Fulminacci

Filippo Uttinacci isn’t exactly ambitious, creatively speaking. But he does have a clear strength: he rarely puts a foot wrong. And he almost never misses a hook.

That quality is all over “Calcinacci”, his fourth album. It moves confidently within well-established coordinates: polished it-pop with a strong ‘70s singer-songwriter streak, a visible funky-disco backbone, and a lightness that’s not far off new wave. Nothing ever feels overworked: words and sounds stay easygoing, everyday, never pedantic. He plays with vivid imagery in a way that feels natural, steering clear of both grandstanding and tired metaphors — and, just as importantly, of cheap winks or lapses in tone.

As before, the record works best when it picks up speed. The more upbeat tracks are where the writing really clicks: “Casomai” strings together sharp, playful images (“I’m still waiting, like fried food without batter / A smile without a jaw / A dress without a model / Battisti without Panella”) with real flair; “Nulla di stupefacente” balances sweetness and melancholy in a convincing folk-pop frame; “Meno di Zero” leans on an irresistible chorus and a self-aware undercurrent that pokes at the very idea — and ritual — of songwriting.

When things slow down, though, it’s more of a fifty-fifty split between sentimentality lit up by the occasional spark and songs that slide into outright schmaltz. “Da qualche parte in Italia”, with its melodic rises and falls and imagery suspended between the romantic and the technological, belongs to the former; elsewhere, the writing settles into lazier solutions, especially when the arrangements (strings up front) take a more accommodating turn. The clearest example is “Stupida sfortuna”, the festival pick: linear progression, syrupy orchestration, a song that feels like it’s running on Sanremo autopilot. A shame, because there were stronger cards to play.

In terms of references, the album makes a few tentative sidesteps away from the obvious. The echoes of Daniele Silvestri are less pronounced than before, while other ghosts come into clearer view: the descending chromatic bassline in “Niente di particolare” amounts to a kind of McCartney channeling (or is it Cremonini?); the verse of “Tutto bene” sits somewhere in De Gregori territory (extended chords aside); “Mitomani” brushes up against Battiato and, in its opening verse, almost reads like a caricature — though it ultimately holds up as one of the sharper cuts here, along with the other two.

The collaborations, while notable on paper, don’t really go beyond that. Features from Tutti Fenomeni, Franco126 (who also co-wrote “Stupida sfortuna”), and an uncredited Tommaso Paradiso on “Maledetto me” add little momentum to the songs. More decisive, if less visible, is the work of Pietro Paoletti (Golden Years), who supports the writing and effectively holds the tracks together by playing almost everything — guitars, bass, keys, drums.

In the end, “Calcinacci”’s greatest asset doubles as its main limitation: a way of writing that never stumbles, and for that very reason avoids taking risks. Each song knows exactly what it’s supposed to do — and doesn’t do much else. The margin for error is minimal; the margin for surprise just as much.

(English version created with AI-assisted translation)

17/04/2026