Premiata Forneria Marconi
Storia di un minuto

Friday evening, one of the speakers of the web radio I also speak for, pulled out from the hat of Italian prog music the Premiata Forneria Marconi. The show is entirely dedicated to prog music (both Italian and foreign) and this particular episode, as the first one, was entirely dedicated to the most well-known prog. I contacted Andrea via Skype from home and wrote to him "And I was waiting for PFM". At the end of the show, I then fished out from the chaos of some pendrive the scattered discography of Pagani and co., stopping, after so long, on "Storia di un minuto".

"Storia di un minuto". An album that lasts just over half an hour. A dense half-hour of flashbacks, of memories.

"Impressioni di Settembre" was the soundtrack to the end of an illusion. Summer was fortunately (or unfortunately) coming to an end, and along with it, something else. "Impressioni di Settembre" is something that darkens, it is thick fog, it is the "sun that is not there" but that will rise sooner or later. It's an eclipse, it's lying on the bed in your room alone staring at the ceiling with headphones in your ears, in the dim light. It's the moment before dawn, the moment when the night is darkest. The moment before getting up and starting over. It's autumn arriving.

Spring returns and "it's Festa". An outburst of joy, the sun that breaks the fog. It's the ice of the heart melting. "It's Festa" is a novelty arriving that overwhelms you, it's something worth getting out of bed for and showing the whole world that you exist too. A space all your own. A place to be. It's coming out of the shadow. It's a light, maybe, a bit artificial. Because you know very well that at this party someone isn't there. Even though they were invited.

"Dove... Quando..." is a moment of weakness. It's a series of unanswered questions. It's looking around and feeling like something's missing. It's a sense of emptiness. You're happy with what you have, but something is still missing. You're an incomplete puzzle. It's that moment when you're among so many people but feel alone and out of place. That moment during the party when you'd like to put down the glass, say goodbye to everyone and go home. It's that moment when the absence of someone is so present that others lose importance. It's when you project yourself elsewhere. It's when physically you're at the party and mentally you're traveling with your imagination. It's when you step away from all those people with your usual three or four life companions. It's a gentle sunset.

"La Carrozza di Hans" is the search for what you lack. Chasing the missing piece. It's desperately following a path hoping that, from some alley, what you're looking for will suddenly appear. It's fighting your demons. Making your way through the clouds.

The story concludes with "Grazie Davvero". A walk in the rain. Because, even if you don't complain about what you have, you know you'll always miss something. So, even if the sun shines, there will always be a bit of rain. An empty space in the heart. Something you want but can't obtain. And you cling to what you have. And you go on like this, halfway as you are.

"Storia di un minuto" is a musical fairy tale. It's getting lost in enchanted rhythms, getting closer to the goal only to get lost again. It's a fairy tale prog. An everyday piece. It's a collection of moments. It's something of short duration but of such intensity that it seems eternal.

"Storia di un minuto" is when you have friends, university goes well and you can talk about what you want in front of the microphone. And all that is fine with you. But something is still missing.

"But meanwhile the sun through the fog is already filtering... The day will be as always."