Eugenio Bennato - La Taranta and the trail of beauty

From every artist, something arrives that goes beyond the works they leave behind, like an extra gift lying beneath the music. Following this key, what emerges from Eugenio Bennato's discography is the journey, the sense of adventure that drove him in the Seventies to move like an archaeologist through the most authentic places of southern Italian music, and which today has broadened, leading him to bring around an open kind of music, overflowing with countless contributions from foreign artists, often of non-EU origin. Never more than in this case does getting to know an artist mean following him through his travels and his changes. And then there's the Taranta, a strange and fascinating phenomenon of which Bennato is the spokesman, which doesn't correspond to any one precise tradition, but which points to a world, an immense artistic heritage, that of southern Italy, which draws its strength from the past but still holds enormous expressive potential.

From the concerts you've been giving lately, in which you feature collaborations with musicians from North Africa, a strong vocation for hospitality comes through, as if the Taranta were a language capable of welcoming, one that turns music into a sort of banquet table to which everyone is invited.

I believe in the function of art and in its ability to renew itself. Without that, any phenomenon dries up. When I founded Nuova Compagnia di Canto Popolare, I was young and must have been fairly crazy, because I did something that went against the grain: asserting the existence of a music of the regions, of all the regions of Italy. It was a brave choice, one whose consequence was an openness of mind toward what is different. That's why I'm glad that today my music sends you this message. Because popular music in Italy is certainly different from Italy itself, in the sense that what it specifically carries stands in opposition to the dominant culture. So it seemed quite natural to me, once I founded Taranta Power (in 1998, ed.), and having begun a new journey, to talk about the Mediterranean and to frame in a positive light the presence of non-EU immigrants in Italy, who nonetheless bring their culture, their tales, their melodies.

Is Taranta more a musical genre or a movement?

“Taranta”, which incidentally is a word I think I coined myself, undoubtedly describes a universe, one that means becoming aware of one's own roots. And that is already a huge step forward in a world that, as we know, carries a very high risk of globalization and thus of flattening into a single dominant way of thinking. So certainly what you call Taranta – and I say Taranta with caution, because for me it's important that the music stay alive and not become standardized – is an extraordinary musical spark, an incredible tale that speaks of a music that heals by transgressing. Because it speaks of a curse, but a positive curse.

When I founded Taranta Power, it marked the beginning of drawing in a young audience, because fortunately I can say that the audience that follows us is not only committed but also brand new. And this runs counter to what used to happen a few decades ago, when pop music drew in legions of fans who were nonetheless very fickle when it came to changing trends... Here, instead, there's a different idea of building something. There's a recovery of elements that were at risk of being lost. At my last concert there was a ten-year-old kid playing a tambourine, who might go on to play it for his whole life, in which case we would have achieved the result of saving an artistic and musical energy, as well as a technical one. Today there are virtuosos of the chitarra battente, a most noble instrument belonging to a tradition that was disappearing, and its entry into conservatories and classical theatres can already be considered a reality.

You transcend a bit the figure of the simple singer-songwriter. At times it's as if you were carrying forward a broader cultural project that uses music…

To be honest, I don't see myself that way. I feel, above all, like an author. And my daily task is to invent melodies, which is already an extremely difficult thing to do. Because writing a beautiful melody means, to begin with, writing something new. And today more than ever there's a very strong coincidence between the concepts of "new" and "beautiful". When I wrote Che il Mediterraneo sia I wasn't thinking about a Mediterranean "strategy", or a koinè between different cultures — I simply saw a poster in the street and the melody came to me. The starting point was a musical fact. Then, afterwards, came the pleasure of hearing Arabic sung alongside my melodies, but even there the starting point was musical — it was the beauty of the Arabic language, not an intellectual project, and even less a political one.

None of the choices I've made were aimed at a project, but rather at a path — the path of beauty. When I used to go listen to the singers of Carpino, in the province of Foggia, I'd ask myself why I was doing it, and the answer was simply that I was bewitched by the sound of the chitarra battente and those melodies. And I still say today that that music is extraordinary. Then came a whole series of reflections, and it became natural to shine a light on peasant civilization, on denied history, and on many other things. But the starting point was beauty, and the capacity of art — including folk art — to communicate, even after years, after so much time, and to still draw people in.

On this point, you also told me that you wanted to make clear that you don't want to carry forward a political idea of Southern-ism either…

Regarding brigandage, I wrote a ballad titled Ninco Nanco, which is getting a very strong response, about a brigand from Basilicata. And at my last concert, a woman told me: "I teach history, and I'm going to bring Ninco Nanco into the classroom. I'll have my students study him."

The figure of Ninco Nanco has two extraordinary things about him: the first is his image, a photo taken of him after he was shot, which shows this wonderful figure with long hair and a proud face, similar to another icon of men who fought against the system, Ernesto Che Guevara. And the second is his name, so musical. So I couldn't not write a ballad about him. Compared to historical interest, what prevailed was an artistic fact, because there's a strange magic called art that manifests itself and can't be defined, yet manages to engage hearts and minds and represents the energy I pursue.

On the strictly historical subject of brigandage, though, which is about uncovering a denied history, I think balance needs to be maintained, because criticizing the way Italy was made doesn't mean wishing to go back to the old patchwork of small states, because it would be a desperate thing to still think about erecting new borders. Italy is extraordinary precisely because it is an identity made up, in turn, of many identities.

As a man from the North, I sense that the South has a lesson to offer. You and the other great figures of contemporary Southern Italian music carry something that's needed. You're custodians of "warm" art forms, which stand in contrast to today's artistic landscape, which sometimes offers stylistic research that curls in on itself and, above all, fails to communicate.

I've always cited Fabrizio De André as one of the great points of reference for Taranta music — a singer-songwriter from the North, if Genoa can even be called a Northern city, deeply loved by the Taranta community because he was a voice for reflection, and I'd even say rebellion, in a stubborn and contrary direction. And the Taranta, moving in that same stubborn and contrary direction, couldn't help but elect him as its figurehead.

In any case, what you're saying is true. Other people's concerts often seem to me to lack the energy of what we offer. Our shows often turn into real celebrations, where we have to watch out for the tambourines in the audience, because sometimes they throw us off tempo, or for the "tarante" who show up and are unmistakable, distracting us, and who are gorgeous.

Right now, embracing folk music definitely means a reversal of the relationship between North and South. One of the best concerts I played this summer, for instance, was in Bologna, such a lively, engaging city, full of young people, and I was struck by seeing those young people so hungry for Southern Italian music. It's often happened that we've left girls from the North with regrets, after meeting us, for not having been born in Puglia or Campania.

Your plans for the future?

First of all there's Someone on Earth, my new religious-themed composition, which I'm currently touring around churches and theatres with the Voci del Sud choir, and it's giving me great satisfaction. And then there's the collaboration with Bombino on La Taranta invita il Tuareg, an internationally-minded showcase in which I've welcomed this great guitarist from Niger, who represents a new way of making music. It's a style that's getting a huge response worldwide, both in the United States and in Europe. And I'm very happy about that, because it means Western audiences have made a leap in quality, showing they know how to embrace music free of the excesses of the rock or pop scene, music that owes nothing to a certain kind of spectacle. It's extremely modern music, whose magic lies in the fact that its essence stems from the miracle of folk music. Tuareg music, in fact, is built on humble, handmade instruments, like the ghembrì, which require a technique they then apply to electric guitars, and out of that comes something overwhelming — nothing extraordinary in itself, really, but incredibly powerful. A sound, like that of the Taranta, that draws you in through its sheer naturalness and simplicity.

Speaking of Bombino, it makes me think of how you've always stood out for a particular attentiveness to others, as if you were nourished by seeing the people around you grow… One could give countless examples of artists you've launched and helped, from Teresa De Sio to Pietra Montecorvino herself, to the recent Rione Junno…

You could say I practice anti-stardom par excellence. Actually, even though many people dwell on my interpretive abilities, I was born into a choral dimension, like the Nuova Compagnia di Canto Popolare, and I've always liked passing on different musical messages. Today I can proudly say there are many artists who chose to make music because, in some way, I convinced them to. You mentioned Teresa De Sio earlier. When I met her in Turin she was a theatre actress; then I happened to hear her humming at the table, and I said to myself that she had interesting things to express. So I went back to find her and took her on a pilgrimage to the great masters: we went to the Gargano to meet Matteo Salvatore, and to Calabria. And Teresa responded wonderfully. I had a clear programme to offer her, and she rose to it. But then so many others come to mind too: from the classical guitar of Mauro Di Domenico, to the chitarra battente of Francesco Loccisano, and many others who were born right out of this same environment.

Speaking of the fact that Teresa De Sio was originally a theatre actress, it makes me think of another important trait of yours: your attention to forms of expression that aren't strictly musical. Your work often plays with mixing different expressive forms. I'm thinking, for example, of Sonia Totaro's dance, which by now is an integral part of your performances and gives your music an extra element of theatricality…

Certainly the Taranta universe isn't just rhythm, celebration, music - it's also something that embodies gesture, painting, theatre. I like to answer you by mentioning that the 20th-century artist I love most had all of these things together, having been a musician, poet, playwright and perhaps even an actor: Federico García Lorca.

Coming back to us, I think I was the first to have had the courage to bring an eruption of tarantismo onto the stage. And today there isn't a folk group that doesn't offer its own tarantella dance. After all, when we talk about Taranta, we're describing a whole world. It's not just about songs - there's also cinema, for instance. I think of Edoardo Winspeare, who made films on the subject and lives in Lecce, or many other choreographers.

These contributions make me very happy, because I believe that beyond the languages they express themselves in, artists need to come out and make themselves heard, because art is a mysterious spark that's needed today more than ever, because it manages to synthesize the world and make things grow. I care about them, there's a need for it.

Earlier I described to you my urge to chase melodies, which is a kind of search for happiness. And it's a precise sensation, one that happens when you realize that, thanks to your work, something exists that didn't exist before. It doesn't always happen, but when it does it's fantastic, and it's the magic I was telling you about. That's why I often ask the young people who follow me to try their hand at the mysterious experience of artistic composition.

Ride the wave of great music

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