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Rating: The guy with the big earrings, the one with the dreadlocks, his girlfriend who smokes one cigarette after another. The more sober friend with the sweater, the crazy one who - from the way he talks - must have smoked more than one joint in his life. At the Estragon, a crowd gathers who, never before at this concert, it seemed evident to me, shares a common feeling, experiences, problems, joys, and difficulties that intersect with each other. Under the big top, there is a great harmony, like a brotherhood, because the Verdena audience is here not only and not so much for the music. They are here because it's a generational event, like coming home after seven years of wanderings.
Sofia is Umbrian, you can tell from her accent, but she studies in Milan. As we try to find our way through the vast North Park, she tells me she came back from Portugal (Erasmus) just for the Verdena. "Yeah, I mean, also to see my folks, there's the bridge..." The feeling is exactly this: none of those present could ever have missed this concert, because it's like a checkpoint in life. How are we maturing? We, the Verdena generation?
Great question, the answer is more difficult.
Not very well, I'd say with understatement. If we look at Alberto Ferrari on stage, what do we see besides an excellent musician? A raving satyr, a guitar tightrope walker who, however, struggles to have something to say, and rarely finds it. It's the usual Alberto, he hasn't changed, but he carries more years, more tiredness on his shoulders, the magic touch of youth gives way to an increasingly solid and refined skill, but also less impactful, less sharp.
There's much talk about his lyrics. What I want to emphasize is that the "lack of meaning" has never been a problem. Listening to Viba, Valvonauta, Luna and other classics, everyone has found meaning. Indeed, this loose connection of words and verses is rather a distinctive element and a value-added because it embodies the decay of meanings that the Verdena generation has experienced and is experiencing. To each one, those songs say something different, just one sentence, two or three words emerging from the clouds of distortions are enough. This suffices, we do not expect a De André.
Having managed to give a coherent, rich, evolved sound to those kids or young people who grew up at the turn of the two millennia is already an enviable achievement. They got the right music for the film of our life (or of our youth, which is very long).
Alberto and Verdena today really have nothing new to tell us or even just suggest to us. They are adults, but not old enough to change perspective. When they play the (many) new songs the feeling is of a powerful, layered, explosive almost-metal rock machine. But almost no one sings them, and not just because we don't know the lyrics well yet. They are almost unsingable tracks, with contracted melodies, short choruses. Ferrari performs his lyrics on stage like a clown of hell. With that mustache. By comparison, past pieces flow like fresh water, rounded melodies, easy, open riffs.
The feeling corroborated by the concert is that of a gruff man with his mates who has decided to do things more difficult, narrower, and edgier than in the past. And in the end, we're fine with that. Because, all in all, the performance shows a coherence and at the same time a variety that few Italian bands can afford. A change (or evolution, well, a change) is palpable, it's clear to everyone when a track from Wow is starting or one from 1999. But there's never a real drop, a void, a betrayal. This is why Verdena are Verdena and seven years later they make four sold-out shows at the Estragon. There is total trust between the audience and musicians, the ritual repeats almost unchanged, just a little more tired: the risk of ending up imitating themselves flashes in mind only for a moment, but vanishes immediately. They play with the strings of the soul.
After all, aging is this. Repeating oneself infinitely with some variation, with greater technique and experience, but maybe with less courage and recklessness.
Viba plays and I look around, I see happy people, smiles, and dances. We still have the strength to mosh and jump, and Verdena knows it. Perhaps the only flaw I find is the choice to close with two new tracks (Sui ghiacciai and Volevo Magia) that no one sings and that don't really excite. The old songs give chills, practically Alberto could even not sing (from the audience also second voices, impeccable). On the contrary, the title track of the latest album, closing, shows the bad path they could take. That of rock virtuosity, almost a domestic version of Motörhead, without even a drop of sentiment, not even a word to cherish. And then, if that will be the case, we will miss even the absurd disconnected phrases of Alberto.
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