La Crus

A small theatre, the Elfo Puccini in Milan. An intimate hall, the Fassbinder, with fewer than 200 seats, and a nod to cinema that will resurface later in the evening.

A bare stage, almost stripped to the essentials: a platform holding the zebra-striped armchair, a pair of well-worn ankle boots and table lamps on one side, the turntable console that will play the backing tracks and strings, electronic devices and two acoustic guitars on the other.

Soft lighting, the protagonists appearing timidly, almost stealthily, the silence in the audience born of a singular emotional tension.

As if there were no span of time that had brought us here tonight.

E oggi è soltanto un ricordo di ieri

dai, prendimi adesso e trascinami giù

allarga le labbra su questa pelle

poi sciogli la vita e rovescia le ali

balliamo balliamo la Nera Signora

The atmosphere is intimate, almost like a salon, as director Francesco Frongia's images flash by: songs, readings, poetry. And a powerful theatrical element, born of an experiment staged twenty years ago already, when the trajectory of La Crus was unfolding in all its splendor.

We could call it a reunion between old friends, even before calling it one between musicians - a "non-reunion," as they themselves defined it. Because the fleeting appearance at Sanremo 2011, with that orchestral gem "Io confesso," couldn't be enough to fill a painful absence that has lasted ten years. Precisely since that last heart-wrenching concert at a sold-out Arcimboldi, where they said goodbye to Milan before splitting up: a full orchestra behind them, a career branded with symphonic fire, in the company of so many fellow travelers, from Cristina Donà to Cristiano Godano, from Nada to Manuel Agnelli. So no, don't ask me to be impartial about Mauro Ermanno Giovanardi and Cesare Costantino Malfatti.

In what was the last great scene in Italian music - I'm talking about the Nineties - La Crus were unique in reworking singer-songwriter music with class, updating and modernizing the great chansonniers with the decisive contribution of that blessed new wave from which everything else took root.

Like Tenco and Brel meeting Portishead, or Bruno Martino flirting with Cccp.

Authorial lyrics, noise-style sounds and sprawling electronic atmospheres with Paolo Milanesi's orchestrations and trumpet, plus the invaluable contribution to the lyrics from the shadow-man Alessandro Cremonesi. Always behind the scenes, he may well have been the most important of them all.

But it lies within the gestures of everyday life

l'amore è tutto lì

e' dentro alle cose di ogni giorno

dove ti perdo è sempre lì

In the darkness of the hall, barely lit by a timid abat-jour but mostly by the light of the projector, the evening unfolds through readings from Crocevia, with loose-leaf notes scattered on the floor with no order, like jottings from an endless journey, featuring texts by Pasolini and Bufalino. Giovanardi, with the poses and gestures of a seasoned crooner, towers at the center of the stage. Like a darker, more lordly master of variety in the vein of Marc Almond. A consummate showman, he splits his time between readings and songs, lounging comfortably in an armchair when he isn't brushing up against the front row with monologues steeped in theatrical gesture.

Tenco and the harmonica are with him, so let praise be given.

Malfatti is more composed and reserved, as expected. Focused on the vinyl and the six strings, he occasionally joins his companion, crouching on the platform, bent over his guitar.

An elegance of bearing and manner without equal, Cesare is a master at putting to use once again the experience gained with Dining Rooms and the art of sampling in service of La Crus. What comes out of it is a perfect mix of acoustic notes and electronic beats from the console, flooding the room with elegiac sounds.

And the memory can and must go back to 1996, when Mauro and Cesare were the first to entrust their songs to a handful of alternative sound manipulators (Vernetti, Madaski, Casino Royale, Technogod) for a remix album. They, who managed to win both the Tenco Prize and the Ciampi Prize, while at the same time charting with near techno-pop singles, always consistent in bringing high-quality music to both big festivals and tiny venues. Somewhere between Sergio Endrigo and the bpm ready to go off in a club.

The "songbook" setlist is a parade of timeless tracks where the background, starting from post-punk, arrives after various mutations at electronica, recovering the singer-songwriter tradition along the way. Emblematic in this sense is "Come ogni volta," a true manifesto of the group's ability to create this strange and brilliant crossover.

Sei le sbarre al mio silenzio

you are the enemy who left

a thousand times the only poem

You are the cell and the prisoner

the illusion that will fall

a thousand times the only reality

Running, running, let's dance, let's dance the Nera Signora, and the audience, until that moment in total and respectful silence, almost holding its breath, dissolves into a thrilling ovation. “Il Vino” closes eighty minutes of total emotional upheaval, goosebumps and an inner joy impossible to put into words. A fantastic voice, miraculously untouched by time, sonic arpeggios that carry you into another dimension. My heart bleeds for La Crus. I need La Crus, music needs La Crus. Give us back La Crus.

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