Italy a mano armata

Snubbed for years by snobbish critics, dismissed as an off product or "B-movie" fare, Italian genre cinema of the 60s and 70s has, as is well known, risen to new life, thanks above all to the reappraisal carried out by Quentin Tarantino and his more or less "pulp" disciples. What has never been called into question, however, is the immense musical legacy of that cinematic (but also televisual) season, which saw practically all of our finest soundtrack composers at work. A treasure chest that often finds more glory abroad than at home, where, out of some strange form of bashfulness, it's easier to embrace the cocek of Goran Bregovic or Irish jigs than the tarantellas of Franco Micalizzi – to name one of the genre's masters.

Then, of course, came the valuable work of revisiting and reinventing this legacy carried out by a generation of Italian musicians, DJs and producers, sealed by the success of a formidable band like Calibro 35. Yet still too many people fail to recognize this inexhaustible workshop of experimentation, international in its inspirations – American-rooted jazz, blues, funk – yet unmistakably Italian in the way it draws on our own popular song, above all the folk traditions of the South, marrying it all to majestic, complex orchestrations. "A sunken Atlantis of music," as our own Francesco Giordani once called it, "able to tell the story of an irreproducible era of Italian cinema. A chase between stylish, irresistible grooves, distorted organs, hypnotic basslines, scorching horns, keyboards crackling on their dry stops, and guitars detonating like blaring sirens, in the imaginary spin-out of a ruthless Diabolik-style crime novel, to be tucked into a holster still smoking and reeking of gunpowder."

Through these 50 (not exactly easy) tracks, we'll try to offer a wide-ranging overview, focusing above all on the "poliziottesco" strand, that subgenre of crime/noir cinema packed with action and violence – and often a heavy dose of vengeance – with detectives turned vigilantes (chief among them Commissioner Betti, played by Maurizio Merli) and a Wild West vision of urban reality, clearly descended from the spaghetti western. Amid reckless car chases in aubergine-colored Giuliettas, threatening phone calls, amateurish heists, shootouts in the piazza and ruthless score-settling, the poliziottesco would swing over the years between noble reference points – the socially engaged cinema of Damiano Damiani and Elio Petri, but also the horror of Mario Bava – and gruesome slides into splatter and trash, sometimes tipping over into outright self-parody, the most tongue-in-cheek of which remains the one embodied by Tomas Milian in the saga of the ultra-Roman "Er Monnezza".

Now all that's left is to open the doors – presumably rusty — of the fateful Giulietta, set the teardrop Ray-Bans down on the vinyl dashboard, and switch on the stereo.

Riz Ortolani/Katyna Ranieri – "Strange World" ("Banditi a Milano", 1968)

In the beginning there was Carlo Lizzani, former partisan and committed communist, director of neorealist films of civic engagement such as "Achtung! "Banditi!" (1951), "Cronache di poveri amanti" (1954), "Il processo di Verona" (1963) and "La vita agra" (1964). Even he, though, allowed himself a foray into the poliziottesco, directing what some consider the genre's founding film, "Banditi a Milano" (1968), dedicated to the criminal exploits of the Cavallero gang, which left the streets of Milan bloodied in the autumn of 1967. At the heart of the film is a duel between two giants: Tomas Milian as the hard-edged Commissioner Basevi and Gian Maria Volonté as the gang leader, Piero Canestraro. The cast also features a very young Don Backy. Brought in to write the score, alongside Italian-French singer Nino Ferrer, was an illustrious composer, Riziero Ortolani, known to friends as Riz, who over his career would go on to compose more than 200 scores for film and television. For the occasion, the maestro from Pesaro enlisted the vocals of his wife, singer Katyna Ranieri, as heard in this melodramatic "Strange World", also present in a shortened instrumental version over the film's closing credits.

Stelvio Cipriani – "La polizia ringrazia" ("La polizia ringrazia", 1972)

For many critics, though, the true founding film of the "poliziottesco" is "La polizia ringrazia", made four years later by Steno (Stefano Vanzina). Its lead is Enrico Maria Salerno as Commissioner Bertone, head of the homicide squad, tasked with cracking the case of a bloody jewelry heist, while at the same time threatened by a subversive conspiracy aiming to install an authoritarian regime (a typical obsession of the Years of Lead). The score is entrusted to another master of the genre, Stelvio Cipriani, a Roman composer made famous above all by the theme from "Anonimo veneziano", who would go on to rack up some 200 soundtracks working with many of Italy's greatest directors. The title theme is a classic orchestral suspense number, built on the frantic interplay of piano and strings, in a climate of mounting tension.

Ennio Morricone – "Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion – Originale" ("Indagine su un cittadino al di sopra di ogni sospetto", 1971)

But we can wait no longer to make room for the absolute sovereign of Italian film scores: his majesty Ennio Morricone, belatedly awarded an honorary Oscar (2007) and then a competitive one (for "The Hateful Eight", 2016), fittingly working for the very Tarantino who – as we mentioned – deserves much of the credit for the rediscovery of this season of Italian cinema. Over his extraordinarily long career, the Roman maestro scored practically everything, including a number of genre films. The one for "Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion" – Elio Petri's grotesque noir masterpiece starring Gianmaria Volontè and Florinda Bolkan – is one of his most famous and most plundered, having been reused for years in every possible context, especially to accompany TV investigations into the mafia and organized crime. It's a striking piece, born of a cross-contamination between classical and popular music, using a mandolin played like a harpsichord together with the rhythmically unpredictable interjections of the Sicilian marranzano (better known as a jaw harp), which, alongside soprano sax and electric double bass, builds a hypnotic, obsessive theme. All of it magnificently suited to accompanying the moods and the disturbed psyche of the protagonist, a stunning Volonté as the policeman who places himself above the law. Music that bewitched Stanley Kubrick himself, as Morricone recounted: "He called me about A Clockwork Orange. We'd even agreed on the fee: 15 million lire, small change for a production of that caliber. He wanted something similar to Indagine. I hate that kind of directive, but in that case I would have given in, because it was Kubrick. But the project fell through after a phone call from Leone: he explained that I was still tied up with Duck, You Sucker!. And the film ended up being scored by Walter Carlos." A shame for Morricone, who considers that lost chance his greatest regret, but what remains is the majesty of an immortal theme, the perfect accompaniment to the images of an equally memorable film (Academy Award winner for Best Foreign Language Film).

Gianfranco Plenizio – "I picciotti" ("Afyon – Oppio", 1972)

From the Sicily merely evoked by the theme from "Indagine" to the Sicily openly depicted by Gianfranco Plenizio in "I picciotti", the prodigious main theme of "Afyon – Oppio" (1972). Behind the score of this eccentric crime film by Ferdinando Baldi (starring Ben Gazzara as an Italian-American drug trafficker) is the celebrated De Angelis duo, but the track we've chosen – a synthetic folk piece steeped in Sicilian flavor, with the tipsy cadences of a village festival – bears the unmistakable stamp of the Friulian composer, a true guru of soundtrack music with credits alongside some of Italy's greatest directors on historical films, including Federico Fellini's "La città delle donne", Luigi Magni's "Nell'anno del Signore", Mario Monicelli's "Brancaleone alle crociate" and "Un borghese piccolo piccolo", Ermanno Olmi's "Cantando dietro i paraventi", Dino Risi's "La moglie del prete", Francesco Rosi's "Cristo si è fermato a Eboli" and Ettore Scola's "Dramma della gelosia".

Guido and Maurizio De Angelis – “Life Of A Policeman” (“La polizia incrimina, la legge assolve”, 1973)

With “La polizia incrimina, la legge assolve” by Enzo G. Castellari, we move instead into the classic cliché of the genre: law enforcement with its hands tied, forced to reckon with a judicial system that shields criminals (and willing to rein it in through rather dubious methods). It's no coincidence that some critics regard this film as the one that marks the abandonment of any pretence of social commentary, giving way to the birth of the “poliziottesco” proper, definitively codifying the figure of the “iron-fisted commissioner” — a violent avenger who would go on to headline many later films. Here, the moustache in question — because there's always a moustache involved — belongs to the charismatic Franco Nero, in the role of Commissioner Belli. The score, meanwhile, bears the signature of two towering (and underrated) composers, Guido and Maurizio De Angelis, the duo who also penned some of the most famous TV themes under the name Oliver Onions (above all the immortal “Sandokan”) and who remained active for a long time in action films and spaghetti westerns (see also the Bud Spencer and Terence Hill saga). Here the two brothers from Lazio dive into the murky world of the poliziottesco to craft this melancholy, disorienting theme (“Life Of A Policeman”), opened by sinister guitar arpeggios, with an enchanting flute painting the aching melody over a hazy, vaguely psychedelic mood. A genuine tour de force, with more than a few ideas that would resurface on “Sandokan” itself.

Ennio Morricone – “Rapimento” (“Milano odia: la polizia non può sparare – Almost Human”, 1974)

Morricone again, this time in more strictly poliziottesco territory, with the score composed for the 1974 film “Milano odia: la polizia non può sparare”, a cult movie directed by one of the genre's masters, Umberto Lenzi. The lead is a young Tomas Milian — not yet Nico Giraldi nor Monnezza — playing the ruthless criminal Giulio Sacchi. A brutal film, ranked among the most violent noirs in Italian cinema. Morricone's superb music provides the perfect sonic counterpoint to these forays into the Milanese underworld, complete with the usual clichés of crime running unchecked and police work sabotaged by politics. The musical ties to the aforementioned “Indagine” score are unmistakable. But while in Petri's film the Roman maestro had managed to marry the grotesque irony of his music to the protagonist's psychotic spirals, here everything is darker and more dramatic. Starting with the opening track, “Rapimento”, a suite of over 15 minutes that contains all the soundtrack's atmospheres, unleashing a string of sonic inventions held together by Morricone's trademark touch: “long suspended chords with imperfect octaves, overdubbed metallic pianos, dissonances, polytonality, 4/5-note melodies layered a fifth, a third or a tritone apart, complete with a chilling, tightly clustered string chord played in a very slow vibrato, introducing the descent into hell and the protagonist's spiral into madness” (cf. Antonio Tuzza, Colonnesonore.net). Released in English as “Almost Human”, “Milano odia: la polizia non può sparare” would undergo a slow but steady reappraisal, becoming one of the cornerstones of poliziottesco cinema.

Osanna – “Preludio” (“Milano calibro 9”, 1972)

But let's stay in the ultra-violent Milan of the 1970s with another great film of the era, “Milano calibro 9”, directed by another master of the genre, Fernando Di Leo, with a top-tier cast including Gastone Moschin, Mario Adorf, Philippe Leroy and a stunning Barbara Bouchet, star of a provocative lap-dance scene. The film, based on the novel of the same name by Giorgio Scerbanenco, kicks off at full throttle with an extraordinary opening sequence, pure adrenaline, set to this magnificent “Preludio” penned by Osanna, one of the cornerstone bands of homegrown prog-rock. Under the guidance of a soundtrack maestro like the Argentine Luis Bacalov, the Neapolitan quintet adds its own avant-garde stamp to the Italian school of soundtrack music, showing off a bold, visionary sonic arsenal that would be sealed shortly after in the masterpiece “Palepoli” (1973). Danilo Rustici's powerful acoustic guitar phrasing and the folk-meets-jazz asides of flautist and saxophonist Elio D'Anna seal a perfect fusion of classical orchestra and rock music, following the path just blazed by Bacalov himself with the “Concerto Grosso” for New Trolls. The whole piece is titled “Preludio, Tema, Variazioni e Canzona”, and it remains a classic of an entire era, as well as one of the first soundtracks ever recorded by an avant-garde group. But, as we'll see, the experiment was destined to repeat itself, starting with the entire saga of the next band “on the setlist”.

Goblin – “La via della droga” (“La via della droga”, 1977)

Before becoming famous for their heart-attack-inducing scores for Dario Argento's thriller-horror films, the Roman outfit Goblin, led by Claudio Simonetti — another band with progressive roots — also lent a hand to the poliziottesco cause. For instance, with the music composed for this 1977 Enzo Castellari film. “La via della droga” is another deep dive into 1970s crime, with Mike Hamilton (David Hemmings), head of Rome's International Narcotic Bureau, planting an undercover agent (Fabio Testi) inside a criminal organization. Goblin's sound here is much rougher and more stripped-down than the symphonic scores of some of their later classics, such as “Profondo rosso” and “Suspiria”: in this main theme, which vaguely recalls Jimi Hendrix's “All Along The Watchtower”, hyper-distorted electric guitars dominate — between slide, delay and assorted effects — alongside spaced-out Moog synths, for a powerful funk-rock that winks at blues and psychedelia.

Albert Verrecchia – “Sequenza 13” (“Roma drogata, la polizia non può intervenire”, 1975)

The drug-riddled Rome of “La via della droga” is revisited — and pushed to extremes — in this gem of Italian production from the period. It's the soundtrack of “Roma drogata, la polizia non può intervenire” (released in English as “Hallucination Strip”), an obscure film by the little-known Lucio Marcaccini. The movie — yet another variation on the theme of a powerless police force forced to operate outside the law — won't go down as a masterpiece, but it's certainly a valuable period artifact, a testament to the 1970s at their most psychedelic, just like its dazzling, heavily lysergic score, composed by the French-born composer and keyboardist Albert Verrecchia. A bizarre character with a disorienting résumé — together with his sister Evy he played in Paris in Chuck Berry's band, and later toured as a backing musician for Raffaella Carrà (!) — Verrecchia sets genuine psychedelic hallucinations to music, as in this lysergic “Sequenza 13”, using electric sounds in place of conventional orchestral arrangements, blending soul, hard rock, blues, experimental vocalizing and hypnotic percussion courtesy of a young Tony Esposito. On the instrumental side, he's backed by Cyan, an Italian-English quartet born from the ashes of a previous backing band for Patty Pravo, Baba Yaga. This striking soundtrack would earn its well-deserved rediscovery with a reissue in 2007.

Franco Micalizzi – "Roma a mano armata" ("Roma a mano armata", 1976)

But the most “canonical” poliziottesco about Rome's criminal underworld is the famous “Roma a mano armata” by Umberto Lenzi (1976), with the epic clash between Maurizio Merli as Commissioner Tanzi and Tomas Milian as the Hunchback. Plus a sex symbol of the era, Maria Rosaria Omaggio. For the score of what would become one of the most beloved titles in the saga (despite the usual sanctimonious criticism of the time), they had to call in one of the top talents of that cinematic season: Franco Micalizzi, recently brought back into the international spotlight by, of course, Tarantino, thanks to the reuse of his “Trinità” theme in “Django Unchained”. The Roman maestro unleashes a tense score, almost Carpenter-esque in places, especially in the hypnotic opening riff, which then lingers in the background for almost the entire funky title theme. The film would get a sequel in 1977 (“Il cinico, l’infame, il violento”), while the Hunchback character returned in “La banda del gobbo”, both again directed by Lenzi.

Bixio-Frizzi-Tempera – “Roma l’altra faccia della violenza – Titoli” (“Roma l’altra faccia della violenza”, 1976)

We're still in the capital, with another film depicting the violent, crime-ridden Rome of the era, built on the usual idea of the citizen abandoned by the State and forced to take justice into his own hands – an overused cliché of the time, and not just in Italy, as we'll see with Charles Bronson's “Death Wish” saga. Directing was Marino Girolami – also known under various pseudonyms including Franco Martinelli, Frank Martin and Bernardo Rossi – patriarch of a family of filmmakers, being the brother of Romolo Guerrieri and father of Enzo G. Castellari, as well as father of actor Enio Girolami. He also had a career as a boxer, culminating in the European featherweight title. His “Roma, l’altra faccia della violenza” (1976) – a true slice of Roman criminal life with cult actors Marcel Bozzuffi and Anthony Steffen – may not go down in film history, but it's enhanced by another dazzling score. It was written by the trio of Franco Bixio, Fabio Frizzi and Vince Tempera, who over the years would score countless soundtracks, including the first “Fantozzi” and “Febbre da cavallo”. Their “Titoli” is a driving, all-groove funky number, with full basslines and fuzz guitars.

Guido e Maurizio De Angelis – “The Reason Of A Just War” (“Roma violenta”, 1975)

We find the De Angelis brothers again for another siren-blaring foray into Roman crime. This time it's a film that's fundamental in its own way, because it marks the birth of a poliziottesco icon: Commissioner Betti, made immortal by the mustachioed sneer of Maurizio Merli, the genre's leading man, who died prematurely in 1989 at just 49. The first installment of the trilogy, directed by Marino Girolami aka Franco Martinelli, is the classic revenge story of the vigilante cop, struck in his most cherished relationships (his eighteen-year-old brother, killed during a robbery) and out for revenge, in a savage crescendo of beatings, shootouts, rapes, violent vigilante patrols and (il)legitimate self-defense. It drew the inevitable barbs of critics for its reactionary bent, but also the attention of those like Marco Giusti, who called it “a supremely cult crime film”. The chosen theme, “The Reason Of A Just War”, hangs on a bitter guitar arpeggio, over which, across seven variations, horns and keyboards weave in. A further musical milestone for the two lads from the Castelli Romani. The entire soundtrack was reissued on vinyl by Sub Ost in 2016, ten years after the CD edition put out by Beat. Both the cover art, taken from Sandro Symeoni's historic poster, and the tracklist, built around four main tracks with accompanying variations plus three cult bonus recoveries, remained unchanged.

Franco Micalizzi – "Folk & Violence" ("Napoli violenta", 1976)

Franco Micalizzi is also one of the composers who best worked the terrain of the above-mentioned crossover between international funk-jazz and Italian folk, especially that of the South, setting a genuine standard for “music at gunpoint”. He offers a magnificent example here, diving into “Napoli violenta” (1976), forging a memorable, red-hot fusion of funk and tarantella, in a gripping interweaving of horns, guitars and percussion, with that stunning mandolin riff adding a touch of Neapolitan folklore. This time, though, the film itself deserves a mention too: directed by one of the gurus of the poliziottesco, the fiery Umberto Lenzi, it again stars Merli as the unyielding Commissioner Betti. A curious detail: Micalizzi himself told us that the sequence in which the protagonist, chased by a policeman through a square packed with a market, passes through a funeral procession wasn't staged at all. The actors really did walk through a market in broad daylight and a real funeral, with no one aware that a film was being shot.

Francesco De Masi – “Weapons Of Death – Napoli spara” (“Napoli spara”, 1977)

A sort of sequel to “Napoli violenta”, Mario Caiano's film stars Leonard Mann (aka Leonardo Manzella) as Commissioner Antonio Belli, standing in for Commissioner Betti, played by Merli in Lenzi's film. The look doesn't change: trench coats or camel-colored overcoats for the hard-nosed investigators, determined to dismantle a Camorra organization running the drug trade in the city. The score for “Napoli spara”, meanwhile, is by Francesco De Masi, a versatile composer and conductor who specialized in spaghetti westerns. His is a jazz-rooted score, in which electric basslines, horn riffs and touches of Neapolitan folklore (with a fine harmonica part by Franco De Gemini) blend with sumptuous big-band arrangements, as in this gripping main theme.

Franco Campanino – "Napoli si ribella" ("Napoli si ribella", 1977)

We stay in Naples, where petty crime mixes with the Camorra, as in this 1977 film directed by Michele Massimo Tarantini, starring another cult figure of 70s Italian cinema: the handsome Luc Merenda as Commissioner Mauri. But here it's the music that really counts, courtesy of Franco Campanino, a lesser-known composer who nonetheless captures the spirit of the genre perfectly, with airy sounds that range from funky groove to disco strings, flirting with Latin American rhythms before slipping into hazy lounge atmospheres. The whole score is built on shifts in register, alternating adrenaline-fuelled action themes for Commissioner Mauri and the chase scenes with more nostalgic moments to accompany the unfortunate story of Rosa (Sonia Viviani), the night-club showgirl.

Guido e Maurizio De Angelis – "Driving All Around" ("Il cittadino si ribella", 1974)

But speaking of "rebellions", let's move to Genoa – another restless city of the decade, caught between social tensions and terrorist acts like the Sossi kidnapping – to discover another story of citizens rising up against the paralysis of the justice system. For "Il cittadino si ribella" (1974) – featuring another true icon of Italian cinema, Franco Nero – director Enzo G. Castellari cautiously tried to cover himself "on the left", even invoking the Resistance to justify the revolt of his protagonist, engineer Carlo Antonelli. But the underlying idea remained the most reactionary one imaginable: a metropolitan Wild West in which the state was absent and citizens had to take justice into their own hands. Once again we find the De Angelis duo at work, crafting in "Driving All Around" an exquisitely refined funk-soul score, also making use of the vocals of Susi & Guy on the sung version of the single. "Il cittadino si ribella" would go on to become one of the highest-grossing genre films at the box office, taking in 1.7 billion lire.

Franco Micalizzi – "Sambamba" ("Genova a mano armata", 1976)

Also set in the Ligurian capital is this other poliziesco with the none-too-original title "Genova a mano armata" (1976), directed by Mario Lanfranchi, though it has nothing to do with the similarly titled "Roma a mano armata" and "Italy a mano armata". The lead is American actor Tony Lo Bianco, a specialist in Italian-American roles (as in the celebrated "The French Connection"), playing a former Interpol and CIA agent who has left the US to reinvent himself as a private investigator in Genoa, where he's called in to look into the kidnapping and murder of a wealthy shipowner. Beyond the somewhat stretched plot, once again it's the soundtrack that matters, composed by the ever-brilliant Micalizzi, who this time exploits the elective affinities between Genoese and Portuguese to concoct one of his more outrageous cold fusions: in "Sambamba" he blends vintage synths, funky groove and synthetic maracas to the beat of an irresistible disco-samba (a now practically extinct genre that enjoyed sensational popularity in the mid-70s, with chart phenomena like Chocolat's).

Piero Umiliani – "La legge dei gangsters" ("La legge dei gangsters", 1969)

Even one of the greatest actors of all time, German-born Klaus Kinski, set foot on the sets of Italian genre films. Mostly spaghetti westerns (chief among them Sergio Corbucci's "Il grande silenzio" and a couple of instalments in the Sartana saga), but also poliziesco films, like this ramshackle 1969 effort by Siro Marcellini, with which we bring our Genoa chapter to a close. The plot revolves around a bank heist carried out in Italian-French cooperation. But once again, more than the images, it's the music that counts, composed by Piero Umiliani, one of the greatest Italian composers, to whom we dedicated a Milestone piece for his lounge masterpiece avant la lettre, the soundtrack to "Svezia, Inferno e Paradiso". The shootouts and chases through the asphalt jungle of Genoa are the humus from which the Florentine composer grows a dynamic yet harmonic score, sophisticated and original, romantic and jazzy, with dissonant, acrobatic horns front and centre, led by Oscar Valdambrini's trumpet.

Stelvio Cipriani – "La polizia ha le mani legate" ("La polizia ha le mani legate", 1975)

Some things always come back around. Maestro Stelvio Cipriani, for one, but also the powerless police forces facing down the overwhelming might of crime. With their hands tied, quite literally, in this 1975 poliziottesco directed by Luciano Ercoli, for which the Roman composer gifted another splendid theme, with harpsichords, wah-wah guitars, hazy horns and a swelling apotheosis of strings painting one of the most poignant melodies of the entire era. The film also attempts a link to the grim current events of the time: the plot draws on the Piazza Fontana massacre, and the funeral seen on TV is in fact real footage of the ceremony honouring the victims of the bombings. Worth remembering too is the lead, in the role of Commissioner Rolandi: cult actor Claudio Cassinelli, who died on 13 July 1985 in Page, Arizona, in a helicopter accident during the filming of Sergio Martino's sci-fi movie "Vendetta dal futuro", shortly after having a child with journalist Irene Bignardi.

Luis Bacalov – "Main Theme" ("La polizia è al servizio del cittadino?" – "The Police Serve the Citizens?", 1973)

Police with their hands tied, unable to intervene, but at times also complicit in wrongdoing. Hence the spontaneous question “Is the Police at the Citizen's Service?”, with which in 1973 Romolo Guerrieri revisits the Genoese underworld scene, made up of shady port trafficking, brutal dockworkers, mafia rackets in wholesale markets, prostitution and extortion. The protagonist is a new “iron commissioner” (Sironi), played by Enrico Maria Salerno, alongside another familiar face from the era's TV dramas, Giuseppe Pambieri. Ironically – almost as if mocking the left-wing criticism of the time – the vigilante Sironi finds his main opposition at home, where he's despised by his son, a militant of the extra-parliamentary Left. Luis Bacalov, whom we've already encountered as the “orchestral inspiration” behind Osanna for “Milano calibro 9”, delivers a brilliant score that pairs the film's gritty urban tone with a memorable main theme, built entirely on intricate woodwind and string flourishes, lending an almost poetic quality to the violent events.

Armando Trovajoli – "La mala ordina" ("La mala ordina", 1972)

Speaking of “Milano calibro 9”, let's go back to the Lombard capital for the second chapter of the Milieu Trilogy, which would later close with “Il boss”. Curiously, the film that actually draws on Giorgio Scerbanenco's story “Milano Calibro 9” isn't the eponymous film, but rather this “La mala ordina”, released a few months later and again directed by Fernando Di Leo. We again find Mario Adorf, this time playing Luca Canali, a small-time pimp hunted down by a ruthless mafia organization. On the soundtrack, another certified great name: Armando Trovajoli, one of those composers who wrote music for everything – from film to theatre to TV – ranging from classics like “Roma nun fa’ la stupida stasera” for Nino Manfredi to masterpieces like Ettore Scola's “C’eravamo tanto amati”, along with countless other works and productions. Here, the Roman maestro alternates classic poliziottesco funk grooves with a few blues-rock jams typical of Swingin’ London in the Sixties. Among the great Italian classics of the hard boiled/noir genre, “La mala ordina” remains one of the finest products of an entire cinematic season.

Piero Piccioni – “Kidnap” (“Kidnap – Fatevi vivi, la polizia non interverrà”, 1976)

Widespread distrust in the State and the police could become an incentive for another dramatic scourge of the Seventies: kidnappings. That concept is summed up by “Kidnap – Fatevi vivi, la polizia non interverrà” by Giovanni Fago, a 1976 cult film, now almost impossible to find, with an excellent international cast: Henry Silva, Rada Rassimov, Gabriele Ferzetti, Philippe Leroy. But beyond the plot – centred on the kidnapping of a 6-year-old girl that sets off a race against time between a police commissioner and a mafia boss – the added value is once again the music, composed by another distinguished name: the late Piero Piccioni, pianist, conductor, composer and organist who, along with Nino Rota and Ennio Morricone, is remembered as Italy's most celebrated film composer. His “Kidnap” – used for the opening and closing credits, as well as released as a single – blends thrilling tension with a laid-back gait, poised between swing and lounge.

Luis Bacalov – “Summertime Killer” (“Ricatto alla mala”, 1972)

Here we find once again the Argentine maestro of Bulgarian descent who made his fortune mainly in Italy, both as an arranger, first for Fonit Cetra and then for RCA, and as a film composer (including, for instance, the score for “Il Postino”, which won him an Oscar in 1996, but also a long legal dispute with Sergio Endrigo over authorship of the theme). Here Bacalov tackles this “Summertime Killer”, which accompanied the images of Antonio Isasi-Isasmendi's film “Ricatto alla mala”, a France-Italy-Spain co-production with a star-studded cast featuring, among others, Christopher Mitchum, Karl Malden, Olivia Hussey and Raf Vallone. Bacalov's theme is an acid funk number, with tight rhythms and rising harmonic leaps, perfect for scoring breakneck chases. The usual devotee Tarantino would revive it 32 years later in the second part of his “Kill Bill”.

Francesco De Masi – “The Big Game” (“The Big Game / La macchina della violenza”, 1972)

After Bacalov's frantic acceleration, let's take a small relaxing break with a slower, more melodic theme. For the occasion we meet again the late Francesco De Masi (who passed away in 2005), here working on the score for a rather bizarre 1972 spy story, “The Big Game/La macchina della violenza”, directed by British filmmaker Robert Day. The plot, decidedly delirious, revolves around the kidnapping of the son of an American scientist who has invented an electronic machine that, by controlling the human brain, is meant to make wars impossible (!). The main theme is precisely a delicate three-minute orchestral composition, with woodwinds and strings taking centre stage to sketch out an airy, romantic melody. The entire soundtrack ranges from high-adrenaline, jittery songs to soft ballads with female vocals.

Armando Trovajoli – “Blazing Magnum” (“Una Magnum special per Tony Saitta”, 1976)

Guns, bullets and gunpowder. Essential ingredients for an entire film genre that dominated the box office throughout the decade. In this case, the fetish object is the Magnum special, holstered by a new charming and relentless cop: Tony Saitta, played by American actor Stuart Whitman (the cast also includes Martin Landau, the famous Commander Koenig of the cult series "Space: 1999"). Adding class to this 1976 international crime thriller by Martin Herbert is another feat by Armando Trovajoli, the Roman composer who passed away in 2017 and who, across a stellar career, never failed to lend his talent to genre cinema, especially the poliziottesco. The music of "Una Magnum special per Tony Saitta" is heavily orchestral and enveloping, drawing on the whole arsenal of "musica a mano armata" (armed-cop music), blending frantic funky horns, wah-wah guitars and epic string beds, as in this stunning "Blazing Magnum".

Gianni Ferrio – “Un giorno in più” (“Tony Arzenta – Big Guns”, 1973)

From one Tony to another: from Saitta to Arzenta. And with another exceptional international lead: French heartthrob Alain Delon, flanked by homegrown beauty Carla Gravina. Despite being a ruthless hitman, our good Tony also turns into an avenging angel when a bomb in his car kills his wife and young son. A police noir that did well at the box office (grossing 2 billion lire), directed by Duccio Tessari and enriched by the poignant score of Gianni Ferrio, the man behind evergreen hits for Mina such as "Parole parole" (also recorded by Delon himself alongside Dalida) and "Non gioco più", as well as roughly 120 film scores over his career. The main theme, "Un giorno in più", is a romantic, melancholic instrumental that accompanies Arzenta's scenes with his family or lost in memory. The main version is for harmonica and orchestra, but many variations follow, including ones for solo guitar, piano and orchestra.

Stelvio Cipriani – “Mark il poliziotto” (“Mark il poliziotto”, 1975)

We return to an entirely Italian production with this 1975 film directed by Stelvio Massi, the first of a successful trilogy centred on drug-squad detective Mark Terzi, played by Franco Gasparri, a sex symbol borrowed from the photo-romance magazines of the day. Curiously, besides the director, the composer also shares the name Stelvio: the excellent Cipriani, who had already worked with Massi the previous year on "Squadra Volante". The title theme of "Mark il poliziotto" rides a pronounced funky groove that recalls the sounds typical of the American blaxploitation phenomenon: the lush orchestrations of many scores of the era give way here to a leaner mix of guitar-driven rock, horns and vintage keyboards like Hammond and harpsichord. The result is a masterclass in pure "musica a mano armata". Two more instalments of the saga would follow: the gripping "Mark il poliziotto spara per primo" and the less successful "Mark colpisce ancora".

Lallo Gori – “Il commissario di ferro – Sequenza 1” (“Il commissario di ferro”, 1978)

After Mark the cop, we move on to another illustrious officer of the era, namely "Il commissario di ferro" ("The Iron Commissioner"), the lead character in the eponymous film directed once again by Stelvio Massi. Another small-scale avenger of the night, blunt in his dealings with crime, is Commissioner Mauro Mariani, played, unsurprisingly, by the inimitable Merli, joining the long list of these anarchic cops, driven more by a sense of honour than by the law. Alongside him, in all her grace, is miss Baronessa di Carini Janet Agren. Once again, the score proves invaluable, penned by Romagna-born Lallo Gori, composer for as many as 88 films, including many from the Franco and Ciccio comedy strand, plus numerous spaghetti westerns and Italian sex comedies. The main theme winks at chill-out atmospheres, with a few vaguely futuristic electronic touches. The whole score alternates between enveloping lounge landscapes and mildly psychedelic, dissonant ambient textures. Trivia: one of the film's dialogue snippets was later used to open the album "Studentessi" by Elio e le Storie Tese.

Alessandro Alessandroni – “Cop’s Blood – Titles” (“Sangue di sbirro”, 1976)

If it's true that the poliziottesco is a forerunner of pulp, then blood is a given. And blood there is, in this case belonging to yet another cop — an officer killed by a mobster, whose son will decide to avenge him, even at the cost of teaming up with a gangster. A 1976 film by Al Bradley, aka Alfonso Brescia, "Sangue di sbirro" stars the odd trio of George Eastman, Jack Palance and Jenny Tamburi. The score is composed by another Italian guru of the genre: Alessandro Alessandroni, author of a vast body of soundtrack work, also famous for his celebrated "whistle" that branded so many of Ennio Morricone's spaghetti-western scores. The main theme, "Cop's Blood", is an original reworking of the opening titles of "Shaft" (1971) by Isaac Hayes, a blaxploitation classic that won the Oscar for Best Song. An instrumental cover, with piano phrases introducing hi-hat, bass and wah-wah guitar, builds a fine funk groove driven by woodwinds and brass, topped off with clarinet, sax and trumpet.

Franco Micalizzi – “Italy a mano armata” (“Italia a mano armata”, 1976)

The poliziottesco, at bottom, was nothing more than a concentrate of the obsessions and phobias of a country sliding into the nightmare of the Years of Lead. A grotesque antidote to the fear of spreading crime and terrorism, abetted by a helpless, corrupt State. This is how rough-hewn urban heroes like Commissioner Betti were born: already seen in "Roma violenta" and brought back the same year by Lenzi in "Napoli violenta", the bleach-blond avenging angel played by Merli returns for the final chapter of the trilogy, "Italy a mano armata" (1976), directed by Marino Girolami alias Franco Martinelli (resorting to pseudonyms was another obsession shared by directors and actors of the era). And who better to celebrate it than the music of Franco Micalizzi, the undisputed sovereign of poliziottesco soundtracks. Adrenaline-fuelled and incendiary is the main theme, with its trademark funk propelled by a muscular horn section: it too would be sampled by Tarantino, in the final chase scene of "Grindhouse – Death Proof", and would later be rearranged by Calibro 35 on their self-titled debut album. But the whole soundtrack remains one of the most representative of a genre the Roman maestro spoke to us about almost with reverence: "While in America they were making blockbusters with gorgeous settings and big Hollywood stars, we built our sets with two cameras and 'na cucina, in Ostia or at the western village on the Tiburtina, and the odd richer production would go as far as Spain at most. In the poliziottesco, in a certain sense, I find links with Neorealism, because it really was cinema shot out on the street."

Pino Donaggio – "Al palazzo di giustizia" ("Corruzione al palazzo di giustizia", 1974)

Another national plague of the decade was of course corruption, which besides politics — hit by the first great scandal of the post-war era, the Lockheed affair — inevitably ensnared the justice system too. And so its spectre materializes in its ideal setting: in "Corruzione al palazzo di giustizia" (1974), based on the play of the same name by Ugo Betti, director Marcello Aliprandi fields a trio of exceptional judges — Franco Nero, Fernando Rey and Umberto Orsini — for a sprawling poliziottesco-courtroom hybrid adapted from the television drama of the same title. Scoring it was another giant of Italian music, Pino Donaggio, author of the hit "Io che non vivo (senza te)", destined for a brilliant career as a film composer that would culminate in a long partnership with Brian De Palma, for whom he would score no fewer than 7 films, as well as successful collaborations with Dario Argento and Pupi Avati. In the two minutes of "Al palazzo di giustizia", the Venetian composer draws on the minimalist style of Philip Glass to carve out a short, obsessive score for winds and strings, blending suspense and alienation. Overall, the soundtrack alternates romantic touches with more tense, dramatic passages, combining popular music and traditional Italian motifs with disorienting arrangements.

Adriano Fabi – Sammy Barbot – "Mark" ("Mark il poliziotto – Spara per primo", 1975)

Connected in some way to Ercoli's film is "Mark il poliziotto spara per primo" by Stelvio Massi, also released in 1975, the second chapter in the trilogy starring Lancio photo-romance heartthrob Franco Gasparri. In one scene set in the Astor cinema in Savona, you can actually spot that the film being shown in the theatre is none other than "La polizia ha le mani legate". Another curiosity: among the extras is a very young Carmen Russo. Much less is known, however, about the composer of the soundtrack, Adriano Fabi, who for the theme of "Mark" enlists the vocals of Sammy Barbot, an Italian-French singer very much in vogue at the time, whom some may also remember as co-host of "Piccolo Slam" with Stefania Rotolo in 1977. The result is a catchy disco number, all lush strings, wild beats and a white-hot soul vocal performance.

Stelvio Cipriani – "La polizia chiede aiuto" ("La polizia chiede aiuto", 1974)

A trafficking ring of underage prostitutes involving senior state officials, ministers and members of parliament. Does this plot ring any bells? Massimo Dallamano, well ahead of his time, built his 1974 film around it, starring Giovanna Ralli and Claudio Cassinelli, in which, for once, it's the police asking for help. Behind the usual Alfettas, formulaic dialogue and slasher-movie brutality lies a paranoid dimension straight out of the psychological giallo, in keeping with Italian trends of the time. And it's on this constant oscillation between these two dimensions that Cipriani's excellent score also plays, partly recycling sounds already used for "La polizia sta a guardare" but intensifying their rhythm, as in this main theme, which opens with a dreamy melody and indecipherable vocalizing before unfolding into a driving, obsessive progression, nervously propelled by the strings.

Luciano Michelini – "La polizia accusa: il servizio segreto uccide" ("La polizia accusa: il servizio segreto uccide", 1975)

Where the police are powerless, ask for help, or grope around in the dark, there are other shady state officials ready to do the dirty work. We're talking, naturally, about the notorious secret services, called into question by this pasta-all'amatriciana spy story from Sergio Martino, starring the trio of Tomas Milian, Luc Merenda and Delia Boccardo, which foreshadows another of the era's collective nightmares: a power grab by the country's military apparatus, an anxiety stoked by the decade's tragic massacres. Here the reference is specifically to the Golpe Borghese, the failed 1970 coup attempt. The soundtrack, penned by pianist and composer Luciano Michelini — who would rack up 24 film scores over his career, including for "Decamerone nero" (1972) and "American risciò" (1989) — is distinctly "Morricone-esque". His "Titoli" bears more than a passing resemblance to the famous theme from "Indagine", but shows off a brilliant pianistic flair in a driving sequence of obsessive chimes that implodes at the close. Another theme that marries suspense and melancholy well.

Giorgio Gaslini – "Ciò che è scritto nel vento" ("Rivelazioni di un maniaco sessuale al capo della Squadra mobile", 1972)

Staying within these “Morriconian” moods, we should also mention this fine soundtrack penned by Giorgio Gaslini, one of the most prolific Italian jazz musicians, with around four thousand concerts performed worldwide, over 90 albums, and film scores for Antonioni, Lizzani and Argento (the “B-side” of “Profondo rosso”). Roberto Bianchi Montero's film is a modestly crafted piece, but Gaslini elevates it with refined jazz-inflected scores that range from dissonant suspense to light lounge digressions. In the opening theme, “Ciò che è scritto nel vento”, the vocal performance of legendary soprano Edda Dell'Orso (“C'era una volta il West”, “Giù la testa”) stands out, serving a theme that is both sinister and romantic, melting away into a triumphant string finale.

Piero Piccioni – “Colpo Rovente (Red Hot)” (“Colpo rovente”, 1969)

Let's change gears now and wind our mental cassette tape back a few years, diving into the thriller atmospheres of “Colpo rovente”, a 1969 film directed by Piero Zuffi with a screenplay co-written by Ennio Flaiano, featuring the extraordinary participation of Carmelo Bene (as Billy Desco) and Barbara Bouchet. It's the story of a police captain who takes on the identity of a violent biker in order to infiltrate the drug-dealing underworld and investigate a murder case in New York. For the occasion, we find maestro Piero Piccioni tackling this short jazz-funk instrumental theme, which starts out understated before detonating into a big band explosion. But the entire soundtrack is a gorgeous hybrid of jazzy moods, bossa nova aromas, lounge languor and psychedelic flashes.

Ennio Morricone – “Deep Down” (“Danger: Diabolik”, 1968)

We stay in the 1960s with this other astonishing work by Ennio Morricone, composed for “Danger: Diabolik”, a film by Mario Bava based on the comic book of the same name created by Angela and Luciana Giussani, blending pop art, psychedelia and futurism. A collage of styles and aesthetics that finds a perfect counterpart in the Roman maestro's music: an unsettling, sensual, horror-tinged score that diabolically mixes easy listening with the avant-garde. Just like in this “Deep Down”, introduced by gunshots and Mephistophelean laughter, where a fuzzed-out electric guitar slashes through the treacherous lounge atmospheres, backing the obsessive vocalizing of Christy (Maria Cristina Brancucci), with sparse sitar flourishes sharpening the unsettling mood.

Bruno Zambrini – “Dinamica della fuga” (“Qui squadra mobile”, 1973)

Let's now open a brief television chapter, which shows how the long wave of the poliziottesco genre also infected the staid Rai Radiotelevisione Italiana — albeit with less violence and a more politically correct approach than the gorier cinematic versions. One example is “Qui squadra mobile”, a genre TV series broadcast in 1973. The theme was written by Bruno Zambrini, a composer behind enormously successful songs for Gianni Morandi, Patty Pravo, Mina and Domenico Modugno. “Dinamica della fuga” is a driving, futurist funk workout, rendered almost alienating by Rhodes shadings and distorted guitars, building to an electric, euphoric and prescient climax.

Guido e Maurizio De Angelis – “Napoli oggi” (“Il Marsigliese”, 1975)

An even rawer plunge into the world of crime, though softened by the somewhat naive theatrical atmosphere typical of Rai TV dramas of the era, is Giacomo Battiato's “Il Marsigliese”, which recounts the fight for control of cigarette smuggling between Neapolitans, Sicilians and Marseillais in 1970s Naples. The soundtrack, in any case, is masterful, yet another triumph from the De Angelis brothers, particularly this spectacular folk-pantomime of a village feast: a deeply dark tarantella for acoustic guitar and choir, complete with shouts and sirens, that drowns the euphoria of folk dance in a grim premonition of death. All this, incidentally, a few months ahead of the similar experiment carried out by Micalizzi in his famous “Folk and Violence”, the theme from “Napoli violenta”. Incredibly, the De Angelis brothers' work was never released on record until 2009, when the invaluable label Digitmovies finally pressed it, on the album “Orzowei, il figlio della savana”, alongside the soundtrack of the mini-series of the same name.

Stelvio Cipriani – “Dov'è Anna? (Titoli)” (“Dov'è Anna?”, 1976)

This seven-episode crime drama, written by Biagio Proietti and directed by Piero Schivazappa, will instead go down in the history of Italian television: its final episode kept a staggering 24 million people glued to their screens. Setting aside the clichés of the era, it remains a remarkably modern piece of work, almost a forerunner of "Chi l'ha visto?", with its gripping investigation into a missing woman (Anna, indeed – an unusually proud and independent female figure for TV of that period) and a solid lead performance from Mariano Rigillo. The 28 tracks of the soundtrack – first released on CD by Gdm in 2012 – bear the illustrious signature of the "usual" Cipriani. What lodged itself forever in viewers' minds, staying at the top of the Hit Parade for weeks, is above all the dark, hypnotic theme of the opening titles, its relentless piano chimes accompanying the protagonists as they walk, symbolically, through a tunnel, before a soft drape of strings introduces variations on the achingly melancholic melody.

Piero Umiliani – "Cinque bambole" ("Cinque bambole per la luna d'agosto", 1970)

Now let's go back to genre film, but with a slight shift. A close relative of the poliziottesco is the blood-soaked, para-horror giallo, another undisputed specialty of 1970s Italian cinema. In this case, stamped with the seal of a true master of the genre: Mario Bava. His "Cinque bambole per la luna d'agosto", inspired by Agatha Christie's classic "And Then There Were None", tells the story of a killer who takes pleasure in murdering, one by one, the guests at a villa, for no apparent reason. Tarantino, needless to say a die-hard Bava fan, would recreate one of its scenes in "Kill Bill vol. 1" – the one where the club manager turns off the lights – almost identical to the moment the butler performs the same gesture at the start of the Ligurian director's film. But the real highlight – besides a smouldering Edwige Fenech – is the music, signed by another distinguished name, that of Piero Umiliani, the aforementioned pioneer of lounge music. Here too, seductive chill-out atmospheres dominate, between sardonic little tunes – which nod directly to the famous "Mah-nà mah-nà" from "Svezia, Inferno e Paradiso" – acrobatic vocalizing and dazed, vintage organs, for a dizzying cocktail party where every sip of Vermouth (or Martini) adds one more pinch of estrangement.

Ennio Morricone – "Piume di cristallo" ("L'uccello dalle piume di cristallo", 1969)

While Goblin would accompany Dario Argento through the peak phase of his career, it is instead maestro Morricone who christens with his music the Roman director's debut feature, still confined to a thriller register free of the grand-guignol excesses of his mature period. Morbid, murky, unsettling, "L'uccello dalle piume di cristallo" finds its perfect sublimation in the score by the composer of "C'era una volta il West". From those aching spaghetti-western scores, Morricone borrows a number of traits: the use of female choirs – here transfigured into childlike chants – vocal harmonies, dreamlike and disorienting atmospheres born of minimalism and classical abstraction, and a rhythmic destructuring that recalls free jazz and psychedelia. Under the Roman composer's distorting lens, his usual blend of popular folk and avant-garde attitude turns into a uniquely sonic pastiche, as in the film's central theme, an almost dream-folk piece in "Piume di cristallo", where the la-la-la in the style of "The Boxer" (Simon & Garfunkel) lulls the listener with harp, rattles and triangles, slowly drawing them down into the most unsettling of nightmares.

Riz Ortolani – "Non si sevizia un paperino" ("Non si sevizia un paperino", 1972)

Staying with the thriller genre, no list would be complete without this bizarre (starting from its very title) and morbid film by Lucio Fulci, starring Florinda Bolkan, Barbara Bouchet and Tomas Milian, inspired by real events that took place in Bitonto in 1971, where a series of chilling child murders occurred. A cult movie considered by some critics one of the essential works of the Italian giallo, enriched by the music of maestro Ortolani, here working with mostly classical/symphonic arrangements that unfold into slow, extended passages, often – as in the case of this main theme – particularly sweet and dreamy, as if to counterbalance the raw violence of the images (a device the composer from the Marche region had already used in 1962 for "Mondo cane" and would repeat in 1979 for Ruggero Deodato's "Cannibal Holocaust"). Amid romantic orchestrations, easy-listening digressions and ambient landscapes, the strings creep in menacingly, creating a swirling sonic vortex. The soundtrack closes with the famous "Quei giorni insieme a te", performed by Ornella Vanoni, whose theme also resurfaces more than once throughout the rest of the score.

Bixio-Frizzi-Tempera – "Vai Gorilla" ("Vai Gorilla", 1975)

Decidedly less celebrated today – even though it was a hit at the time, grossing over 1.8 billion lire – is this other poliziesco, directed by Tonino Valerii, a director and screenwriter known for spaghetti westerns like "I giorni dell'ira" and "Il mio nome è Nessuno". The story draws on the frequent kidnapping cases that filled crime news of the period, with Fabio Testi starring as former stuntman turned bodyguard Marco Sartori. The music bears the signature of the celebrated trio Bixio-Frizzi-Tempera, whom we've already encountered tackling "Roma, l'altra faccia della violenza". Particularly splendid is the main theme "Vai Gorilla", built on an aching melody and disorienting electronic arrangements, with Tempera's futuristic keyboards experimenting with sounds already anticipating the following decade.

Luciano Michelini – "Black Jack" ("Anna, quel particolare piacere", 1973)

We venture ever more fearlessly toward the trashier end of the spectrum with this other 1973 film, featuring a young and gorgeous Edwige Fenech. Despite its title – "Anna, quel particolare piacere" – this is not one of the raunchy comedies over which she reigned unchallenged, but rather a grim poliziottesco, complete with a tragic, heart-wrenching ending. For the soundtrack, director Giuliano Carnimeo enlisted composer and pianist Luciano Michelini, whom we've already encountered tackling "La polizia accusa, il servizio segreto uccide". His "Black Jack" unleashes sounds typical of an action movie, with tight cadences dictated by the piano, the inevitable wah-wah guitars and bursts of brass punctuating the track's suspenseful development, further marked by epic string flourishes.

Gianfranco Plenizio – “Cat Theme” (“Milano violenta”, 1976)

From the troubled affairs of Edwige Fenech, we move on to a cornerstone of the poliziottesco genre, Mario Caiano's “Milano violenta” (1976), which, despite its rather unimaginative title, was not actually shot in the Lombard capital, save for a few brief opening sequences. Most of the film was instead shot at the Testaccio slaughterhouse in Rome, and in a modern but nondescript villa that could have been located anywhere in Italy. The score bears the unmistakable signature of another soundtrack guru, the aforementioned Gianfranco Plenizio. Here we hear him on the lush “Cat Theme”, an orchestral number seasoned with horn phrasing and soul-funk-inflected vocalizing, complete with a lovely piano solo at its centre.

Riz Ortolani/Amanda Lear – “Look At Her Dancing” (“La ragazza dal pigiama giallo”, 1977)

As the '70s draw to a close, the sounds start to shift, growing gradually more synthetic. Even maestro Ortolani doesn't escape this evolution, in the score for this rough-hewn yet gripping Italian giallo by Flavio Mogherini, embellished by the sea-blue eyes of one of the era's cult actresses, the gorgeous Dalila Di Lazzaro. The plot is inspired by a real-life crime that took place in Australia: a girl found dead on a beach, her face disfigured, wearing nothing but a yellow pyjama. For the occasion, the composer from Pesaro enlists guitarist Nicola Distaso and three Goblin members on loan (keyboardist Claudio Simonetti, bassist Fabio Pignatelli and drummer Walter Martino). The result is a set of futuristic electronic novelties, suspended between disco and proto-synth-pop (chief among them “Il corpo di Linda”), plus a few morbidly sensual pop ditties, like this “Look At Her Dancing”, sung by a deliciously wicked Amanda Lear.

Detto Mariano – “Delitto al ristorante cinese” (“Delitto al ristorante cinese”, 1981)

Among the victims of the coronavirus, sadly, was also Detto Mariano, who died at eighty-two: a composer, lyricist and arranger who had a long-standing partnership with Adriano Celentano, becoming the official arranger of the Clan, but who also worked with Mina, Lucio Battisti and many others, besides devoting himself to film scores. One of the most curious is precisely this one, composed for Bruno Corbucci's “Delitto al ristorante cinese”, in which Milian plays a dual role: the usual police inspector Nico Giraldi, and a mysterious restaurateur from the Far East, a self-referencing nod to a character from the same director's western “Il bianco, il giallo, il nero”. A lighter poliziottesco, in keeping with the aforementioned evolution of the genre towards a milder variant, closer to comedy (if not self-parody), with Milian as its undisputed star. With the arrival of the new decade, the music also changes: from the orchestral jazz-funky-lounge sound of the early days to a more concise, typically '80s synthetic pop. In this case, Detto Mariano pulls off a miraculous hybrid of warm action-movie horns, post-disco rhythms and robotic electronic cadences, all seasoned with Oriental touches, starting with that ingenious keyboard riff.

Paolo Vasile – “Escape” (“Il giorno del Cobra”, 1980)

The last selection from the golden age of Italian film noir and poliziotteschi is this theme by Paolo Vasile, known chiefly as a film and TV producer, as well as a top executive at Mediaset and Telecinco. His hypnotic “Escape” already plunges us into dense layers of keyboards, all but foreshadowing a preview of Giorgio Moroder's sumptuous soundtrack for “Midnight Express”. From the era of “music at gunpoint”, what remains is the driving rhythm, the scratchy guitars and the biting horn stabs, smearing a chilly electronic base. All of it in service of Franco Nero's new adventurous exploits, ready to update his moustache for the new decade in Enzo G. Castellari's “Il giorno del Cobra”, one of the last chapters in the entire poliziottesco saga, which was soon to face a wistful decline.

Calibro 35 – “Eurocrime” (“Ritornano quelli di…”, 2010)

But we couldn't close our special without the contemporary band that became famous precisely for reviving and reinvigorating this vein. Naturally, we mean Calibro 35, the Milanese outfit founded by Enrico Gabrielli, formerly of Afterhours and Mariposa, formed with the aim of reinventing some of the wildest poliziottesco film scores of the '70s. At first they limited themselves to covers, but over time Gabrielli & co. grew more confident with the genre, and began writing original themes inspired by that tradition. Hence funk blasts and jazz breaths alternating with rock moments and even beat, vintage keyboards, fat basses, funky guitars and shimmering flutes taking centre stage, as well as insane blaxploitation-fuelled bursts of energy like this “Eurocrime!”, taken from the 2010 album “Ritornano quelli di…”.

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