Verdena
Volevo Magia

A severe demeanor, songs almost indifferent to beauty (or at least very cautious and unwilling to embrace it), like existential devices. Music that settles like layers of rock (the stones of the Val Seriana), melodies that refuse to blossom, a breathless gasp. The desperate yearning, the struggle, the frustrated search for true liberation. The oppressive sky that leaves no openings.

The electric guitar spits a molasses of ancient rust, an atavistic bestiality that is the only true outlet in thirteen tracks that seem chained by a despotic ego. Rock music in such an album assumes the characteristics of an extremely serious, burdensome matter. It seems that in every riff, in every chord, something much greater than the outcome of a song is at stake. Ultimately, it's a matter of identity and dignity, coming to terms with the world, an implicit dialogue with humanity.

In an era that rediscovers rock and sells it off as a banal libertine jingle for prime time, Alberto and company travel in a stubbornly opposite direction. Minimalist, contracted, obstinate melodies, a slow and contemplative pace, the demand for extreme patience that functions as a "selection at the entrance" of listeners. Grouchy songs, with seemingly few tunes, sometimes almost sleepy lullabies, nebulous that seem repetitive but are instead continually varied, with few singable choruses, few concessions to distracted listening. One must give a lot to get something in return from this shy band, who emerges seven years after the last work.

The initial wall we collide against doesn't easily relax its defense, the screen that protects the core, the fragile heart of these three mountain elves. Three exquisitely untimely figures, totally detached from the showbiz context, who speak simply and without pretenses, don't know how to embellish the rotten and the disgusting, never hide the toil and difficulty of giving birth to a collective work. The dirtiness of living is always there on full display, the dream is always hyperbolically distant. The magic? A past desire.

And then, in the almost ostentatious difficulty of the album, in making your way through the dense and cutting meshes, at some point, the heart understands. It has a vision, all the dots connect. This will not be a turning-point album; they've already done the best things of their career. But somehow, a movement of emotion arises, the soul bleeds with emotion when it understands the stoic attempt of the band to maintain a moral integrity in the form of a song, despite everything. Seven years to make an album, aggressive guitars, impossible-to-sell melodies. Like an artichoke, Verdena offers us first the spines and the bitter, woody, inedible leaves. Only those who love them can patiently reach the inner sweetness of the fruit.

Touching obstinacy, incorruptibility of the heart. Verdena continue not knowing how to sell out and, indeed, this time perhaps require even more patience: compared to the previous (double) album, there is greater synthesis, less willingness to write singles, but also a more accurate "lightness" of the rhythms. Certainly, during the first listens, it seems like an indigestible mix of lazy voice and a lot of rock stuff that's a bit heavy (in the sense of repetitive, not very playful).

But it's the challenging path they ask to reach beauty. Because those lazy melodies reveal themselves as careful, just a bit introverted, and unfold in more sections without easy choruses. That redundancy of guitar, bass, and drums gradually reveals its meticulous distribution, the scientific throbbing of the rocking beast.

There are no great novelties, but the non-novelty is almost the essential reason for this work: the choice to stubbornly be oneself, at the cost of being impractical, selling little, etc. This is why the album moves, over twenty years later, people who wrote "Luna" and "Wow" choose to retreat into this outpost of sincerity and hardness of heart. Around is the apocalypse, merchants have been desecrating the temple for decades now. Some faithful find refuge in the rusty architectures of Verdena. Alberto's psalmody unfolds with disconnected phrases because not even words can give us easy comfort.

It is we who must find the way, between the verses as between the almost metallic lashes. We have a threshold, a challenging path, a rocky wall among the Bergamo mountains. We can choose whether to climb, make our way one centimeter at a time, or surrender.