Carlot-ta

To paraphrase the famous lyrics of a singer so beloved by the kids: “Non è che non sia brava/ Diciamo che potrebbe fare di più/ Non è che non sia originale/ Diciamo che mi ricorda Tori Amos/ Non è che non andrebbe supportata/ Diciamo che preferisco i soliti noti/ Diciamo Diciamo Diciamo/ Un sacco di cazzate”.

Well, if we set aside an amusing mix-up when it came to picking up our press passes, the closing date of Carlot-ta's tour was flawless. Far more so than we expected. As we walk into the darkened hall, she's already seated at the piano, devoted in equal measure to her voice and her instrument. Charismatic on the notes of "Pamphlet". She's backed by a lineup worthy of the biggest occasions, one that would be hard to overlook. Jacopo Ciani on violin and musical saw, Caterina Gabriele on cello, Christopher Ghidoni — bee-charmer — behind synths, laptop, guitars and backing vocals. Rounding out the picture are Tetraktis (namely Gianni Maestrucci and Leonardo Ramadori) on percussion of every kind — from marimba to glockenspiel, cajon, toys, and various objects.

The room isn't particularly full, there's no point dancing around it, but everyone joins in with warmth and infectious enthusiasm (some tap their foot to the rhythm, some hum along to the unexpectedly lovely cover of Bobby Solo's "Troppe Volte", some cheer for the daring tribute to Diamanda Galas's "Let My People Go", some are moved to the point of emotion by the notes of "Féroce Et Ridicule"). Everyone seems to know exactly what the person in front of them is capable of. The few curious onlookers are left spellbound. Only during the applause, cathartic between one song and the next, does the mixed crowd filling the Sala Studio seem to look around questioningly, as if wondering why there are so many empty seats.

The only plausible answer seems to come from the Piedmontese singer-songwriter herself, toward the end of her set. As we once again find ourselves enjoying the deviant melodies of Carlotta Sillano (born in 1990, worth remembering) and her hard-to-pin-down vocal lines, right there, between a dreamy "14th August, A Summerstorm" and an unreleased "The Song Of Mountain-Stream", up pops "Dodecaneso (Prima Che Sia L'Alba)": the song with which she was supposed to compete at Sanremo Giovani. That, perhaps, is the exact moment when we all understood the reason behind those "unaccountable" absences.

Her songs (especially those from "Make Me A Picture Of The Sun", but also the many unreleased tracks she treated us to) contain gems of vigorous beauty that have nothing to envy in a foreign landscape populated by Joan Wasser and Florence Welch (not to mention Sarha Worden and Joanna Newsom, say). Carlot-ta has nothing in common with Dolcenera, but live she's excellent. The idea isn't that of the schizophrenic genius tout court, but it also avoids the sense of a pop phenomenon with the handbrake on, weighed down by an overdose of talent perceived more by the audience than by critics and industry insiders. Her music rarely slips into crowd-pleasing sound-for-everyone territory, and perhaps that's exactly why it's much easier to find her off-putting, or even to pretend she doesn't exist at all (and then complain that nothing is happening in Italy), rather than acknowledge that not only does she exist, but at 23 she manages to be at times sublime, at times unsettling.

It's an old story, this one, that we're perhaps (also) growing fond of, because like us, it doesn't yield to anyone's flattery. Not even to the market's.

Photo by Massimo Monacelli

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