Renato Zero
La curva dell'angelo

What difference is there between Renato Zero and the rest of the Italian singers? It's very simple: all Italian music is crap, including that of Renato Zero, but at least Renato Zero has a beautiful voice.

"La curva dell'angelo," released at the end of 2001, does not escape the rule, gifting the prophet of the Montagnola yet another number one hit. To create the new effort in a career that began in the prehistoric 1964 with the first live shows (the first recordings will arrive the following year, the debut single in 1967), Renatone gathers a badass task force, as if he were Rumsfeld going to invade Iraq: Celso Valli, Goeff Westley, Fio Zanotti, Ennio Morricone. The lyrics are a concentrate of clichés and assorted trivialities, but, and this is what makes Zero the only true ARTIST in the depressing peninsular music scene, sung by him they transform into small masterpieces of pop singer-songwriter music.

Zero is the fine narrator, the one who declaims emphatically or whispers sorrowfully, the living demonstration that what matters is not WHAT you say, but HOW you say it. And like him, no one is as good at saying nonsense and being applauded. Moreover, the big rat lacks the conceit of many of his colleagues, convinced that they are Christ on Earth by toilet-cleaning journalists like Fegiz or Castaldo. No, Renato is not convinced he is Christ: he knows he is. The difference is substantial. The album is leaden and gray, dominated by the theme of death, an absolute pessimism that not even the angel of the title manages to redeem. It starts with "Svegliatevi poeti", where it is observed that the world as it is is a real mess because there's no more poetry. Will Renato be able to save planet Earth? It seems not, because in the next track our hero denounces a conspiracy against him: his very existence is in danger, as is already evident from the disturbing title, "Qualcuno mi ha ucciso". The third track, "Il Maestro", is the demonstrated demonstration of the axiom that founds this entire review: Renato Zero is a GENIUS. He manages to line up a melody written with horrible negligence by Maurizio Fabrizio with a chilling voice. Even the lyrics, traditionally written by his own hand, are not bad: the handover between master and disciple is described with unusual sobriety. Beautiful and engaging.

With "Storie da dimenticare" we return to a classic theme of Zero's production: adolescent children are adorable darlings, and parents are really big assholes. After this vaguely commercial-faux-rock outburst (the intro reminiscent of that monstrosity "Two Princes" by the Spin Doctors), the journey through human miseries continues with "La medicina", a song that denounces the drama of depression, poorly arranged to say the least: it starts with a suggestive string base, and just before the chorus, Spanish castanets come in. Ole! After the forgettable "Nuda proprietà" (a forty-year-old who doesn't want to move out on his own), there is another nice track, "Libera", obviously tragic as well (a love that unfolds into murder), supported by Renatone's rich voice which this time, however, pushes a little too much on the emphasis. "Fuori gioco" travels on the 4/4 kick and bashes violence in stadiums. Here Renato scores a fantastic away goal with an applause-worthy line dedicated to those dimwit soccer fans: "Vivi soltanto la domenica/tu non mi sembri normale". To fully endorse.

The tragedies are not over yet: first, one encounters a love made impossible by the age difference ("Innocente"), then Renato remembers touchingly, twenty years later, his father's death in "Anima grande" (note that the record was made during the last months of his mother's life which explains the desperate atmosphere that is felt in every track). As we approach the conclusion: with "Un nemico sincero", the Rat King confesses to being surrounded by fake friends, so might as well search for a loyal enemy. "Non cancellate il mio mondo" is a cry in the desert: we are heading towards the end of the world and no one can save us. The Rossini crescendo of pessimism culminates in the final track, produced by Morricone: it's "Pura Luce", exaltation of death as the only glimmer of hope in a world dominated by dark and evil forces. Thankfully, there is Renato to brighten the darkness of our days: as far as I'm concerned, with the phenomenal voice he has, I would listen to him even if he were reading the news of Tg4. Applause.