Rkomi

Rkomi’s public image was probably damaged by excessive and premature exposure to the Sanremo Festival audience in 2022. Mirko Manuele Martorana is not exactly a newcomer — he’s already 32, and "Decrescendo" is his fourth studio album.
Up until his previous release, "Taxi Driver" (2021), his name was mostly known only among fans of the new hip-hop scene: a background he shares with other trappers (especially Izi and Tedua), a sound aligned with what began to spread (also) in Italy around ten years ago, and lyrics focused on themes common to many of his peers — social redemption and ego trips. There was something more, a spark, a handful of moments where he stood out from the crowd thanks to lyrical creativity or a particularly nimble flow, but nothing strong enough to make up a fully mature collection of songs.
"Taxi Driver", on the other hand, made him easier to read, accessible even to a pop, rap and slightly rock audience. The songs were there, but not the performer: in his first Sanremo appearance he came across as arrogant and got chewed up by the meme machine. He came back this year for a second time: calmer, humbler, more experienced. He still sings a bit in cörsivœ (that exaggerated, stylized Italian tone), especially live, but the track "Il ritmo delle cose" was among the more redeemable songs of the festival — and, more importantly, it works better within the album’s context.

Rich in painfully personal details, laced with a restrained yet vibrant emotional charge, "Decrescendo" strikes right from the opening verse of "L’ultima infedeltà":

Quando al compagno di mia madre non bastaron le parole
Io avevo nove anni e stavo già imparando a odiare
Lui la spinse contro il tavolo, io spiavo dalla sala
Avrei preso un candelabro solo per spaccargli il cranio
Chiamai mio fratello giusto in tempo prima che ci ricascasse
Credo fosse sotto un treno, pieno di sostanze
Lo dico a pezzi perché è troppo pesante
Questa è l'ultima infedeltà di cui mi carico

Soon after, other lines describe without filters the rapper’s process of self-analysis and acceptance (“Io a quindic'anni non so affrontare la droga”), without the clichés of so many peers. It's a drumless track, led by piano which shines especially in the final crescendo. The urban anxiety mixed with nostalgia of "Apnea da un po’" continues the narrative, as do "Vent’anni" feat. Tedua and especially "10 secondi" feat. Nayt, another piano-driven song. "Orfani" feat. Izi might be a bit too emphatic, but the lyrics and the multifaceted contribution of the guest make it worthwhile.

Not the entire album remains on this level or in this tone: the pop-rap-rock singles make a return (with "Dirti no" faring better than "Senza di te"), some collaborations are less convincing, and "Interferenze" feels designed for a listener who would half-listen to the latest Jovanotti track.
The dark "Interludio" recalls early solo Dargen D’Amico — the more electronic one — and works better than the rather generic house sound of "Solo gli amanti sopravvivono". The Sanremo single also fits into these electronic tracks — a reflection on anxiety and the passing of time that openly dialogues with our daily lives.

Fittingly, the album ends with "Così piccoli": emotional memories, prominent piano, with half the rap lines delivered without drums. The circle closes: "Decrescendo" reveals itself as an intimate, introspective, and even distinctive album in certain stylistic choices. Trimmed of a few misfiring collaborations and of some tracks that feel too much like leftovers from "Taxi Driver", it could have been a half-triumph.
Still, it’s a bold album that marks a significant shift in the way he tells his story. And that, in our mainstream, is pure gold.

03/06/2025