Robert Wyatt
Ruth Is Stranger Than Richard

The human mind is the quintessential double-edged sword, capable of elevating talent and inspiration to unimagined heights, yet also capable of annihilating an individual's freedom, trapping them in a spiral of suffocating and self-destructive illusions. Mr. Pickwick, during his travels, often paused to admire the pranks of the intelligences of his time, as ingenious as they were insane, two inseparable sides of the same coin, bringing commotion and hilarity to the English countryside of the Dickensian reality. Unfortunately, life is not as entertaining. As much as I often tried to curb my impulses and forced myself to take things philosophically, there are times when human reasoning, ruthless and calculating, provokes such nausea in me that I can't suppress my anger in the face of senseless events like the one I'm about to recount.

We are talking about minds, indeed, on one hand enlightened and wise enough to listen to the heart beyond the brain, on the other hand dull and blinded by their own cold logic. We find ourselves observing the contrasts that arose between Robert Wyatt, one of the highest artistic personalities of the modern era, confined to a wheelchair by a fateful accident in '73, and the producers of a television program, stupid enough not to see in the illustrious character anything but a cripple afflicted with delusions of grandeur.

It was 1974 and, after the creation of an immortal and unrepeatable work like "Rock Bottom", our Robert, due to a worrying financial situation, decided to release a cover of "I'm a Believer" by the Monkees, which, in no time, climbed the charts of the best-selling singles, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. However, problems arose when the producers of "Top of the Pops" realized that the artist they had carelessly invited to promote the song was none other than a paraplegic, impossible to film on the show without disturbing the sensitive souls of the happy and perfect families who would carelessly witness the reckless and grotesque spectacle. Nick Mason, producer of the single, after harsh battles, managed to obtain permission for the recording of a performance that, after being fleetingly aired, was conveniently "lost" and considered unavailable for any repeats or advertisements (the incredible thing is that this document would be miraculously "found" about thirty years later and placed in a special on Robert, probably no longer considered a disabled person to be ashamed of, but a phenomenon to make money on... and we know, the sound of money makes everyone regain their memory). The definitive break with the commercial world occurred when a second performance was canceled by the BBC, upon learning that the impudent Maestro of Canterbury had even dared to ask his fellow musicians to appear on stage in a wheelchair, thus staging, according to the executives, a vulgar and offensive representation (against whom it is not given to know) on their very respectable channel.

We arrive in this way, amidst misunderstandings and intolerance, at 1975, the year in which Robert, perhaps astonished by how easily reality exceeds the absurdity of fantasy (truth is stranger than fiction), gave birth to "Ruth Is Stranger Than Richard", a complex work divided into two sides, the first of which, dedicated to Ruth, shows us vibrant blues sounds, disrupted by the saxophone outbursts of Gary Windo ("Soup Song"), followed by instrumental episodes focusing even more on wind instruments. We start from Mongezi Feza's trumpet, cradled by colorful world music nuances ("Sonia"), returning to Gary's sax, this time accompanied by Nisar Ahmad Khan's sax in the commemorative tones of a slow march supported by bass and the frequent drum rolls of Laurie Allan ("Song for Che"), up to an extraordinary jazz-prog, where, despite Robert's return to vocals and the daring escapades of trumpets and saxophones, it is the echoing sound of Bill MacCormick's bass that makes the difference ("Team Spirit").

Contrary to what the album title suggests, the side dedicated to Richard (inexplicably placed before the one bearing Ruth's name, in the CD version), turns out to be much less immediate and accessible than the previous one, with delightful yet peculiar voice and piano duets, in which Robert seems to become an instrument himself, supported by the sweet melody emanating from Fred Frith's gentle touches, evocative and impeccable in every part of the composition ("Muddy Mouse (a) - (b) - (c) / Muddy Mouth"). The latter is interspersed with soft and enveloping scenes, now characterized by the minimal keyboard and percussion in the service of Gary's bass clarinet ("Solar Flares"), now by the totality of the wind instruments, engaged in riding Brian Eno's melancholic synthesizer, leading a gray and desolate procession ("5 Black Notes and 1 White Note").

After listening to this record for the first time, I agreed that in the end, reality has always been more unpredictable and bizarre than any imagination... The same reality that, after taking away a man's ability to walk, marvels as it watches him rise again, not to walk, but to fly, free and serene, beyond the clouds of thought, where the human mind, alone, can never reach... And the truly wonderful thing is that Robert never limited himself to visiting unexplored and unreachable places, but, through his music, he consistently allowed all of us to soar those special and untainted skies with him.