Rats
Indiani padani

October 1992. Three skinny guys with a very flamboyant '80s rock look, sporting improbable hairstyles, peer from the cover of an album that has fascinated me since its title: Indiani padani. They come from Modena, or more precisely from Spilamberto, a town of 12,000 inhabitants in the province of Modena. Short and incisive names: Wilko, Lor, and Romi. When the album was released, which I had believed for years to be their first album, I was 21 years old. I was still somewhat undecided about the musical path to take. Metal had been a part of my life for some years, but there were also traces of Italian rock, which was evolving significantly during those years. And these three charming guys piqued my curiosity, perhaps due to my own origins (Indiani padani, more from the north).

On Videomusic, the video clip of "Chiara," the first single from the album, aired repeatedly, becoming one of the summer radio hits of 1993. It can be defined as an evergreen, the band’s song that everyone knows. For those who have read the Despero saga narrated by Gianluca Morozzi, it's somewhat like their "Crepuscolo" (although I don't believe the group loathes it as the band in the novel does). But let's not digress. The album opens with "Fuoritempo," before "Chiara," a song that had been written by another rocker from the lowlands of Modena. Luciano Ligabue, for his youth band, the Orazero. They're not label mates, Rats under CGD and Ligabue under Warner, and both are at a crossroads. After the modest but promising success of his first self-titled album in 1990, Ligabue recorded a transitional album in 1991, and no one would have said that he would become the phenomenon that he is.

The Rats came from a very underground past that started with the new wave of their first album (C’est disco, produced by Oderso Rubini and Red Ronnie) and moved towards the classic rock of those years, making them known, with two releases for Hiara records (raw but interesting). I'm not sure what logic led to the collaboration with Ligabue, who sings some verses of the song he wrote but "lent" to the Rats. What stands out is that the band's star seems much more promising and bright compared to that of the individual. This album will reach 50,000 copies. Time will show that times, ways, fortunes, and misfortunes can reverse any prediction, however.

Ligabue will reclaim "Fuoritempo" in 1994 for the mini A che ora e la fine del mondo, just before exploding with Buon compleanno Elvis in 1995. In 1995, the Rats released what for years was their last album, La vertigine del mondo. And so, while the Spilamberto rats were disappearing (until 2008, but from here begins a part of the story for enthusiasts we'll discuss later), Ligabue was becoming the phenomenon filling stadiums and arenas, a well-meaning Vasco Rossi.

But what about Indiani padani? It's a great album of melodic Italian rock, full of direct guitarism and the offspring of a certain punk rock, sadly never reissued, out of catalog for years, like the entire historical production of the group. An album that has decidedly become a cult. Twelve tracks, 48 minutes, no filler. The unmistakable voice of Ulderico Wilko Zanni, the solid no-frills bass of Romano Romi Ferretti, and the precise drumming of Lorenzo Lor Lunati marked the summer of 1993. After the two mentioned songs, there’s "Indiani padani," the album's title track, enriched by a very boogie piano, with even a critical vein directed at none other than the pope. Then the big ballad "Angeli di strada," the direct rock of "Bella bambina," the other voice-and-guitar ballad "Diciamocelo davvero," "Dammi l’anima," the playful "Wally," the mid-tempo "Noi si vivremo," "I colori dei dolori," "Ricordati chi sei," and closing with the rock of "Autogrill," depicting the life on the road of a band during those years.

There's nothing transcendental in the album, and for this, it's perfect. It's rock, simple stories from the provinces. Just as in the following Belli e dannati (with a few softer tracks that make you cringe, and the already mentioned and tough La vertigine del mondo, celebrated on its twentieth anniversary in 2015 with a concert at the Vox in Nonantola, with the stunning "Johnny Scarafaggio" opening. Then darkness. As mentioned, until the 2008 reunion and the 2013 album for the independent label Bagana records Siete in attesa di essere collegati con l’inferno desiderato.

A band with a solid fan base that follows them from all over Italy during the few spot dates they perform, the Rats family, with the bassist frequently joining and leaving the lineup, since he's been an architect in Miami for years. Often replaced by Andrea Filippazzi, yes Briegel from Ritmo Tribale, a longtime friend band of the group. The latest date was a few days ago, on September 16, 2017, in Formigine (practically at home) with the original lineup (a small event) and a couple of thousand fans present. One of the two dates this year.

The three live their lives, and live off their work and keep their creature alive but as a cult band. One of the strangest stories for the many aspects of Italian rock. One of many. Survivors of the success, now forgotten, of this album. From a song from Radio Italia, from recording misfortunes, from the enormous success of someone who started with you and to whom you gave space because you seemed the winning horse. Today Wilko strikingly resembles Chef Bruno Barbieri, is damn rough with his fans, but loves them to pieces. And you never know what will happen to the Rats. But with services like Spotify, you can listen to their three '90s albums, no longer in catalog. Listen to them and wonder why they aren't as famous as Ligabue from Correggio.