Roberto Vecchioni
In Cantus

THE REVIEW

Eh, no, dear professor, this time we missed the mark.

And this time, dear professor, it's us who are making a note in the register for you.

Yes, because this work was sold to us, in a typically deferential interview, as a child of courage, a dangerous but grandiose incest between singer-songwriter music and classical music, the result of laborious collaborations, study, and even fun.

Who knows what it is, I said to myself, starting - poor deluded soul... - to enjoy it.

And indeed, the cover looks promising. I confess my old weakness for the professor with the incredibly warm voice and fabulous pen. A slightly more studious (and perhaps a bit less brilliant?) Cohen whom I have always followed with infinite affection. But, as we know, covers are meant to be turned. And in front of certain tracklists, one might even feel unwell.

But how: a big collection with the usual three, four new things...?

I listen: here, there are piano and orchestra, and some pieces are taken from more or less famous classical arias, revisited and sung by Our Maestro. For the rest: repertoire.

Oh dear.

In detail: the orchestra obviously plays well, as you would expect..., the piano is decidedly top-notch. What doesn’t work, unfortunately, is Him: he sings with mannerism (the signs have been there for a few albums...), the vibrato in his voice has increased, and not for the better (a typical effect also of age, whether intentional or natural...), and our professor, here, is not perfectly in tune.

Even in the old live with the (more or less) jazz trio, some errors were audible, but here, combined with studiousness and the cold perfection of an orchestra, it is at times really overwhelming.

Then, of course, one cannot ignore the supreme uselessness - Christmas-themed... - of the work.

There are so many versions of certain songs that you lose count (originals, re-recorded, with guests or without, with the jazz trio, with the orchestra... what a pain... should we expect, next, Vecchioni with triangles, with Bulgarian choirs, with the Alpini, with Cristina D'Avena, with his kids, with the local band, with fifes?). In short, to be clear, what does yet another version of Luci a San Siro or Samarcanda add or take away?

I'm afraid this trend is starting to take away something, more than it gives...

Sometimes listening to works of this type raises more than one doubt, even regarding figures or artists for whom there has always been profound admiration. Could it be that after a lifetime of public dependency combined with a flourishing artistic life, these individuals have financial problems? Or, as they say, does the appetite grow with eating? That after a certain age, the ego, instead of calming down, becomes so big and uncontrollable that it can no longer distinguish between good and mediocre, between quality and mere quantity?

There are numerous reasons, but, in my very humble opinion, this record release was not really necessary.

And the drawer (closed) of memory that certainly awaits it will not cause any problems of conscience.