Perturbazione - Rediscovering Buona Novella

Perturbazione are a band formed in Rivoli (Turin) in 1988.

Their debut album, Waiting To Happen, dates back to 1998: up to that point they had only released a demo and a single, "Corridors". Waiting To Happen is undoubtedly a fine debut: Perturbazione sing in English and, although some songs betray a certain naivety, others show great inventiveness, both in the lyrics and in the composition of the music. "See the sky above", which opens the record, owes quite a lot to Oasis, while the ghost-track "Anywhere" sounds like it could have come straight off a Rem record. On the other songs, though, Perturbazione show they've skilfully blended all their musical influences (Smiths, Rem, but also classic Italian songwriting) into a style of their own.

True gems of irony include "I am F" (a title dedicated to the International Monetary Fund), "Happy new age", a parody of the prevailing new age craze, and above all "Magik Mulatto" (recorded at half speed and then sped up in post-production: something reminiscent of Neu!). The other songs are melancholic, melodic, catchy and beautifully constructed: standouts include "Where were you when we were tearing ourselves in pieces?" and the closing "Violet", enriched by a sax that gives it a jazz flavour.

With the addition of a guitarist, the line-up settled down: Perturbazione now consisted of vocals, two guitars, bass, drums and cello.

Also in 1998 came 36, a mini-CD containing six songs that marked the switch from English to Italian. This was probably a step backwards: perhaps due to haste, the songs don't reach the heights of the previous record, and the shift to Italian doesn't seem to pay off. Some tracks ("Domenica interno notte" and "La corda di vetro") seem more successful than the others, while the irony remains firmly in place, albeit only in the brief divertissement "Ti voglio laureato, raffinato, anticonformista quanto basta, con un forte senso dell'umorismo, del nord, dolcissimo, molto dolce".

Setting aside the brief episode that saw Perturbazione featured on a CD recorded for a series of English-language texts aimed at schools, as well as the release of two singles for the English market, it was in 2002 that their first proper album in Italian came out, the one that would introduce the Piedmontese band to a wider audience: In Circolo.

Almost a concept album on the theme of the passage from adolescence to adulthood, the record is made up of 14 songs that are practically perfect for the task the band had set themselves: finding a third way between indie experimentalism and more conventional, almost "Sanremo-style" Italian pop. At first glance the lyrics might even seem banal, but a closer look reveals devices of great sophistication: "Agosto" is built on an original oxymoron, "Il senso della vite" on a single vowel change, not to mention titles like "La rosa dei 20", "Rocket coffee" or "Cuorum".

The extreme simplicity of the lyrics, then, should not be mistaken for shallowness: although Perturbazione sing about simple, everyday things, banality is banished, making way for small poetic gems. Musically too, the band has improved considerably: the cello is perfectly woven into the pop textures and adds real richness to the melodies, while the vocals never become intrusive.

Almost every song on the record is flawless, light years away from the banality dished out by far more successful and celebrated Italian acts. The album's only limitation is, paradoxically, also its greatest strength: these are simply songs, nothing more. But their perfection and originality make the constraints of the song format fade into the background. Constraints that, in any case, Perturbazione clearly try to escape by offering worthwhile diversions such as the instrumental "Rocket coffee", the explosive 40 seconds of "Fiat lux" and an evocative track like "This ain't my bed anymore", the only one sung in English. It's impossible not to mention the fun, fast-paced "Mi piacerebbe" (basically an ironic "plazer"), the melancholic "Arrivederci addio" and "Senza una scusa", the folk-tinged "Il senso della vite" and the more intimate "Quando si fa buio" and, above all, "I complicati pretesti del come", which closes the record and is perhaps its true masterpiece.

In Circolo is clear proof that it's still possible to make great music in Italy without necessarily taking refuge in post-rock and the various alternative scenes, yet without bowing to radio demands or the stale Sanremo tradition either.

In 2005, having left Audioglobe, the label for which they had recorded two albums and an EP, Perturbazione moved to Mescal to record Songs in the Mirror, produced by Paolo Benvegnù and featuring some prestigious guests such as Jukka of Giardini di Mirò and Rachele Bastreghi and Francesco Bianconi of Baustelle. Compared to the previous record, the first thing that's immediately apparent is the disappearance (save for a couple of exceptions) of the irony and freshness that had set both lyrics and music apart: whereas "In circolo" was full of wordplay, bold, playful rhymes, short instrumental interludes and sudden tempo changes, here the twelve songs are all pitched at a single register, the most nostalgic one. But while the nostalgia of the band's earlier work was conveyed through a masterfully balanced blend, here some songs slip into banality and, at times, into whininess (as is the case with "Spalle strette" and "Se fosse adesso"). On the plus side, there are also some successful tracks: the single "Chiedo alla polvere", the "anthropological" (yet so fluid) "Animalia", the irresistibly adolescent "Se mi scrivi" and "Canzone allo specchio", perhaps the best balanced in terms of music and lyrics.

The more ambitious tracks, on the other hand, seem only half successful: "A luce spenta" could have come off a singer-songwriter's record and, thanks to Rachele Bastreghi's female vocals, echoes refined work by Cristina Donà or Ginevra Di Marco, though one wonders how sincere it really is, and how much good it does a band that has made simplicity and modesty its strong points to venture into territory that isn't really its own; the closing "Il materiale e l'immaginario", meanwhile, is musically successful, but the lyrics linger on some rather easy and predictable observations.

It seems Perturbazione had no intention of making a game-changing record, but at the same time didn't feel up to carrying on with their approach, so fresh, intelligent and utterly unique on the national scene, that had earned them considerable success over the years: maybe it's maturity, maybe it's Benvegnù's production, maybe it's simply a shift they felt like making. The fact remains that we are light years away from the small masterpiece that is "In circolo", and uncomfortably close to the many, too many, introspective Italian records out there: Perturbazione have lost part of their stylistic identity, while retaining another part, perhaps the less original one.

In 2007, having secured a major label deal, generous arrangement budgets and excellent production, the Turin band, with Pianissimo fortissimo, could finally settle deliberately into the theme they had seemed to be straining towards on their previous album: love.

With the exception of "Casa mia", which for all its "poetry" is perhaps let down by a rather heavy-handed string arrangement and an overly lullaby-like melody, Perturbazione's points of reference seem to remain the same: Rem, Belle & Sebastian, Smiths (“Controfigurine” echoes the classic “Cemetry Gates”) and beat culture. To the theme of lent books, Perturbazione dedicate one of the most successful tracks on the whole album, "Leggere parole", a kind of gentle bossa nova that chisels out the story of a relationship that ended with absolutely no bitterness, but rather with deep affection. But sometimes relationships may not be over even when they seem to be: “Io mi dimentico di te/ ma torno a raccontarmi una bugia;/ un anno in più/ non cambia niente”, sings Tommaso at the end of the thunderous single that opens the record, introducing the enchanted atmosphere that permeates the songs on this album.

And while "Nel mio scrigno", built entirely on metaphor, shifts the focus towards the melancholy of recognising the gap between individual feelings (“E i desideri del mio scrigno/ sai che non sono i tuoi/ ti prego scusami, se puoi”), we have to wait for the second half of the LP to reach the opposite extreme. And there we discover that the cheerful, adolescent "Se mi scrivi" from the previous record was merely a preparation, a working draft, which in "On/Off" reaches its fulfilment with a dizzying degree of naturalness. Introduced by one of those guitar melodies that become part of your bloodstream from the very first listen, skilfully coloured by the string arrangements and by Stefano's ever-excellent bass, this song ranks among the most sincere and intense pieces ever written by an Italian band about falling in love.

The other tracks, in any case, are no joke either: the four-square “Qualcuno si dimentica,” which spills into the dissolved murmur of its chorus; the light, rustic folk of “Battiti per minuto” (built around the question “se l’amore è un gioco/ quali regole ti dai?”); the solitary, urban “Brautigan,” with its spectral harmonics, which builds into a dramatically effective final climax; and the already-mentioned “Controfigurine,” which turns an old TV commercial into nothing less than an icon of a consumer society that makes everything seem incredible, but only for as long as it takes to recoup the money spent sponsoring it.

“Sfogarsi è un altro modo per urlare di esser vivi” sings Tommaso Cerasuolo near the start of Of Our Stolen Time, Perturbazione's hefty (24 tracks, 71 minutes) comeback in 2010. The song in question is called “Vomito!” and of all of them it's the one with the least in common with the Rivoli band's back catalogue: it's a short, potent jolt of rock electricity, with a very lo-fi sound tilted toward the bass and a shouted, breathless vocal. Even though the other songs are quite far removed from this style, they all give the impression that, while they were being made, the feeling described in that line was dominant within the group.

Perturbazione had already announced that this would be a record venting their frustration at the relationship with Emi — far from idyllic, and over after a single album, the previous Pianissimo Fortissimo — but such announcements aren't always reflected in the actual result: here, instead, you immediately sense that the record's strengths and limitations are exactly those of a band doing whatever it feels like. The strong point is variety: the degree of melodic openness varies from song to song, and the range of arrangements is wider than ever. The sound moves from semi-acoustic simplicity to the lightness of bright, gentle synthetic textures, to a fuller body bolstered by violin, to a more straightforwardly rock-leaning approach, and this whirl of atmospheres keeps the listener's attention consistently high.

The limitation lies in a quality level that almost never reaches remarkable heights. In a hypothetical Perturbazione best of, the only track likely to be drawn from this record is the title track, an intense dialogue between Cerasuolo and his brother, a factory assembly-line worker. The song is splendid in its melody too, in its delicate yet substantial arrangement, and in its vocal performance, which brings in a second, female voice for the chorus. Also well done are “Il Palombaro” and “Partire Davvero,” where the aforementioned synthetic element makes the music intriguing.

As for the rest, the songs give the impression of being so many textbook examples of something just one cent short of a full lira. In cases like this, there's a tendency to dismiss the final result, branding it pretentious: but it's only fair to take into account the context that gave the band the irresistible urge to pour out everything they had inside.

Having gathered their thoughts after the hefty, varied Of Our Stolen Time, the group opts for a change of direction: the new path taken on Musica X involves, in fact, a greater prevalence of electronic elements (not entirely new territory), with synths coming to dominate the record and unsettling some of the Rivoli band's distinctive traits (just think of Elena Diana's cello, which is particularly sidelined). Production duties go to Max Casacci of Subsonica, who does a good job of honoring the band's nature while avoiding excessive "depersonalization" of the group.

Perturbazione's usual stylistic signature still lurks beneath these new sonic carpets, both in the lyrics and in certain melodies: it's easy to spot in “Mia figlia infinita,” or in the generational dialogue — genuinely well pulled off thanks to the vocal interplay — between Tommaso Cerasuolo and Luca Carboni on “I baci vietati,” or again in the blunt candor of songs like “Chiticapisce” and “Diversi dal resto.” It's an album that's mature in its content: nostalgia gives way to weightier themes, especially in the central triptych of “I baci vietati,” “Monogamia” and “Ossexione” (another successful duet, this time with Erica Mou), centered on sex, love in its various forms, and relationship troubles. The gaze is also clear-eyed when it comes to contemporary society, targeted for its easy illusions (“La vita davanti”) or for the importance of appearances at all costs in “Questa è Sparta” ft. I Cani.

Musica X is Perturbazione's attempt at making the big leap, with a particularly catchy album that nonetheless stays true to the band's history and essence. Then again, Perturbazione have never hidden their populist, mainstream ambitions, aiming as high as possible — even, why not, at Sanremo. The heavy use of synths renews and streamlines the band (this is the shortest record in their discography), without radically changing them; an operation that could have been risky, but which ultimately proves at least convincing in substance. Only time will tell whether it will be convincing in the numbers too.

The following album, The stories we tell ourselves (2016), shows Perturbazione's determination to continue down the path taken with the previous record, an intention made immediately clear by “Dipende da te” (the album's opening track and lead single). The lineup, however, is considerably lighter, having left behind Elena Diana (cello) and Gigi Giancursi (guitar). Tommaso Colliva's production (he also worked on the latest Muse album, “Drones”) brings the densest, fullest sound Perturbazione have ever crafted, and likely also accounts for the cameo from Ghemon, who had docked at pop shores with his latest “Orchidee,” also produced by Colliva. The rapper, who had stretched his hip-hop blend, further widening his audience's reach, appears on the carefree “Everest,” a sort of “Il senso della vite” a decade and a half later.

The result of the London sessions is smooth-flowing, but also ephemeral, both in quality and quantity, being a short album that delivers half an hour of music and little more. Throughout the record it's hard to find a real jolt, with the exception of “Trentenni,” an outside perspective on the cryptic and seemingly impenetrable existence of women. “Una festa a sorpresa” (about a relationship nearing its end), “Ti aspettavo già” (with its dance chorus), “Cinico” and “La prossima estate” (about summer aspirations swept away by time) all draw on synthetic sounds.

On the whole there isn't a single melody that leaves a lasting impression, and the songwriting seems to have stalled. Even though Perturbazione's “light” lyrics (to paraphrase the band itself) have always been light, in earlier records they often managed to strike the listener's most intimate chords. Now the inspiration seems to have evaporated; the wordplay and irony that gave the group its identity and recognizability have vanished. The duet with Andrea Mirò plunges the relationship between a man and a woman into the age of text messaging: with a touch of nostalgia, one's mind drifts back to similar episodes and can't help but miss the cathartic nighttime ballad with Rachele Bastreghi from 2005, “A luce spenta.”

The closing track, which gives the album its title, features at its tail end a speech by Indian director Shekhar Kapur at TEDIndia: “Siamo le storie che ci raccontiamo. Racconto una storia e quindi esisto. I exist because there are stories; if there are no stories, we don't exist. Creiamo storie per definire la nostra esistenza.” If there were some middle ground in the Indian director's conception, Perturbazione would exist, because no one can deny the existence of an album that does, in fact, exist. They would simply exist "a little."

Four years on, the Piedmontese band tries to turn things around with their new concept work titled “(Dis)love,” released in May 2020 on the Modena-based label Ala Bianca, after a couple of postponements caused by the well-known Covid-19 health emergency.

With its self-explanatory title, Perturbazione return to ride the safer, clearer territory that made them famous and that marked the most convincing phases of their career, which began a full thirty-two years ago. Back to life, albeit with only faint innovation, are the most classic, delicate atmospheres and that elegance in offering never-banal pop-rock, where narrative resoluteness of content comes back to the fore, thanks to that ineffable depth in depicting feelings and glimpses of everyday life.

As mentioned, the record is a lengthy concept album. It stretches across a full 23 tracks, for a total running time of about seventy minutes. Heart and mind inevitably drift back to the charming Of Our Stolen Time, another ambitious work released by Perturbazione back in 2010.

The story devised and told by the band, with meticulous cinematic style, focuses on the chronological dynamics that make up a couple's relationship or, as the authors themselves put it, on the impossible definition of love and its opposite.

Born under the best auspices, the love story takes hold in everyday life thanks to intriguing early complicity, but due to distractions, difficulties, lies and betrayals, it ends sadly with the by-now predictable epilogue of a painful yet inevitable separation. Three singles were released to promote the album: the serene, acoustic "Le spalle dell'abbraccio", the fiery "Mostrami una donna", a track built on clear echoes of classic-era Rem, and the nostalgic "Io mi domando se eravamo noi", which boasts lovely organ touches reminiscent of Procol Harum. The album's finest moments are reserved for the ruthless, reflective sadness of "L'inesorabile", built on the voice-and-acoustic-guitar interplay, and the subtle, trenchant inner conflict of "Temporaneamente".

The slice of life the band skilfully depicts is certainly interesting, though hardly groundbreaking. The theme is handled with deft descriptive skill, and is fortunately well served by a harmonious, melodic musical dress that heightens its impact without ever distracting or detaching from the story.

The band succeeds in making the listener curious to follow the chronological stages that build up a loving relationship (love) and lead it to its destruction (disamore).

The tracks are on average very short, which within the overall narrative is certainly a strength, adding to an undeniably successful clarity and fluidity in conveying the concept album's theme, which, while showing a few less effective moments, never falls short on impact.

(Dis)love is certainly a substantial, not immediately accessible work, despite the airy, graceful melodic architecture the band built to carve out its fictionalized story: the album's greatest strength. Perturbazione return to a more cohesive artistic path, better suited to their best instincts, through which they have managed to unleash their personal compositional flair to the fullest. The creative elements that didn't always land in their more recent (still innovative) work can now be put to skilful use, fostering further artistic evolution that is absolutely within reach for the Turin band.

It's an unusual comeback for Perturbazione, 4 years later, with La Buona Novella live (2024). It is in fact a live recording from almost 15 years earlier, drawing on someone else's music, but unusual too because it evokes a period when Perturbazione were something quite different from what they are now. For instance, Gigi Giancursi (guitar) and Elena Diana (cello) were still in the band, both of whom left after the Sanremo experience, which represents an ideal watershed in the Rivoli band's discography.

In this 2010 concert, which pays tribute to one of Fabrizio De André's most popular albums, you can still hear the intricate, crystalline guitar interplay — in the style of Belle and Sebastian — that characterised Perturbazione's first three albums, just as you can still feel Elena Diana's warm cello. These are elements that turn the clock back almost fifteen years, to when "Of Our Stolen Time" had just come out and Perturbazione, in a special event at the Teatro Civico in Varallo Sesia (Vercelli), decided — on the initiative of the Scuola Holden and musicologist Alberto Jona — to reinterpret "La Buona Novella", forty years after its release. Adding extra depth to the concert were contributions from actress Paola Roman and the testimony of Don Scaciga, the very man who, in the late 1960s, introduced De André to the apocryphal gospels, a clear wellspring of inspiration for La Buona Novella's "anarchist Christianity".

Having gotten past the reverential fear of a figure who is at times the object of a somewhat dogmatic cult — as Perturbazione's own singer Tommaso Cerasuolo has stated — the Piedmontese band found the courage to release a live album that mirrors the 1969 record, respecting the original's tracklist and staging a reinterpretation aimed not so much at overturning the work as at shaping it to stay true to the band's own character. The whole thing is seasoned with a substantial contribution from Nada and Alessandro Raina (Amor Fou), the latter involved in "Il ritorno di Giuseppe", "Via della Croce" and "Il Testamento di Tito". Nada's presence is, to be honest, a mixed blessing: on the one hand her unmistakable voice makes the desert-like, medieval, Middle-Eastern atmosphere of the percussive "Maria nella bottega di un falegname" vibrate, while on the other she shows more than a little uncertainty singing the melody and lyrics of "Il testamento di Tito", a track marked by an intense performance further enhanced by Dario Mimmo's evocative accordion.

Stripped of its anachronistic progressive-rock trappings, the closing "Laudate hominem" is probably the track on which Perturbazione made the most substantial changes, giving listeners a crescendo that closes out the live album by hitting what's probably the evening's highest peak.

An album that essentially neither adds to nor subtracts from Perturbazione's discography, but which, given its distinctive nature, can legitimately pique the curiosity of the Piedmontese band's fans and, why not, those of the Genoese singer-songwriter too.

Contributions by Andrea B. ("Pianissimo fortissimo"), Stefano Bartolotta ("Of Our Stolen Time"), Mattia Villa ("Musica X"), Federico Piccioni ("The stories we tell ourselves", "La Buona Novella live"), Cristiano Orlando ("(Dis)Amore")

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