Vasco Rossi
Bollicine

THE REVIEW

For many, this is the last noteworthy Vasco. The spiritual testament of the early period, the rock-singer-songwriter period, the true one. The one where lust weighs more than the contract. Surely, after this, Vasco would become a monument to himself, and sometimes a caricature of himself, alternating flashes of genius ("Sally") and strokes of brilliance ("Gli Angeli") with countless filler tracks, material calculated to make kids jump where the Player plays best, namely live, in stadiums, those collective ceremonies that thrill an infinity of people and anger almost as many.

After "Bollicine" there would be what I truly regard as the true spiritual testament of the Man from Zocca, which, as often happens, is a "live" album (namely "Va Bene Va Bene Così," a short, synthetic album, very symbolic in its closure—consciously?—of one period to open another that perhaps lasts still today). However, with "Bollicine" we're there, on the verge of a turning point (or maybe more of a U-turn on a different road, decidedly downhill...), but there are still plenty of real ideas inside, there's an abundance of new music. Yes, because even the most zealous critics of Vasco have never been able to answer with elegant clarity a simple question, "where did Vasco get tracks like "fegato spappolato", "giocala", or "siamo solo noi"? Yes, one can throw out about ten names, as one does for the best Prince, but honesty lies in admitting that Vasco knew how to mix a plethora of ingredients like a genius chef, without cloning anyone and without resorting to needless plagiarism, at least back then. This is also a disc/monument to the '80s, which has the sound, the timing and the feel of the '80s. The atmosphere of the '80s is entirely there. Back then, it was the days of 45s and jukeboxes. And it's not nostalgia for its own sake. But, and I address those who were there, putting those 100 lire in the jukebox and feeling "Vita Spericolata" was quite a sensation, just like listening to "Cant’Appress’A Nuie" by Bennato, "Una Giornata Uggiosa" by Lucio or even "Stella Stai" by Tozzi, just a few years before. It was music that revolved around, true, but it revolved well.

And here Vasco builds his tribute to the eighties probably out of inertia: many were using those sounds, the big keyboards were overused and if there was a solo it was more likely to be sax than guitar, often. In short, times far removed from the mandatory guitarness of the last 10/15 years. Listen carefully to "Deviazioni", absolutely in this version, and not in the three from the subsequent live albums. You'll get a university-level lesson in what we might call "the eighties arrangement". Just like the title track, a song that was disputed then and still is, both for its covert reference to cocaine and its explicit nod to Coca Cola. And people already understood how shrewd Vasco was, with a very precise concept of provocation within him. Many fell for it and still do, giving him endless free publicity. He laughs it off and thanks them. But back then, at least he was still writing. And he wrote like Vasco: seemingly simple language. The broken phrases, an infinity of ellipses, to try to convey, on the covers of the LPs, in writing, the atmosphere of the spoken and sung word. The mood and arrangements are fairly uniform, and the tracks follow one another as if, at least at the "aesthetic" level, there was a common thread connecting all the songs on the album. All except the last one, "Mi Piaci Perché" which seems drawn from the sessions of the previous "Vado Al Massimo," but which offers a wonderful text that exemplifies, without mincing words and without any facade of goodwill, the foolishness of the male in front of the woman (who is liked because she's dirty, lewd, lying, bastardly, because she's a woman and because she has a skirt, a compendium of conscious foolishness still little understood today, or mistaken, as Conte would say, for "true foolishness").

Two ballads that will always remain in his repertoire and in the imagination of some generations, like "Vita Spericolata" (providential Sanremo failure) and "Una Canzone Per Te". In short: Vasco. Those who hate him will say it's crap. Those who loved him will say he was still wonderful, and those who love him will say he's beautiful like all the others. It's a simply endless and irresolvable story. The fact remains that some phrases remain and leave a mark, whether you want them to or not. "run, and to hell with pride..."