Roberto Vecchioni
Blumùn

I confess right away that I don't have an in-depth knowledge of Roberto Vecchioni. Mea culpa, he has everything to appeal to me: a beautiful deep voice like a French chansonnier, a die-hard Inter fan, lyrics full of poetry, cultural references close to me. But in reality I only have a collection and this album, which I believe was given to me as a gift. An excellent gift nonetheless: Blumùn is a beautiful album. The start, in particular, is phenomenal, with a one-two, or rather a one-two-three punch that leaves you stunned: Blumùn, Angeli, and Euridice are three great tracks. Then the album, in the following seven songs, presents highs and lows, up to the final track, which reprises the theme of Blumùn.

You know that scene in that Moretti movie, "Aprile," where a bust-your-chops guy with a jawline goes to Nanni with a tape measure, unrolls it in front of him, and more or less goes, "This is a meter, 100 centimeters," and continues, "How many years do you want to live? Seventy, seventy-five?" "Eighty." And then ends, maliciously, "Eighty, then I remove twenty, and this is eighty; today you are forty-four, so I have to go up to here, here you go: this is what's left... happy birthday anyway." And he leaves, leaving Nanni stunned to look at how short the remaining stub of the meter is. Well, Blumùn, with its bluesy tone and beautiful piano, starts from a similar consideration, the time that has passed and the little time left, but it develops it serenely, entrusting the ironic voice of Gene Gnocchi (a great choice!) with the role of the jawline guy, in this case none other than God, not bust-your-chops at all and rather amused to watch that son who does not resign himself to waiting for the inevitable but lives with the desire to live, enjoying it and trying not to worry too much. And this album is essentially a list of things that make life full and enjoyable: the Angeli, the youngsters, splendidly awkward, men in the making that Professor Vecchioni knows closely, with their dreams, anxieties, uncertainties. Not to mention literature, because Vecchioni is still a professor, with Euridice and with (a somewhat embarrassing title) Rossana Rossana (Berg E Rac). The former is a reinterpretation of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, the story of the singer who descended into the Underworld armed only with his love and lyre to defeat death and bring the beloved Eurydice back to life, renouncing her however once the victory was obtained, aware that nothing could be the same as before. The song is truly splendid, and the change of tone when at a certain point it goes "and I will turn around" gives you chills. In the second, the two male protagonists of Rostand's play, Cyrano and Christian, take turns singing about their dissatisfaction, the former for not being able to have the object of such love, the latter on the opposite for having obtained it and not desiring it anymore. The song actually does not particularly shine and is the first half misstep after the fantastic initial triptych.
I don't particularly like Paco either, a somewhat dull song about the professor's eponymous and lamented late dog, with the somewhat overused trick of revealing only at the end the animal nature of the lamented one. There's another 'in memoriam' track towards the end of the album, called Fammi Vedere Tu, and it has a much stronger impact: a very emotional and heart-wrenching song, small and touching, a moving and heartfelt memory of someone who is no longer here.
Between the two eulogies, the other ingredients for the recipe of life à la Vecchioni: sex, with the diversion Saggio di Danza Classica e Moderna (someone, before completely ruining themselves, taught that "screwing well, screwing well, this is the first thing"); friendship (Gli Amici Miei, accordion from a village fair and briscola called and a line worth framing: "a mother's smile makes you grow up fast, it's good for the skin and the heart"); of course love (Il Mago della Pioggia, a non-transcendental piece), the reassuring kind made of the simple magic of broad-shouldered men, quoting De Gregori; and finally, the real spice of life, enemies (the successful Tornando a Casa (Nostalgia d'Odiare)): I agree: what a bore, there's no zest without someone who really pisses you off, I don't know, the hardcore League supporter or the unrepentant Juventus fan, the one you grind your teeth like hell when they win and rejoice like a hedgehog when they lose.

In short, Blumùn is the album of a mature and satisfied man, at peace with himself and the world; if you want a somewhat pedagogical album (well, from a pedagogue...), the essence of which is: let it go, life is a mess, beyond human understanding. There's nothing left but to muddle through, for better or worse; accept what comes, when it comes and how it comes; do what you can, the best you can, with passion, irony, and sincerity. And you will be a serene man.