Achille Lauro

With "Comuni mortali", the flamboyant Achille Lauro continues his run in the theatricalization of Italian music, mixing singer-songwriter vibes, glam, pop, and vintage suggestions into a blend that, as usual, promises much but delivers far too little. The artist, so chameleonic as to appear simply confused, tries the card of authorial depth, but does so with a voice often uncertain and flat, struggling to carry the emotional weight of the lyrics. With the spotlight on content, it becomes hard not to notice the many banalities and the annoying rhetorical solutions in the lyrics.

The sorrowful string arrangements that open "Perdutamente" throw the listener into a series of retro vignettes that often cross the line into empathetic embarrassment. Inevitable (?) is the tribute to the Capital in "amoR", a predictable ballad worthy of the worst Tommaso Paradiso: "Torna presto, amor/ Me so' fatto grande.” A guitar appears in "Dannata San Francisco", breaking a monotony, but the only real solution seems to be not being fluent in Italian and thus not understanding the lyrics, which contain gems like “Moriremo veloci, scoperemo quelle stelle” or “Per stare con te cinque minuti/ Questa notte, sì, mi compro casa.” To understand how much the album insists on sentimental and melancholic rhetoric, there is also the dedication to his mother, "Cristina": a lake of nostalgia, sad memories, suicidal thoughts and of course a classic pop ballad chorus.

To balance things a bit comes the more lively "Fiori di papavero", with a nice bassline and a vibe reminiscent of the latest The Kolors, though it's best listened to without catching lines like “Ti regalo il Vomero”; better is the different twin "Dirty Love", with a funk riff and 80s reflections.

Also present are the already-known "Amore disperato" and "Incoscienti giovani", the latter presented at Sanremo, both perfectly integrated into the melancholic, sepia-toned tracklist, which even lends itself to biblical interpretations in "Nati da una costola".

Achille Lauro uses his most typical language only in "Happy Birthday Mr. Kennedy", with a parade of more or less gloomy pop culture references, and especially in the closing track "Barabba III", where he moves closer to rap again with the third chapter of an intimate saga central to his discography.

The substance in "Comuni mortali" is a mirage. What dominates is an artificial, contrived form. The lyrics swing between the poetic and the predictable, indulging in overused clichés, with a collection of worn-out imagery. At this point, there’s not even any point in asking why this latest mask: the shift from one artistic identity to another seems more like a trick to keep public attention than a coherent path, and aligns with an image now mostly tied to television, a medium where music is mainly a pretext for the show. Lauro’s flamboyance, which once felt like disruption, now tastes of mannerism, of something stage-managed. Even the black-and-white cover feels fake and déjà-vu, pretentious and a bit banal... just like everything else.

12/05/2025