Tonino Carotone
Senza Ritorno

Melancholy: one word to capture the essence of an artist eternally borraccho, without a homeland, anarchist to every rule, lost in a past that never goes away, victim of a voice that carries with it the weight of an entire world. A handful of songs and three covers for an album released by Virgin in 2003 that went practically unnoticed. A small jewel, a declaration of love for an Italy that closely resembles Fellini's, the desire to take oneself a bit lightly even when one's heart is in pieces.
La Noria is the joy and despair of life in the brothel, a linguistic pastiche (Spanish, Basque, japonés euskeriko, English...) that sings of the emotions, the miseries, loves, and passions of a world outside the world, that of brothels. A universe that each person lives personally, intimately, capable of leaving behind a sense of emptiness that transforms euphoria into silence. Carotone continues with La Caravana, a journey with no return and without reins in the wake of our destiny. The melancholy is always strong and at times seems to brush up against poetry, like when it comes to shouting one's despair for una negra que no consiguió en un rincón de la capital. The voice of Antonio De La Cuesta (Carotone's real name) is almost a lament always aimed toward female figures that are women of flesh (thanks to the sensuality of Carotone's voice it almost feels like you can see them, touch them), described sharply with few words, satisfied with simple nuances. Gerundio is a paradoxical anthem to the sense of inadequacy we are forced to keep inside, that takes our breath away and makes us feel always out of place, out of time. But there is also a lot of self-irony, marking the time of our Tonino's love pains, always capable of singing himself and his amorous misfortunes with a smile on his lips.
The covers are splendid, truly. They are Storia d'Amore (Adriano Celentano), Ragazzo di strada (I Corvi), and Sono tremendo (Rocky Roberts). Carotone plays with his voice, with the pauses and accents, inventing an increasingly mixed-up Italian that throws out all the hidden emotions in the texts, screams the songs without worrying too much about form. As for the music, the discourse is completely reversed: there is not a note nor a sound out of place, the arrangements are perfect, and every single variation compared to the original versions enriches the track and personalizes it in an unmistakable way. Then Tonino's voice does the rest.

An album that is a small masterpiece, ideal to listen to alone, letting oneself go to a melancholic and complacent smile, while the nostalgia for our lost, brushed, or even only imagined loves resurfaces.