Robert Wyatt
Old Rottenhat

Paraphrasing what a famous writer said about books, the reviews that are impossible to write are precisely the ones worth doing. Having stumbled upon one of these, I try to avoid it, to find excuses, to tell myself it's an endeavor best left to others. No way. The album starts to haunt me. I begin to absurdly believe that I am responsible for the fact that many, who could appreciate and love this record, continue to ignore it instead. So, driven once again by this pathological sense of guilt, I have decided to try to talk about "Old Rottenhat" by Robert Wyatt. Those who do not yet know Wyatt can rest easy. Here you will not find much material to fill your gaps, nor haphazard summaries of a certain Google-inspired nature. I believe that the best approach to the album for beginners is one free from historical burdens; mainly because I am sure that, as happened to me about twenty years ago, its essential beauty will inevitably lead them to his other solo masterpieces, to eventually reach, in a backward journey, the "disturbing muses" of Soft Machine.

"Old Rottenhat" is Wyatt's only official album from the '80s, and in it, all the discontent, anger, mixed with a robust dose of irony towards that period are poured, as well as his desire to boldly confront a decade, it was the era of Thatcher and Reagan, that our man didn't like at all. Therefore, it's a deeply political, militant work, dedicated to Michael Bettany, who would spend twenty-three years in prison for being accused of being a Russian spy.
The themes addressed by many of the ten tracks are those "hot" topics of the era, some understandable only if framed within the logic of opposing "blocks" as in "East Timor", or the sharp social clash and hard-fought British union battles of those years, as in "The Age of Self" ("They say the working class is dead / we're all consumers now / They say that we have moved ahead / we're all just people now..."). The whole album is pervaded by a primitive socialism, in the best sense of the word, combative, resulting in lyrics that are never preachy or indoctrinating but always sharp and accusatory: exemplary from this point of view is "The United States of Amnesia".
The best quality of "Old Rottenhat", however, is not in its yet solid political fabric, partially exposed to inevitable decadence, but in the ethereal and essential musical compositions, but endowed with a rare and enveloping warmth. Robert modulates his voice in a way he knows best, with virtuosity that follows inspiration, ending up ensnaring you, enchanting you as if you were in a trance. Few instruments, an organ, a piano, minimal electronics, bare-bones percussion, a "homemade" atmosphere; but a few seconds are enough to find yourself with "Alliance" in a universe that can do without not only the theorized "alliance" between workers and the bourgeoisie, but much more. A "new world" where you float, inhabited by intangible presences, which you happily reach, while Wyatt reproaches the Americans for their reckless foreign policy, as in the mentioned "The United...".
With "Speechless", the only purely instrumental track, you are finally free from burdens and can soar without problems. But the apparent contrast returns with "The Age of Self", the most rhythmic and direct episode, in which the passionate and justifiable political discourse takes a backseat to the musical composition, a stratospheric electro-pop of impressive modernity. Thus, it is easy to forget the inspiring pacifism and surrender to the hypnotic gait of "Gharbzadegi", only a piano and a drum accompanying our man's vocal evolution, sounding like a track from "Pet Sounds" if Brian Wilson had embraced the religion professed at Canterbury.

Nonetheless, in my opinion, all the tracks, to a greater or lesser extent, demonstrate an evident heterogony of ends: what Wyatt thinks and composes as his hardest and most political album, with a deliberately understated musical structure, ends up, despite himself, being the one in which his undeniable skills as a composer and singer are even more highlighted; and even the verses, significant and passionate, ultimately dissolve into the liquid flow of the irregular and sinuous melodies, into the enchanting song of this grumpy and unfortunate Orpheus.