Cristina Donà - An Italian Miracle

In the beginning there was the rawest, most visceral indie-rock. Cristina Donà, from Rho (Milan), arrives on the scene as a young singer-songwriter with an aggressive edge, able to marry songwriting tradition with the rock abrasiveness of heroines like PJ Harvey and Liz Phair. But Cristina has that extra something capable of seducing even old sages like Robert Wyatt and David Byrne, who pay her unexpected tribute.

In a short time, she becomes the new star of the Italian indie-rock firmament, which in the Nineties experiences its peak in drive and commercial success. She wins the Ciampi prize in 1995, collaborates with a prominent name in New York singer-songwriting, Eric Wood, and wins broad critical acclaim. Credit goes to her refined compositions and her lyrics of remarkable emotional impact, over which a voice both supple and incisive moves freely, sketching out surprising harmonies.

Recalling Polly Jean Harvey's work are mainly the moody tone of some of her musical passages, the constant guitar accompaniment, the often jagged arrangements, and a narrative approach that unfolds through images. These are the traits that make the fortune of her debut album, Truce.

Three years later Cristina Donà follows up with Nido, the most complex and ambitious album of her career. The rich, intricate sonic framework serves a voice that is more nuanced than ever. The lyrics embrace a multitude of topics and feelings. There is heartache, elegance, irony, depth, and everything is far removed from cliché or commercial ease. The album's production is entrusted to the mastermind of Afterhours, Manuel Agnelli.

Among the collaborations, the name of Robert Wyatt stands out, a mentor figure for Donà, who also took part in "The different you", the tribute album to the British musician made by a number of Italian musicians. "I met him at the Salone della Musica," Cristina Donà recalls. "He came to see me. I was struck by his kindness, it was an afternoon of pleasant conversation. When it came time to work on 'Nido', Manuel suggested sending him some tracks to see if he would take part in making some of the songs. Worst case, he could have refused. Instead he accepted. He's the author of the arrangements for 'Goccia'. The previous version, without him, was very bare, and Wyatt enriched it, adding curious trumpet sounds and a sung accompaniment in the form of a bolero. What struck me most was that he told us not to use anything we didn't like".

The poetic charm of the title track, the romantic melancholy of "Goccia", the vital explosion of "L'ultima giornata di sole", the perfect essentialness of "Mangialuomo" are just some of the album's most successful moments, marking a certain departure from the previous "Truce". Especially in terms of arrangements. "Manuel had a huge influence on the sound of 'Tregua'," Donà explains. "The particularly electric arrangements were his doing. 'Nido' is very different and, for a number of reasons, not at all 'distorted'. It's much more varied than 'Tregua'. For example, 'Mangialuomo' recalls a sunnier Tom Waits, backed by an orchestra. I'm fascinated by the contrast between heavy, dark lyrics and sunny music, and vice versa". And indeed, Cristina's "Nido" doesn't lack a certain sunniness: "It's a strange record, even witty from the second half onward. There's an irony that was missing on 'Truce', and that's perhaps because the period in which 'Tregua' was written didn't leave much room for irony".

Despite a distinctly rock background, Cristina Donà loves to range across genres. "I've been listening to Wilco," she says, "the Brazil of Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso, Paul McCartney, Marco Parente, Ginevra Di Marco. In the past, U2, Waterboys, and among Italians especially Fossati". She is determined to carry forward Italy's "other rock", the kind rarely heard on the radio, alongside her friends and touring companions: La Crus, Almamegretta, Afterhours, Marlene Kuntz.

In the following Dove sei tu (2003), the new production immediately throws a curveball, entrusted to Davey Ray Moor, leader of Cousteau, met, it seems by chance, during an English festival where the artist from Bergamo was performing. The result is a less brooding approach than in the past, where her voice stands out even more in all its clarity (and indeed Donà herself pointed out that the challenge was to bring out the low frequencies of her voice, which is naturally pitched toward high frequencies; various microphones and effects were used to that end).

The melodic, impactful tracks are touching ("Nel mio Giardino", "Invisibile"), but there are also jazz-tinged shades ("In fondo al mare"). The album goes on with heavier pieces that are live-set staples ("Triathlon", in an unusual double version featuring Subsonica, and "The Truman Show"). Finally, Cristina Donà also tries her hand at English with "Give It Back (To Me)", a first experiment that may well have a follow-up in the future. The heavier use of melodic passages compared to previous works proves convincing, and combined with the contribution of skilled musicians like her current band, it could set the stage for new, interesting developments in the Lombard singer-songwriter's career.

In September 2004, Cristina Donà is released, the long-awaited English-language album, put out in Italy by Mescal and in the rest of the world, across 33 countries, by Rykodisc International; leading the charge, the single "Invisible Girl".

The pretty duckling has turned into a swan, and so the new album, The fifth season, is released complete with a major label and new production (Emi and Peter Walsh). But Donà leaves the past behind; experimentation included. Ten ballads, timid-rather-than-tasteful arrangements, a totally flattened sound. If the Lombard singer-songwriter's greatest talent has always been her ability to write superbly a certain kind of song — that atmospheric, brooding slow number suddenly torn open by pathos, à la "Goccia" but also "Invisibile" — this time around there's only one song of that kind, and it's the fine opening single, "Universo". The bulk of the record instead gets by drifting from classical-style arias ("Come le lacrime") to rock ballads ("L'eclissi" and "Niente di particolare"), crashing straight through the door of predictability. Only "I duellanti" and "Laure" show a bit more personality among the key tracks, though even they fail to convince, and reveal all the more starkly how the format (light pop-rock with a whiff of class and a bland aftertaste) leaves no room for meaningful variation.

And indeed it's precisely the margins that shine, like “Settembre”, with its decisive turns, its restlessness, its synths and the melodic line that echoes “Volo in deltaplano” (one of the most introverted tracks on Nido). Or “Conosci”, delivered over strings, which also offers one of the rare flashes of inspiration on the lyrical side (“Conosci i miei occhi quando guardano verso di te, i giorni normali senza un gesto da ricordare. "Conosci i miei occhi quando guardano lontano da te, i particolari delle mani che non so curare"), while elsewhere the writing is lost in a rather banal tale of coupledom, love and relationship troubles ("Ma non c'è niente di particolare, a parte il fatto che mi manchi. E non c’è niente di particolare, vorrei essere con te”).

Leaving behind the excessive imagination of her recent past, Donà goes the whole way until her outfit turns completely grey. The alienating approach of the production and the narrow confines of an ill-suited expressive medium erase every flicker of vitality; to the point that, at last, even her name might manage to win over the stuffy, overcoated grandees bloated by years of pseudo-critical militancy.

The follow-up Piccola faccia marks another step toward a softer, more universal pop songwriting. An evolution in keeping with the existential path of the Lombard artist. Today's Cristina Donà is a sunny, radiant woman, a writer keen to pen direct, explicit songs about everyday life without too many filters or frills. Maybe it's because today's Cristina Donà is first and foremost a happy mother, to whom life's small, human necessities are more familiar than ever. The singer-songwriter from Rho seems to have found her own precise place in the imagination of those used to grazing the not exactly wholesome pastures of Italian music. Even though she ends up in "Repubblica" and the "Corriere della Sera", and talks about drawing inspiration from Battisti and having tried her hand at Sanremo, she will never be popular - in the sense of mass popularity, at least. You don't even need to check which label is on her records (Emi) to realize that by now it's pointless to trot out the usual convenient, vague notion of an Italian "indie" scene. No way around it: Cristina Donà sits squarely in the middle. Mind you, though, not adrift - rather with a full awareness of her (many) talents and of the range of her own expressive register.

The songs on I Walk Home (2011), which also owe a great deal to Saverio Lanza's hand as orchestrator, are in near-perfect balance. Mostly quite far from rock, perhaps, but that's hardly a flaw - quite the opposite. The writing is inspired, the melodies work, and the arrangements do too, even if at times a touch overabundant. A simple recipe, an outstanding quality product. The good mountain air of the Bergamo foothills, where she has lived in retreat for some years now, seems to suit Donà better and better.

"I'm sometimes afraid I've lost something. I'm always afraid of being left alone." The album apparently ends like this. Instead, tacked onto her crepuscular "Lettera a mano", a mournful, hermetic ballad that at a certain point surges and shatters into an almost robotic trail, Cristina Donà places a lullaby entrusted with all the hope and tenderness of a mother who knows that, by the very fact of being a mother, she can never truly be alone again. It's a lullaby sung without words, this ghost track, and this swift passage from bewilderment to reassurance is more than a seal: it tells us that life is meant to be lived, and that once the day is done, once the good and bad stories have passed and the songs have played out, it's normal to feel a little afraid, but it's always worth having faith, in yourself and in others.

After all, how did the album begin? "Io credo nei miracoli che la gente può fare", indeed. A sparkling track, "Miracoli", a little triumphal march in which Donà announces revolutions backed by colorful brass forays. It's the single already in rotation since before Christmas, the best possible lead track and the best way to set things straight. Next comes "Un esercito di alberi", both a declaration and a plea for love, full of poetry, enveloping strings, more brass, starting soft and gradually building before closing gently on the low notes of a piano. Then comes the time for a more playful Donà: "In un soffio" is a kind of foxtrot in the vein of Silvestri, while "Giapponese" is a catalogue of small things and everyday visions, held together by another catalogue, just as varied and a bit schizoid, of sounds.

With spirits somewhat calmed, "Più forte del fuoco" blossoms, a beautifully crafted pop romance, all minor chords and big sighs of love, poised to become one of the next live staples in the Lombard singer-songwriter's repertoire. "Aquilone" (one of three tracks featuring Piero Monterisi, on loan from Silvestri, on drums) follows right after, suggesting another way of capturing everyday life: carefree, quick and swinging. Then comes the title track, in which the everyday life recounted this time is only presumed - an ironic, postmodern tale of infidelity, set to sweeping folk guitar and strings in full flow. Next, the album's other lullaby, "Bimbo dal sonno leggero": Cristina speaks to her son of a world that could be better, but in which there is nonetheless a safe shore from which to watch the night and on which to sleep soundly. And before the curtain falls, out comes the more electric side of Donà, with the rock'n'roll charge of "Tutti sanno cosa dire". Which, when it's needed, is exactly what's needed.

All told, a record of great quality, probably Donà's best in a long while. Not a bad way to mark twenty years on stage.

On her birthday, Cristina Donà unveils her eighth studio album, Così vicini (2014), under the aegis of an independent label, just as at the time of her debut. Freed of the weight/ballast of a multinational entity (the new Emi/Universal), Cristina has thus returned to tending the secret garden of her songs, ready to bloom without haste or pressure. Così vicini is this and much more: the need to recover a lost intimacy, the desire to explore who we are and bring it back to the surface, as though in conversation with someone - a friend, a partner, a child, a landscape. So as to understand, grow, and perhaps also learn to face certain inner demons with sharper weapons. The dialogue on the record unfolds in a low or middling voice, setting aside the more rock-oriented vocal registers: yes, there are at least a couple of livelier tracks ("Il senso delle cose" and "Siamo vivi"), but the heart of the record seems to breathe elsewhere, in the folds and among the stately branches of "Perpendicolare", or in the corridors and courtyards of memory evoked by the title track, a small gem poised between folk, pop and classic Italian songwriting.

Ten songs that strike a chord, but which will need repeated listens to be fully appreciated: interwoven acoustic and electric guitars, pianos, lead and backing vocals, strings and brass, a rhythm section that never overdoes it, accompanying (as do the arrangements) the vocal parts and the storytelling without ever overwhelming it. For this, credit is also due to Saverio Lanza, co-writer of the music, artistic producer and arranger.

More than in the past, this feels like a "concept album" in the form of an intimate novel, its chapters intertwined and bound together by a silken thread. And at journey's end, ironically, one is left with a final realization: that of never having truly "arrived" - on the contrary, the feeling is of needing to set off again, because "così vicini" [so close] still means more road to travel, new discoveries to marvel at, drifting on the gentle waves of a balance Cristina Donà seems to have achieved. Restless as an artist, never fully satisfied or content, she continues on her path.

After celebrating the twentieth anniversary of her debut with Truce 1997-2017 – Stelle buone, in the summer of 2018 Donà embarked on a couple of live dates with fellow artist Ginevra Di Marco, the voice that lent light and grace to the resistant material of C.S.I., coming of age alongside key figures such as Giovanni Lindo Ferretti, Gianni Maroccolo and Giorgio Canali. Daughters, women, mothers, artists, friends. Two leading figures of Italian music who grew up in that Nineties scene and went on to build solo careers developed in a deeply artistic way, never looking for shortcuts to the mainstream, through consistently interesting and illuminating work.

The emotion of those evenings sparked the idea of carrying on, even writing a few new songs together, since the goal wasn't simply to celebrate the past but to pursue an exchange capable of bearing new fruit. Thus was born the album Ginevra Di Marco & Cristina Donà, released in June 2019, in which the mutual confessions carved into "Un passo alla volta", the soft lightness of "Camminare" and the social narrative of "Confine" (written by Francesco Gazzè, brother and longtime songwriter for Max) make up the project's three new songs, placed at the start of the tracklist. Set apart by the traditional Sephardic Jewish song "La rosa enflorece", which highlights the qualities of the two voices, the second half of the album is given over to joint reinterpretations of tracks drawn from each singer's own repertoire, enriched by the presence of longtime collaborators Francesco Magnelli, Andrea Salvadori, Luca Ragazzo and Saverio Lanza.

Seven years on from Così vicini, Cristina Donà returns with deSidera. The period between one album of new material and the next was dotted with collaborations, theatrical experiences, the release of Truce 1997/2017 Stelle buone (a reissue/reinterpretation, featuring guests, of her celebrated debut) and the 2019 Cristina Donà e Ginevra Di Marco.

Brought to life following a successful crowdfunding campaign, deSidera sees Donà once again joined on production and arrangements by Saverio Lanza, intent on shaping sounds that, to quote those directly involved, amount to "prehistoric electronica". A rather fitting definition for soundscapes that are at times soft and enveloping, at times dry and abrasive, ready to shift abruptly within the same composition, perfectly suited to accompanying Donà's heartfelt vocal performances. Her interpretations branch out with gripping expressiveness into a world ravaged by our own hand, where the desire for love is at once a form of rebellion, of resistance, but also something dramatic and anguished.

The various scenarios are handled with a consistent narrative eye, alternating more cynical, bitter moments with more poetic glimpses, perhaps fueled by the suggestion of a book, as in the case of the delicate "Conto alla rovescia", written in the wake of Simona Vinci's novel "In tutti i sensi come l'amore". From the couple lost in the shopping mall symbolizing a world adrift ("Distratti") to the hues of "L'autunno", by way of the desire, in "Oltre", to overcome our worst enemy: ourselves. We thus arrive at the marrow, the core of this tree made of notes, that "lack of stars" and the accompanying search at the root of the word's etymology [desiderio/desire]. A "Desiderio" that is downright cannibalistic, as hinted at by the "(cannibal version)" of the video accompanying this splendid track. "Altro che aperitivo, ci siamo bevuti il pianeta! / E gireremo un video mentre esplode il pianeta!" sings, almost shouts, Donà over the beats and arpeggios of "Distratti", while shortly after begins the obsessive search of "Colpa", the angriest, most gripping passage on the record.

One layer of the deSidera tree belongs to "Senza fucile né spada", the only song written during the pandemic and the 2020 lockdown, poised to launch into a reworking of a famous Italian tune; another takes in the moving "Come quando gli alberi si parlano", the true story of a couple the singer knew back when she attended the Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera, who, in order to stay together forever, took the extreme step of suicide. With "Titoli di coda" another of the album's thematic pillars comes to a close, also sung about in "Torna": the end of a love. But if, as the track fades, the word "fine" [the end] begins to loom, the contents of deSidera are instead ready to bloom.

Contributions by Filippo Michelini – Aktivirus (“Dove sei tu”), Ciro Frattini (“The fifth season”), Ariel Bertoldo (“Così vicini”), Claudio Lancia (“Ginevra Di Marco & Cristina Donà”), Alessio Belli (“deSidera”)

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