mark.

Take for example “Le Nostre Luci”: the refrain doesn’t do justice to the truly solid work done on the verses.

It’s hard to imagine that “our guys” care much about throwaway “singability,” but for the future, sophistication is something that will have to be dosed carefully.

The drum’s rhythmic loops, at times robotic, build the emotional tension of the pieces.

The guitars stitch the fabric of the moods with intelligence and restraint, grandiloquent one moment, schizophrenic the next.

The bass performance throughout is the definitive snapshot of the record: art serving the context, not mere stylistic exercise. A performance that stands out without writhing to be noticed.

You could call that sobriety, too.

Let them keep their hard rock tribute bands from the salame-on-the-grill festival. Me, “ballo e diserto.”

Applause.