Lisa Germano

A truly exceptional artist, by definition, dispenses their talent regardless of the habitat they find themselves in. The instrument is merely a means, the setting an ally to be bent to one's will, from which advantage can be drawn.

On the occasion of the tour for her latest effort, "No Elephants", Lisa Germano gave us tangible proof, if further proof were ever needed, that she belongs to that very category.

This time round, the Italian venues that can boast hosting one of the purest and best-hidden talents in female singer-songwriting of recent decades are numerous and varied: from small suburban live clubs, familiar haunts for the region's sizeable indie-rock crowd, to refined jazz circles; all of them settings perhaps more accustomed to sounds quite different from the introspective whispers of the Indiana-born singer-songwriter.

As one might expect, on the evening of April 5th, at the Calamita in Cavriago, the atmosphere is relaxed and informal: the classic Arci venue set up for live shows, with plenty of laudable ambition to offer something truly distinctive - a drive that probably gave the management the courage needed to book such a niche artist.

The welcoming atmosphere clearly had an effect on the star of the evening, who watches opener Emiliano Mazzoni's performance amid the small crowd of about seventy people, just like any other spectator.

Without so much as an introduction or any kind of ceremony, she simply makes her way to the stage, striking up the touching intro to "Too Much Space" on her trusty keyboard. This is a Lisa Germano particularly inclined to connect with her devoted fans, helped along by the markedly intimate nature of the show: the audience is right up close, with several people sitting on the floor, lost in the delicate chords drawn from the newborn album and from the ever-fresh "In the Maybe World", which take on surprisingly different shades live.

Little gems like "In The Land Of Fairies" and "Haunted" thus take on new life, as if freed from the shell of their respective records and stripped of what few trappings they originally had, leaving the stage to nothing but drops of piano and the sensual, faint voice of the American singer (of Calabrian blood, as she reveals before introducing "The Prince of Platì").

Sadly, these are pearls not suited to all creatures, judging by the infernal racket rising up just a few metres away, at the back, near the venue's bar; a sad confirmation that respect for an artist's work is not the given it ought to be, vainly safeguarded by the barrier of a ticket price. Nevertheless, this regrettable episode doesn't much dent the enjoyment of a show heavily focused on the output of the last ten years, with brief digressions into the never-sufficiently-acclaimed "Lullaby For A Liquid Pig", greeted by the discerning crowd with an enthusiasm that almost catches the performer off guard.

But if in a setting like the one on offer in Cavriago Lisa Germano showed a great capacity to adapt, what might have been the expectations for the tour's closing date, hosted by the "Panic" in Marostica, a venue that presents itself under the grandiose title of "Jazz Club"?

Indeed, just climbing the stairs of the club located in Marostica's beautiful piazza, the difference in atmosphere from the Calamita is obvious, to put it mildly: wood finishes, soft lighting and a row of vintage valve amplifiers on display, purely for decoration, greet you as you enter the restaurant/pub hall.

Looking beyond the archway, you reach a large room full of tables and chairs; at the far end of it stands what one would always hope to find at the show of a great talent: a grand piano in all its splendid appeal. How will Germano's natural, raw spontaneity fit into such a formal setting?

The lights go down, an announcer reminds the audience who they're about to be dealing with, and the show begins. Say what you like about how close technology can get to reality, but hearing the chords of "Nobody's Playing" ring out in all their nuance from the body of a real, flesh-and-blood piano, strings and wood, is an entirely different matter. The artist, like Artemis the huntress, senses the audience's anticipation and slyly conceals, beneath her veil of melancholic fragility, a sacred fire ready to be unleashed.

It's not technique or special effects that take centre stage, only the muffled, disorienting atmosphere conjured up by Mishawaka's muse. The set opens at a brisk pace, with hardly any pauses: Germano sets the tempo and stuns the audience, enchanting and ensnaring them in a world suspended between elephants and flights of hysterical bees, occasionally described in words during the rare comments she allows herself while presenting her latest effort, before alternating it with the decadent ballads of “In The Maybe World”. And so “Diamonds” appears in all the sensual perfection of its harmony, its progressions on the instrument's lower register making us not miss the strings at all. “…And So On” lulls us into its warm torpor, while “Dreamland”, a very rare unreleased track found on “Rare, Unusual or Just Bad Songs”, brings a breath of tender sweetness into the austere hall.

A shiver can't help but run through long-time fans when the ivory keys pluck out the unforgettable theme of “On The Way Down From Moon Palace”: it's just one of the lady's tricks, a divertissement to play with her mice, whose emotions are granted little respite as she keeps the tension high with the dreamlike “Pearls”.

With all her genuine humility, the chanteuse takes the opportunity to thank the organisers for the wonderful setting they've provided her, as if it weren't a tribute owed to someone of her stature, pointing, visibly moved, at the splendid piano in front of her.

It's no accident that the crowd in the small venue falls into reverent, focused silence: the show's approach is less visceral than that of Calamita, hovering instead over even more rarefied territory in a dilated, suspended time, rocked by the driving theme of “Guillotine”, while the other piece drawn from “Slide”, “Wood Floors”, makes its appearance in the first encore and is finally met with an almost liberating outburst of joy.

One fact about the audience at the two shows can't go unnoticed: the average age of those present is surprisingly low, with a substantial share falling between 20 and 35, when one might have expected a strong showing of long-time followers, typical for artists who have long lived on the margins of the music business. Undeniable proof that an entire generation has probably missed out on something, and of how the web can be a way to survive far from major labels and distribution.

The closing “To Dream” completes the circle opened by “Nobody's Playing”, just as it did on her “Lullaby For A Liquid Pig” – an album clearly still burned into the artist's skin – bringing the audience back to reality, in a state of surreal semi-consciousness. Many of them will hold on to a pleasant torpor, fuelled by the energy radiated from the stage with gentle insistence over the hour and a half that has just come to an end.

Has so much ever been achieved with so little effort?

Photo contributions by Manuel Bombardelli

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