Ritmo Tribale - L'America al Leoncavallo

Yesterday vs today

Some time ago, in the alternative section of a second-hand record shop in Munich, I had quite the jolt to the heart when I came across the cover of the LP Kriminale, the third (and best) work by Ritmo Tribale. For anyone who belonged to my generation, the memory of the video for "Sogna" or "L'Universo" brings back the fertile period of the Italian indie scene in the mid-'90s, even though the Tribali actually came from much further back, as that very LP attests.

Even the album cover sets the scene: a photo of a kid wandering through a dump around the CSO Leoncavallo, its wall dominated by a graffiti piece by Atomo (a well-known illustrator of the Milanese punk-alternative scene of the 1980s). But the best part is the inner-sleeve image of the five strung-out-looking faces that made up the band. Just to give an example, Andrea Scaglia is the spitting image of Marco Del Noce's Larsen... And yet, despite these less-than-glowing starting points, we're talking about a band that, whether by genius or by chance, pulled off at least two musical revolutions in Milan's "da bere" era (and its drunken aftermath) almost perfectly in sync with what was happening, at the time, across the pond in the States.

Huskers of the canals

If we want to define grunge (granting, for argument's sake, that it can even be discussed in terms of a genre) as a makeout session between Led Zeppelin and Husker Du (with the latter presumably happier about it), Ritmo Tribale were playing grunge well before it was fashionable, combining their love for the Minneapolis trio (made explicit by their cover of "Standing In The Rain") with a brash, blue-collar Italian-style rock that is, fundamentally, Jimmy Page filtered through Ghigo Renzulli (or Massimo Riva, if you prefer), all held together by a barricade-storming, anarchic attitude that was almost genetic in a band born and raised in the Milan of Virus and the "Leonka" - though, thank goodness, too instinctive to ever collapse into pedantry.

It's often said (with a touch too much generosity) that "Male di Miele" was our very own "Smells Like Teen Spirit". If that's the case, then the early Ritmo Tribale were the Italian indie scene's Green River, blazing a trail in the 80s for musical trends that would reach peak popularity only in the following decade. It's no coincidence that, despite their success at home always lagging behind that of many of their contemporaries (first and foremost their "younger siblings" Afterhours), the Tribali did receive some recognition overseas, however mild.

We've already mentioned the self-managed space Virus on Via Correggio, the setting for Marco Philopat's superb book "Costretti a sanguinare": the book, which only really covers the punk scene and doesn't go beyond the first half of the 80s, makes no mention of Ritmo Tribale, but it's certainly in that environment that the then-quartet (Andrea Scaglia on vocals and guitar, Stefano "Edda" Rampoldi on vocals and bass, Fabrizio Rioda on guitar and Alex Marcheschi on drums), formed in 1984, started cutting their teeth, and it's through a publication linked to Virus that the band made their recording debut in 1987. It was a split cassette with experimental outfit F:A:R:, bundled with the fanzine Amen This Is Religgion. Aside from the recording, which was little more than amateurish, what strikes you negatively about the work (though I realize the judgment is coloured by their later records) is how little impact it makes. The band seems geared more towards an Italian-style hard rock only vaguely sprinkled with punk. The songs are sung by Scaglia and Edda, but the latter doesn't yet display the hysterical voice that would come to define him later, opting instead for a fairly anonymous, clean register.

The songs are there, though, and on their mature debut, With closed mouth (1988), some of the compositions from the earlier cassette find a better setting, starting with the title track which, after an unsettling intro of thundering guitars, kicks off with a few dry, urgent chords that build up to the two singers' cathartic screams. We're still in more rock than punk territory, as the bright guitars of "Strano" remind us, but above all "Circondato", which closes side A of the vinyl with an almost stadium-sized grandeur - and I can't even imagine the crowd's reaction at their many shows to this alternative Springsteen-esque gem, felt right down to the bone. It's this last track, together with the opener, that alone justify buying the record. The rest is a bonus, and a generous one at that, like the acoustic ballad with electric interference "Bandiere" and the closing "È giunta l'ora", blasted headlong out of the stereo.

The two voices start interacting perfectly: if we want to draw another comparison with the Seattle scene (even though, in 1988, the band in question didn't exist yet), Andrea Scaglia is Jerry Cantrell (steady, melodic, almost classic), while Edda would always be a kindred spirit to Layne Staley, albeit with a dash of hydrolitine thrown in - and not just for the shared fondness for needles, which would sideline the former's career for a full fifteen years and swiftly send the latter to an early grave.

The arrival of bassist Andrea "Briegel" Filippazzi after the release of With closed mouth allowed Stefano to focus on singing and, above all, on his role as frontman, which he would always carry out superbly, moving around the stage like a man possessed by some primordial entity (or like someone who's just had an anthill emptied into his trousers, take your pick), turning every show into a unique visual experience.

A year goes by (on the road, of course) and the new five-piece lineup enters Bips studios in Milan to record the aforementioned masterpiece Kriminale. The band shifts a bit more weight onto the punk side of the scale, without giving up the melodic appeal and the depth of sound rooted in hard rock. After a brief piano intro, the seat-shredding chords of the title track kick in. It sounds like someone in the control room told Edda to just have fun and not worry about style. Thank god he took it literally, and on this record he delivers a monster performance: his high-pitched, slightly nasal voice marks every single groove of the LP (even the songs sung by Andrea Scaglia are enriched by his background "uooooooo!"s), and his way of swallowing consonants while blowing up the vowels, far from sounding like a speech defect, has the double virtue of making his singing distinctive while also masking the naivety of the lyrics, hinting at a raw unease born of concrete and suburbs. The gratuitous swearing of the blistering "Vorrei/ Non vorrei", clearly inspired by Husker Du, is tragically rock'n'roll, while in the more varied "La città" Luca Talia Accardi's acid keyboards make their appearance - he would soon become the band's sixth member, but on Kriminale he's still just a guest.

It's impossible to find a lackluster or anonymous track: the ballads work, both electric ("Angelo") and acoustic ("Uomini"), and the more impetuous songs crash into you and leave their mark. One can't help but mention the title track's lightning-fast tempo changes, "Anarchia"'s flirtation with metal, the sped-up blues of "Guilty" (Accardi's keyboards once again to the fore) and the dark closer "Julian", with its over-the-top crescendo.

Someone notices that there's a band in Milan that, despite its distinctly Italian quirks, would hold its own in the best American alternative scene (and, referring to the 80s version of that scene, we're talking about one of the strongest ever), and so Kriminale gets a glowing review in Maximum Rock'n'Roll, and the Tribali get to play in New York as part of the New Music Seminar, as well as touring around Europe. This stretch of their career alone would be enough to make them a band well worth remembering.

Crossin' Over

In the early 90s, crossover (in the narrow sense of hard-rock/heavy metal blending with other seemingly incongruous genres) was a well-established reality in the underground, though with few forays into the upper reaches of the charts (among them "Epic" by Faith No More, "Give it Away" by Red Hot Chili Peppers and, of course, Beastie Boys - though the importance of a masterpiece like "License to Ill" would only be recognized in hindsight), a chart presence it would become a regular fixture of only from the second half of the decade onward. In Italy, before the success of Subsonica, talking about "crossover" was decidedly pioneering: few had tried it, and almost always as a joke (Truzzi Broders with "Disoccupato Rappò") or as provocation (Bulldozer waited until they broke up to record the single "Dance Got Sick") - not to mention various "Jovanotti-esque" messes that, should anyone feel like it, will eventually be reappraised.

This preamble is meant to help picture the impression that "Ti detesto" must have made on the Italian public when it came out, the track that opened the 1991 EP Ritmo Tribale: a hammering drumbeat, samples, guitar riffs that start out metal and turn funk, forming a backdrop over which Scaglia lets his rap fly (technically bordering on the ridiculous, it must be said), while Edda whispers, hisses and howls in the background. It only takes a few minutes for the sextet to pull off yet another revolution. The rest of the EP delivers a few other good tracks - worth noting are "Il Lupo", with its dark-wave influences, and the boozy blues of "Votate Me" - but it's the opener above all that sticks in the memory.

It really does seem like the band had set off down a new path, one that would find, in part, a coherent follow-up with Tutti vs tutti (1992), where black-music elements are added to the original sound and, compared to the exuberant chaos of Kriminale, the outlines of their more mature work start to emerge. That the sound takes on darker shades (the kind some would have wanted its hide for) is clear from the funk opening of the vicious, metal-laced "X Me", while the more classic "Stato di rovina" shows off a horn section and an intro reminiscent of Gang of Four. The slow, massive "Mother" and the more agitated "See Me" bring the band back onto more hard-rock-oriented territory.

The gorgeous electric ballad "Domina" would become a staple of their live shows and, later on, of Edda's solo sets, while "Maya" is pure tamarrock in the style of Litfiba mark 2. The record overall is much more considered than their previous work, and while on one hand it timidly continues the crossover path of the preceding EP, on the other it seems unsure of which direction to take. The quintessential transitional album, in short.

Krishna Spirituality and Sonic Psychosis

Meanwhile, the 90s had landed even in Italy. On the much-missed Videomusic (before it was bought out and subsequently axed by Cecchi Gori, clearing the way in our country too for the homogenizing Mtv), videos aired by Afterhours, Timoria, CSI, Negrita, Elio e le Storie Tese, Marlene Kuntz, Massimo Volume, Karma, Ligabue, Fluxus... a new alternative rock scene (at least until most of the above-mentioned artists hit the mainstream) had taken the place of the fascinating, ramshackle one of the previous decade.

Ritmo Tribale are still in the game and have no intention of coming across as mere survivors. On the contrary, they seek out - and find - new inspiration in American bands of the same era (Soundgarden first and foremost, but also Kyuss), strip their sound of every last trace of punk and crossover, and, with Mantra (1994), gift us a fine monolith of distorted guitars and bad trips rising out of an ever-present groove.

Some respite is granted by a handful of ballads such as the languid single "Sogna", but for the rest of the album, from the imposing opener "L'assoluto" to the experimentation of "Il male", via the acid-bathed guitars of "Antimateria" and the bizarre cover of "Il cielo è sempre più blu", the six-piece lay their hands heavily on the listener, whether to slap or to embrace. The lyrics almost entirely abandon social themes in favour of more personal and spiritual concerns (Edda follows the Krishna faith), while the vocals come across as far more intelligible than in the past.

The album is a solid commercial success (even though, at the time, expectations for bands coming out of the indie circuit were starting to run high), and the band's live shows are always packed and gripping. Only the critics greet Mantra somewhat coolly, though they'll have to think again two years later in the face of the band's (second) masterpiece.

Psycorsonica (1996) brings the ideas of the previous record to full maturity, smoothing out some of the rough edges and making their approach to psychedelia more personal. The album thrives on light and shade, alternating between powerful tracks (the fantastic "Oceano", which opens the record majestically, or the gripping "Disincentivato" and "Invisibile", not to mention the noisy whirlwind of "Yamuna"), experimental moments (the almost dub-like "Psycho") and some of the finest ballads the Italian alternative scene has ever produced: the anguished "Due milioni", the dreamy "Dodici linee" (which quotes "Wooden Jesus" by Temple Of The Dog), the intimate, enveloping "Assorbimi", right up to that psychedelic gem "Universo" (also the lead single, despite its scant commercial appeal).

Where Kriminale or Mantra had an international flavour, largely due to their obvious transatlantic influences, this latest record sounds thoroughly Italian, being an entirely personal work by a homegrown band. In a way, Psycorsonica marks an arrival point - and indeed, on the tour that followed its release, the first cracks appear that foreshadow the collapse of the whole structure.

Journey to the Bahamas with No Return

Making use - and abuse - of clichés (true ones, in this case, though), it's not clear whether Edda's departure during the Psycorsonica tour was down to the classic "personal reasons" or the more widely rumoured "drug problems". Both factors probably played a part, but the fact remains that replacing a frontman like him is no small feat. And indeed, the band doesn't even try: after all, they already have an (excellent) singer in the lineup. Andrea Scaglia dusts off his sandpaper voice, rather underused in recent efforts, and the tribali, after regrouping, record Bahamas (1999), which will turn out to be their final album.

How is it? Let's say well-intentioned... The band is most striking when they put the pedal to the floor: the lead single "Duemila", steeped in electronics, is promising, but unfortunately it remains the album's best moment. The rest isn't unpleasant, but it is a touch anonymous. Still, the fundamental problem remains one of absence: going back to the comparison with Alice In Chains, however beautiful a voice Jerry Cantrell had, it was Staley who defined the band, and without him it lost its soul (indeed, the Seattle band's recent new release, while pleasant enough, is an utterly forgettable work, much like Bahamas) - and the same can be said of Ritmo Tribale without Edda.

Live, moreover, the absence of Stefano and his stage-bound epilepsy becomes unbearable, and so the five decide to wave the white flag, rather than tarnish the thoroughly deserved reputation earned over 15 years of history with an overly lacklustre continuation. To be fair, there was a reunion attempt in 2007, but thankfully it produced nothing more than a handful of concerts and the release of a compilation titled Uomini.

With the nostalgia trip wrapped up, the band wisely decided to regroup alongside ex-Afterhours member Xabier Iriondo (though without Fabrizio Rioda) in the NoGuru project, which debuted in 2010 with the album "Milano Original Soundtrack", inspired by the most skewed and noise-driven strains of new wave. However, it would be their former bandmate who would make the real splash (artistically speaking) in those same years.

Scaffolding Out of Nothing

Raise your hand if, towards the end of the 2000s, you found yourself wondering what on earth had become of Stefano Rampoldi, aka Edda! It seems that, after 1996, he initially took up the occupation of heroin addict (which, as "Trainspotting" taught us, is a full-time job), and, after getting clean, that of bricklayer. He had (almost) stopped thinking about music, and music, ungratefully, returned the favour. That is, until he met composer Walter Somà and musician Andrea Rabuffetti, who pushed him to get back in the game. And so, in 2009 - thirteen years after his "disappearance" - clips from his debut solo album "Sempre Biot" began circulating on YouTube, and it's a comeback that tugs at the heart.

The tarantella-possessed frontman with hair down to his backside no longer exists, and in his place we find an artist with greying hair who sits and plays his acoustic guitar, accompanied by a handful of perfectly judged sounds (Taketo Gohara's production is textbook stuff). Sure, the voice is still the same: high-pitched and slightly nasal, no paragon of diction, but pulsing with life and feeling. And the songs seem written in blood, starting with the opening “Io e te”, embellished by Mauro Pagani's violin, and “Milano”, a melancholy elegy to his city, suspended in a void. “Bella come la Luna” drips with desperate passion, while the title track closes the album on a slightly more cheerful note, like an unsettling lullaby.

Every track, though, would deserve its own mention, each a piece of the mosaic that, in the author's opinion, forms what is the finest Italian album of the past decade (alongside the debut by Teatro degli Orrori).

Three years, a handful of rare concerts (since, in the meantime, he hadn't given up bricklaying) and a live EP later, "Sempre Biot" gets a follow-up - extremely good, if not quite as good - in "Odio i vivi" (2012), in which his sound is fleshed out with a touch of distortion, while still leaving the minimalist poetry of the debut intact, albeit in a slightly more abrasive and pessimistic form ("Odio i vivi/ ho i miei motivi ma li tengo per me" or "I miei amici hanno figli figli figli… io sempre fame").

One can unquestionably speak of a new force in Italian music, an update for the new millennium of the singer-songwriter figure, even if the impression is that Edda is, and will remain, one of a kind.

In any case, he is the one providing the only worthy follow-up to the Ritmo Tribale adventure, a band that moved through the decades intelligently and creatively riding the changes in music, always reaping far less than it deserved.

Ride the wave of great music

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