Quella Vecchia Locanda
Quella Vecchia Locanda

Today we talk about a band from Rome, a true shooting star in the Italian music scene. A band with symphonic, folk atmospheres, at times delicate and at times muscular, sometimes dreamy, sometimes raw, which in 1972, with a self-titled album, drew heavily from the work of foreign bands like Jethro Tull, showing they had perfectly learned the lesson from Anderson and company while also enriching and expanding it, bringing it to incredibly high levels; the progressive sound forged across the Channel was, in those years, adapted to the personalities of various Italian bands, and I am convinced that Quella Vecchia Locanda are a diamond tip of the Italian movement.

A medieval-style cover and Gothic fonts: a traveler, colored with bizarre tones and childlike lines, appears to be crossing a passage from the earthly world into a fantasy dimension, like a dream. But beyond the deeper interpretations, what is primarily transmitted by the cover is that "ancient," popular sensation, but at the same time restless and not carefree.

Violin and piano converse in a baroque-inspired riff that, just when it seems about to run out, gives way to extremely high-level variations that immediately bestow a dreamlike feeling, transporting you into some country village immersed in a peace disturbed by a sense of discomfort and unease, though the word "sinister" would be an exaggeration for a track of this kind.

I love the world but it hates me

its rejection means death for me

The lyrics of Prologo are strong and ruthless, creating a disorienting dualism with the clean voice (but, as already sensed from the first lines, disturbed by a hint of anguish).

An old ruin is my home

colder and gloomier than my life

The use of images such as the old ruin helps bring the listener into a world belonging to the past, rural. The protagonist lives a miserable life and quite explicitly wishes for death. The song then takes on an even sadder but—I’d say—resigned tone, swiftly shifting to a more combative and lively sound and lyrics, which do not lose the previously built atmosphere but add some hope.

Light, I am searching for you…

life, I am chasing you…

The first track already highlights the band’s declaration of intent, both in terms of sound and as a concept album. How do you react when the first track is already of the highest level? When you’re an eighth of the way through the record and you’re already filled by the spirit of the work, which isn’t easily or superficially absorbed but at the same time strikes such unreachable chords, what do you do? You can only move on and listen to another heavyweight of the record: Un Villaggio, Un’Illusione. Once again, the village, the imagery drawn from the past, gives the music a very evocative and suggestive tone. The song is opened masterfully with interwoven parts and small variations on a theme—again—of classical inspiration, soon giving way to a flute riff that is almost schizophrenic and rowdy, with a simply perfect rhythm section. The lyrics speak of shattered hopes, of moving towards a goal that is never reached. This concept seems in part to recall Kafka’s story An Imperial Message, full of themes such as alienation and the futility of effort, ultimately aimed only at fallacious targets.

Atroce è il mio destino:

deve restarmi qualcuno vicino

Once again, a clean but tension-laden voice sings beautifully composed verses, and this sung part is simply perfect, in composition, arrangement, and production. Romualdo Coletta, shining, with his warm and rich bass forges ahead in the silence and is joined by the other musicians: Coletta weaves a solid and melodic foundation, while the other instruments, first and foremost the flute, create one of the album’s most beautiful moments. A solemn melody, that seems to gaze anxiously but at the same time indomitably—at times it seems to ask for help, it is always restless, frightened, and worried—at reality, so atrocious and uncertain.

La paura è in me

son vicino ma

alla casa là

non arrivo mai

per far ciò darei

la mia vita

da una porta che

è spuntata là

presto è dentro me

piombo fuso ormai

sulla carne calda

scorre il sangue giù

l’erba verde, alta

rosso fuoco è

When it seems like the melody is about to stop, more words are added, in a solemn, epic section that, in its magnificent epicness, almost risks distracting from the song’s primary intent. Symphonic elements brought to the highest level, progressive taste brought to the highest level, epicness at its peak: this section is wonderful. With immense skill, the previously presented themes are then interwoven. And it’s only four minutes in, and we’re only at the second track. Realtà opens most delicately and gloomily, the protagonist sings melancholic lines and the voices join in. A constantly flawless bass supports orchestrations of high caliber, making room for a piano that enriches the verse.

On the ground a lamb struck like me

by cruel humanity, by sugar of gall

they do not notice those who suffer and envy is their honey

this reality… who will understand?

This is without a doubt one of the saddest moments on the album, and there is a melody, yet again not without a certain epicness, that gives way to a beautifully original flute "riff" supported by strings; multiple voices are then interwoven over a delicate melodic base. This is a song which is not easily assimilated, it demands to be listened to and relistened to, you have to appreciate—as, to be fair, throughout the whole album—the details, the nuances of the atmosphere, which will release all the spirit of a work of incredible scope. This track is so sad, it could bring you to tears.

The song continues with the psychedelic intro of Immagini Sfocate, proceeding with a hazy, confused atmosphere in which a riff stands out, a melody that becomes purified of any contamination foreign to the Quella Vecchia Locanda style. The song develops in a more rocking, light-hearted mood. Including this track—relatively brief, which does not diverge thematically from the rest of the album—avoids monotony and at the same time does not make the tracklist feel randomly assembled, as everything continues in perfect harmony with the symphonic - masterpiece - riff of Il Cieco.

I am a man who needs

someone beside me

Compare this with previous lyrics: in solitude the protagonist identifies a fundamental part of his anxiety. How often—happens to all of us—do the people beside us help us solve our own problems, or at the very least distract us from them? Speaking for myself: many times, countless. The clarity with which the band expresses these concepts here is perfect. The song continues with dreamy instrumental interweaving that never becomes excessively ethereal. So we return to a muscular riff accompanied by a schizophrenic flute, then making room for the voice. The Jethro Tull lesson here is very strong, stamped in the Roman band’s style. Naturally, the track dies away, giving space to Dialogo, with another prominent, high-level bass line supporting a rhythmic melody. The development of the track perhaps shows one of the album’s weaker moments, with a repeated riff over which fragrant melodic interlacings are woven, well-crafted but not particularly memorable. However, the track gets back on track with the sung part, recovering well in the finale.

We’re almost at the end of the album, with Verso La Locanda and its delicate but—as usual—restless and anything but serene opening. A transition to a heavy, muscular sound that dialogues with moments which remain delicate and classically inspired turns into a highly successful fusion of the two styles in a strongly classical passage, the mellow bass spicing up the instruments. Yet another sudden change: the track is unpredictable and with the ensuing minutes leaves no room for misunderstanding—the album returns to the highest levels after a momentary dip. The lyrics seem to suggest a hope, as the inn can now be seen. Perhaps it would be apt to ask about the symbolic meaning of the inn as a final destination, as the solution to the protagonist’s troubles. Probably, the band’s intent is to create an atmosphere where each listener, with their own hardships, can see themselves, so the symbolic meaning is intentionally very general and indefinite.

Final track: Sogno, Risveglio E… takes you by the hand with classical instruments, leading you into a fairy tale, into some forest. A simply perfect song. Minimalist, sparse and melancholic but with an extremely intense atmosphere. The initial theme of the album also returns, breathtaking: you are surprised to feel the same emotion you have when, at the end of a vacation, you return to the airport where you landed at the start. As if it were a finished journey, you find yourself feeling some sadness and a sort of fondness—mixed with immense respect—for this work that has accompanied you during the listening.

Roof collapses, walls fall down

This is the theater of the world

Sky above me, no longer beating

I am a molecule, pietà…

In all honesty, I wouldn’t dare to try to give interpretations beyond supposing that these last lines are a realization of one’s own insignificance. The protagonist gently abandons himself to his smallness. And thus is closed a treasure chest: a masterful, perfect, multifaceted, colorful, rich work and, in a word: beautiful.

An album that remains engraved, after listening to which you really feel like you’ve added something to your personality. A piece of culture, yes, but also an enrichment in thought and emotion. An album that will give voice to your feelings when, on a grey afternoon, prey to anxieties and insecurities, you find yourself walking alone on mute asphalt; an album that will keep you company when you need to fill a time of solitude and, why not?, an album which, with its classical overtones, could even be useful to cite in order to appear cultured and intellectual. The praise could go on and on for an album so profound, heartfelt, perfectly played, but ultimately it would be redundant. If only, since the ‘70s, today in Italy and worldwide, we could remember bands like this…