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Sometimes newspapers really get it right.
I remember a few years ago, quite a few by now, when the trend started, which seemed silly to many - myself included at the time - of including all sorts of little gifts with newspapers, weeklies, and various magazines. They started with books, followed by VHS tapes and records. Little by little, we understood that, all things considered, it was a good means of dissemination, and that, in this way, many people who would never have read a book by Pavese, poems by Montale, or watched a film by Wenders, might stumble upon them by accident, distraction, or simply following the trend of collecting every issue of a series. Thus, today, it can happen to someone to realize that there is a great Italian jazz, which has now become a master on par with that from overseas, having nothing to envy, and no longer being colonized in any way, but rather certainly honoring those models that must not be blindly imitated but should instead be respected and always considered.
Here we’re talking about the Italian jazz collection recorded at the Casa del Jazz in Rome, promptly produced, printed, and sent to newsstands. Among others, names like Rava, Fresu, Marcotulli, Gatto, etc., have been published. But now let's talk about Stefano Bollani, one of the absolute best Italian pianists and certainly one of my three favorites (for what little it matters, of course). Bollani is capable of experiencing jazz with love, feeling, and soul without filters, but without that drama and seriousness that often, rightly or not, characterizes “jazz life,” both those that are historically significant and those more negligible. Yes, because unfortunately in jazz, both in those who make it and those who listen to it, there's a lot of people who aren't, but “pretend to be.” Those who truly love this genre of music know it, because you can see certain faces, on and off the stage, and you know that faces speak. And not all of them say beautiful or true things. Bollani's is a nice face, of a likable, serene, and humble person. Completely devoid of the unnecessary stardom that inhabits the mind and soul of many public figures of our Poor Country. In short: if you see Bollani beside some showgirl, beyond any aesthetic consideration, the one with the stardom complex is definitely the showgirl, who had a bit of luck with genes, and the rest are gyms and diets. Certainly not the jazz pianist, who really worked hard, having fun, probably swearing at times, but never making you feel it. And, as I was saying, I have always found Bollani’s way of approaching jazz to be ingenious and highly enjoyable: passionate, without stupid filters and without pseudo-religious dogmas. But with an absolutely perfect phrasing, never banal or “already heard.” With an inversely proportional amount of soul and rhetoric. If he likes a song, he performs it. I personally, in Valenza, with the same trio as these recordings, heard him play an incredible “Mi ritorni in mente” by Battisti, followed by a playful “Tico Tico”, with a broken and often odd time, for the amused frustration of his two travel companions.
In this album, with the same inspiration and underlying project, the three tackle some Bollani themes (“Eravamo un manipolo di eroi” and “Elena e il suo violino”), a couple of standards (“All The Things You Are” and “Moonlight Serenade”), an incredible, faithful, and very interesting interpretation of “Morph The Cat” by Donald Fagen, which had just been released a few days prior, and you can tell Bollani had quickly bought, appreciated and assimilated it together with his two comrades, Walter Paoli on drums and the ever sublime Ares Tavolazzi on double bass, i.e., the bass that for years accompanied his jazz career with that of a steadfast accompanist of Guccini and his band of unshakable musicians. The concert closes with a premiere, actually: a double premiere. Or rather: an unpublished/perfect forgery, which perfectly describes the Bollanian spirit: “Copacabana”, a fake Contian song, truer than true, including the pianist's voice, which is a hilarious photocopy of the best Paolo Conte. The Contian atmosphere is perfect and the tribute (strangely rare in the jazz environment, if you think about it) to the esteemed Asti songwriter is much appreciated. One last heartfelt praise goes to the Casa del Jazz, to those who conceived it (taking a building, beautiful, from the hands of crime and transforming it into a paradise of Jazz is too beautiful to be true…), to those who thought of this project and those who realized it. As you can see, I’m not mentioning any names, otherwise they say we’re doing politics here.
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