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Rating: 'Grandiii!'. 'Vi amooo!!!'. 'Non dimenticatemi, eh!'.
In the mid-'60s, Renato Zero performed in tiny venues in front of just a few dozen people. On New Year's Eve 1970, he performed in front of a single spectator (!), carrying on the show with impeccable professionalism and granting two encores to the audience (that is, the one person present in the room) who loudly called him back on stage.
Today, as he takes his shows to stadiums and arenas, this boy from the suburbs, perpetually alien to politics, the cultural elite's salons, ignored by radio stations, shunned by journalists, continues to present himself with the same love and respect for the audience, his only point of reference for the past 40 years. Lo Zeromovimento, the 2006 tour, is yet another variation on the theme upon which Renato has built a career, however it might be judged, extraordinary: not a concert, but a popular musical theater, simple and immediate, colorful and ironic, often melancholic, accessible to an audience that transcends genres, social and cultural classes, age categories.
Zero is a character in many ways timeless (the mask can be worn at 20 as well as at 80), and in other aspects anachronistic: he bases his popularity on word of mouth rather than invasive media campaigns à la Ligabue, continues to design his own sets and stage costumes. Like the old circus performers, he moves his caravan from city to city, and every evening the 'fairy tale', an immersion in an unreal reality made of dreams, an eternal amusement park, repeats itself punctually. For this Zeromovimento, slated for autumn release on dvd, Renato transforms the stage into an enormous turntable: the tonearm, the needle, the rotating platter like a circular treadmill, carrying him on and off stage with each song, each costume change. He appears on stage dressed in white and immediately starts with 'Il Jolly', from 1981, interspersing recent and prehistoric songs, inspired speeches and rhetorical monologues, classic tailoring clothing and colorful and bizarre costumes. He appears dressed as a ghost, then for 'Fermoposta' wears a camouflage jacket that hides a collection of red lingerie inside, performs 'Fortuna' in chains, and then bursts into final pyrotechnic dances reminiscent of the Santi Bailor from 'Un americano a Roma'.
A sort of delirium of colors, accompanied by a voice as splendid as ever, reaching its peak during the encores: for 'D'aria e di musica' he transforms into a human staff; with 'Uomo no', a manifesto of his personal anti-drug crusade, he becomes a medieval warrior, complete with chain mail, armor, and helmet; for the grand finale, he returns on stage surrounded by 12 mannequins, wearing a shiny white trench coat and a fedora. Endless farewells and tears. Renato Zero will never be the singer who appeals to DJs or music journalists, precisely because music represents only a part of his artistic repertoire (ultimately, his shows could also be reviewed by theater critics or mass psychologists). But it doesn't matter: for this ageless artist, it's all about establishing a direct relationship with the audience, giving every spectator the illusion of singing just for them.
On the other hand, as he said commenting on the aforementioned 1970 show: 'Singing in front of one spectator is like singing for a hundred thousand people. There's no such thing as the audience. There is only each individual person'.
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