Rome
Confessions d'un Voleur d'Ames

April 2007: just a few months after its debut, Rome returns to the limelight with a dazzling second chapter confirming the vigor of a talent out of the ordinary. And already among the grooves of this "Confessions d'un Voleur d'Ames" one can sense what will prove to be Jerome Reuter's path in the years to come: a passionate variation on a main theme, which we might define as the poetic core of the Luxembourgish man-artist. The music advocated by Rome is an intense reinterpretation of the tenets of apocalyptic folk in its most typical sense, adopted as a vehicle of expression for the feelings and reflections of this small-great songwriter.

As happened in "Nera," Reuter resumes, almost nonchalantly and without excessive ambitions of stylistic differentiation, the stylistic elements that are (arche)typical of the genre, basing the credibility of his product not so much on its intrinsic innovative scope (which is zero), but exclusively on the strength of the emotions and the fascinating aesthetic and ecstatic suggestions that his art is able to evoke in the listener.

Because we are in 2007, in an era well beyond the discrediting of the genre, now in its second/third generation of artists, who, starting from the paradigmatic "Brown Book" twenty years earlier, seem to have lost something along the way compared to what was sown by the old school. It certainly cannot be said that it benefits Reuter to ride a wave that seems to have long exhausted its original impetus. Instead, it can be said that his puerile continuous appeal to the oracle of Death in June causes a kind of counterproductive effect in the real understanding of the artistic scope of his art.

No matter, Reuter continues on his path, priding himself, in truth, on belonging to an ancient tradition of folksingers who seem to have their progenitor in the biblical Leonard Cohen. And in this, indeed, it is difficult to fault him, despite the pompous orchestrations and the samples inherited directly from the worst industrial scum repositioning the young man, whether he likes it or not, in the narrow confines of the so-called grey area.

It is therefore difficult to elevate Reuter to the status of a singer-songwriter; however, it seems reductive to continue ignoring his undeniable artistic value as a composer and performer of intense and intimate timeless ballads.

Compared to "Nera," much more sparse and rough in sounds, we find greater care in arrangements; a perhaps excessive dominance of the symphonic and environmental apparatus, at the expense of the acoustic guitar lines, which, however, remain the essential backbone of the compositions.

Remove this detail (not a small one, since the album marks a growth and formal maturation, as well as a more consistent and compact stylistic direction, which on one hand is able to smooth out excesses, and on the other amplifies the gothic moods, overshadowing everything in the framework of a blurred and unresolved existentialism), remove all this, what remains is therefore the artist Reuter not at all affected in his integrity as a somber singer of his restless poetic world; a poetic world traversed by a redundant romanticism that seems to evoke the most seductive dark-wave even before the apocalyptic imagery, an element that remains nevertheless predominant.

"L'indifferenza è l'incontrario dell'orgoglio" is the phrase that, both in English and Italian, conceptually runs through the work, a passionate representation of the artist's worldview, a mirror of a fractured soul, but firmly opposed to the barbarities of an era that seems to deny the dignity, intelligence, and sense of responsibility of the man-individual in the face of the decay and ugliness surrounding him.

The grand opening of "Ni Dieu ni Maitre" delivers us a Reuter in the grip of a gothic overdose, where mighty orchestrations collapse behind our artist's dark and tormented baritone chant. What sets everything right is the subsequent "The Consolation of Man," which seems to emerge directly from "The World that Summer": a crude ballad shaken by the tremors of martial and cacophonous electronics, it constitutes a true manifesto of intent, as well as the most direct connection with the art of Death in June. But to highlight the fact that we are not merely faced with a small Pearce in search of identity, but something more, deeper, and more varied, just a couple of songs like "Querkraft" and "The Torture Detachment" suffice: the first is the typical dark-wave piece (and vaguely pop - think of the arpeggios that directly recall the most carefree Cure) that we find on every album bearing the Rome brand; the second, an abyssal slow piece that delivers us the most authentically melancholic side of Reuter's art, who actually skillfully handles every genre of music that can serve his poetic intents.

The proof is how Our artist in poignant ballads like "The Joy of Stealth" and "Wilde Lager" manages to evoke the most crepuscular Tom Waits without looking bad.

Among disastrous echoes and symphonic surges of a planet devastated by war, among gloomy Gregorian choirs and the menacing creaking of advancing tanks; among the delicate arpeggios of a guitar and the enveloping piano ballads that recover an ancient songwriting tradition, Rome's music touches the deepest chords of the soul, with simplicity and inspiration, sometimes descending into the puerile, or in shameless quoting at others, but never disappointing in emotional impact.

An important confirmation, a step forward towards perfection.

Bon voyage, Jerome!