Roberto Vecchioni
Hollywood Hollywood

There is one thing about Professor Vecchioni that has always struck me: the quality of his arrangements.

Now, hold on everyone... When it comes to talking about technique, I am a beginner; that's not where I intend to go; nor do I wish to draw awkward comparisons with other virtuosos of any particular instrument. What I mean (and what I notice in every work I listen to by the Milanese singer-songwriter) is a care for the instrumental part that I do not find in any other local singer-songwriters, except (but this is implicit in the very genre of his music) for the talented Branduardi.

To cite two examples, the excellent Bennato of the '70s with harmonica and kazoo was inimitable, but "essential" in his DIY arrangements; or the never too much lamented De André: with the due respect to the geniuses, forgive me, but the "joie de vivre" from PFM was really needed... Vecchioni, perhaps precisely because he does not excel with his own instrument under his fingers, has always let others do the work: hence arrangements that range from rock ("La strega" from the excellent "Montecristo") to Celtic music ("Sette meno uno" from "Calabuig, Stranamore ed altri incidenti") to daring - forgive me the unhappy horror - pseudo-psychedelic experiments (the beautiful "Canzone per Sergio", from "Samarcanda"), passing through chilling violins (Branduardi in "Samarcanda") or even very '70s keyboards ("Il castello"). A great variety of arrangements, in short, a worthy frame for texts that are always refined and splendid in their poetry. Talked too much already... Let's get to us.

The peacock stares at me from behind dark glasses as I pick up the LP: quite unsettling, indeed, in its dominance of the street. Released in the eighty-second year of the last century (which sounds very much like a Latin professor), "Hollywood Hollywood" is in some ways illustrative of what has been said so far, also extending the discussion to the graphic design (curated by the usual Pazienza and Romano), as usual rich in sexual references (see dancer and presumed maniac...); in the lineup, eight tracks create the same structure on both sides.
The first track, which starts among the wonderful crackling of the needle on the grooves, is the title-track, a nostalgic ballad dense with movie-like situations: verses with a beautiful melodic line and a choral refrain driven by the electric guitar... Hollywood, of course, and the "usual" Vecchioni, love, women, and taverns; but never forget that, inevitably, the boulevard of sunset will also come. "Ricetta di donna" (boasting Zarrillo and Vanoni among the collaborators) is a short poetic taste of true love and fades into an engaging reprise of the Nino Rota theme from "Fellini 8 e ½".

"Dentro gli occhi" is the typical, disorienting Vecchioni song... almost reciting the melancholic chorus, crazy and hopeful the refrain ("E non verranno i piemontesi ad assalire Gaeta, con le loro Land Rover, con le loro Toyota. E se verranno gli indiani con i lunghi coltelli noi daremo le botte, le botte anche a quelli!"). "Sestri Levante" is, in my opinion, the pearl of the album: the song, which tells of a painful love from the past, is a delicate yet determined ballad, excellently arranged, now gentle, now more tense and dark.
Another side, another music, another city: "Parigi (o cara)" has above all a strong emotional value, being in a sense the song of my parents. Supported by a decisive rhythmic section and characterized by a catchy tune that even I can play on the middle school flute, it again features the woman as the protagonist: mirage woman ("E cammina cammina solo per i tuoi occhi, li vedevo vicini ma era un gioco di specchi"), almost obsession ("Forse fu in sogno, forse era vero quello che sognavo, ed io non c'ero"); Paris, the city of lovers, is a metaphor: it is far away, but the lover knows how to get there, and in a moment he will be able to touch it. And she? She calls her man, Robert Robert Robert, and then her plea evolves into a delirious urban fresco of life ("Duchamp les amants le boulevards"), now glorious now degraded ("La prima volta che mi uccisi, là, sopra le lamiere della Toue Eiffel")... And then again calling her man... Robert Robert Robert. Great song, not much to say.

Following a little divertissement, retaking two stanzas of "Hollywood Hollywood", two emblematic songs of a style close: "Casa dolce casa" is yet another, delicate, story of a troubled love, with the common thread of a place that is nonetheless warm and safe in which to rejoice or find comfort ("Casa vecchia, casa mia: se la notte qualcuno fa l'amore, fa pure finta di dormire insieme a me." ). "Morgana (luce di giorni passati)" is finally an energetic song (of love!) with a vague (vague...) rock flavor, straddling between memories and sensations ("E mi risveglio mentre sono a cavallo e sfioro gli alberi aggrappato al suo collo; e le racconto sempre un'altra mia vita, e lei fa finta che non l'abbia inventata"). An obligatory note for the chorus, a real tongue-twister, yet so sweet.

Well, the album is beautiful, undoubtedly: maybe not our best (a title perhaps owed to "Calabuig..."), but certainly an important brick in the history of good old local songwriting.

And precisely the Milanese professor occupies a prominent role, often unrecognized (this very site hosts very few of his reviews): some of the most beautiful pages of music from the last Italian decades are his, often the poetic heights of such work are his, perhaps written on the tavern table, with the wine glass and solitaire cards set aside for a moment.