Ricky Gianco
"Alla mia mam..."

Who is Ricky Gianco? Is he the beat singer who raids foreign hits and churns out 45s in the '60s? Is he one of the founders and then the rebels of Celentano's 'clan' who at some point slams the door and leaves? Is he the author of some of the most famous Italian songs? Is he the one who used to hang out with the Beatles in London and sold three million copies in a few years? Certainly, he is all of this. But he is also the author and performer of two memorable LPs released between the '70s, where his genuine rock vein is accompanied by a song form that is decidedly in line with the hard times mentioned above, and his warm and mature voice is engaged on high-quality lyrics.

The first of these LPs was released in 1976, and the title "Alla mia mam..." already makes it easy to guess one of Gianco's rewarding characteristics, his ironic vein, entrusted not only to the sharp and intelligent lyrics (with the "pork-knuckle" of Gianfranco Manfredi... sooner or later it arrives...) but also to a warm interpretation capable of being indignant as well as having fun. The album opens with the poignant "Un amore," a long and painful confession accompanied only by the guitar. It is the story of a clandestine and fiercely struggled infatuation masterfully interpreted by Gianco. The tones and rhythms change in the second piece "Campo Minato," a sharp call to intervene in reality, and in the third, the carefree (but in its own way epic) "Fango," where the mud itself is nothing but the specter of Marxian memory that continues to roam "in the street, along the walls, and in the neighborhood." To be sung at the margins of the barricade. But the emotion grows even more in the next piece "Repubblica," a photograph of Italy, composed of verses sung by Gianco in the different dialects of the country: from Milanese to Venetian, from Neapolitan to Sardinian, written among others by Lino Toffolo (!) and Franco Trincale (those from Milan should know him. Anyway, he's a guy who has been a street singer for ages) where poverty, work, and delinquency are discussed. A musically very successful song, with a captivating rhythm and a beautiful central break.

"Mangia insieme a noi" and "Nel mio giardino" are two slower tracks that highlight a more calm and intimate vein. The former downplays the excessive politicization of human relations, typical of those years, the latter is dedicated to his city, a squalid and grey Milan yet beloved. The following "Ospedale Militare" is instead a hard rock piece dedicated to an army desertion where Gianco can showcase considerable interpretative flair, as well as in the next "Un pipistrello in abito da sera," a bizarre mix of rock and Roman ballads. The album closes with "Davanti al nastro che corre," already present in another version in the bizarre "Disco dell'angoscia," a collective work published a couple of years earlier to mark the birth of the alternative label 'l'ultima spiaggia' led by Nanni Ricordi. It is a rock ballad dedicated to the working class, to the assembly line that turns workers into automatons alienated by production times. "Who says long live work (at least this type of work we add) - sings Gianco - "doesn't know what it is".

An excellent album, intelligent lyrics, a great interpretation by a multi-faceted author, a great job by the musicians, including Gianco himself, Claudio Dentes, and Lucio Fabbri. And it conveys emotions. Not a little.