ARDECORE - Ardecore

Italians have always had a peculiar bashfulness about their own musical traditions. They'll go wild for a Mexican mariachi party, get drunk to Balkan brass bands, or lose themselves in Irish jigs, but heaven forbid you pull out that embarrassing old record of folk songs that belonged to your uncle or grandfather... In recent years, though, the wind has been changing. It turns out that taranta can make even Stewart Copeland tap his foot, that Neapolitan song (and that of the South in general) is an inexhaustible reservoir of melody, and that the ballads of the old traveling storytellers can come in handy for more than just Angelo Branduardi.

What was still missing from the roll call, though, was Rome, with its tradition of stornelli, tales of love and knives, hot-blooded working-class women and sons of bitches. Strong stuff, good at best for entertaining tourists in the restaurants of Trastevere or warming the hearts of nostalgics for the "little king" Claudio Villa. It's an almost titanic undertaking, then, the one pulled off by Ardecore: exhuming that heritage without betraying its spirit, while updating it with modern arrangements. Looking at the names of the band's members, though, it becomes clear the feat was no accident: behind the brilliant moniker Ardecore (which also plays on the word "hardcore" twisted into Roman dialect) lies a supergroup featuring the nu-jazz trio Zu, folk-blues singer-songwriter Giampaolo Felici, accordionist Luca Venitucci (a jazz musician from Lou Reed's entourage), vibraphonist Valerio Borgianelli (a protégé of Steve Reich) and — believe it or not — Geoff Farina, guitarist of a prominent former Chicago post-rock band, Karate.

The project was born in 2002, when Zu and Karate shared the stage of their European tour with Blind Loving Power, Felici's blues-gospel creature: at the start and end of those evenings, old Roman stornelli were performed. From there came the idea of joining forces for an operation of musical archaeology and ethnology: bringing back to light and "legitimizing" the darkest, noir-tinged songs of the capital's songbook. The result is a collection of ten murder ballads that sketch a Rome in dark hues, closer to the Pasolini-esque imagery of "Ragazzi di vita" than to the clichés of the "sunny city" and "let's all just love one another." A "blues" narrative speaking the universal slang of lives on the margins, laden with misery and despair.

The album is divided into three "tables," as in the tradition of the traveling storytellers. The first is set amid prisons and the criminal underworld, drama, revenge, and a paganism-tinged religiosity. The second is dominated by death, flowing along the muddy waters of the Tiber. The third triptych is devoted to the "serenade," the melodic core of Roman song (and of Italian song in general). Dark folk-blues weaves run through the opening "Come te posso ama'", the lament of a political prisoner for his beloved and his lost freedom. "Madonna dell'Urione" and "Madonna dell'Angeli" are two invocations of divine help. The first wraps a scene of jealousy and betrayal in languor reminiscent of Calexico. The second is the harrowing parable of a man who loses his beloved and his young son, and begs the heavens to give them back to him: a magnificent folk song running over seven minutes, with horn breaks, accordion counterpoints and a free-form coda.

In the second chapter, the Tiber takes the stage, a pagan deity and altar to wasted lives, such as that of the "Lupo de fiume", who follows the fate of "…pupo verso la corente un tonfo, in fonno e poi nulla più…" (a vibrant performance by Felici, over an arrangement made eerie by Farina's touch and the piano's glimmers), or the absolute classic "Barcarolo Romano", here steered toward Balkan blues. One can almost glimpse a Pasolinian Madonna in the heroic "Popolana", who saves children from the waters of the river. Closing the album is a trio of serenades. "L'eco der core" gleams with Tex-Mex sonorities and culminates in a lovely instrumental coda. "Fiore de gioventù" is an old Petrolini tango that blooms into a slowed-down folk-blues, somewhere between Nick Cave and Black Heart Procession.

The moving "Serenata de paradiso" drowns its melancholy in a jazzy atmosphere, setting up the closing ghost-track (a 13th-century sonnet). What's striking is the balance between respecting the austerity of the originals and reinterpreting them in a "brass-band" style, built on horn explosions à la Bregovic, post-Morricone landscapes in the Calexico mold, and crooked free-jazz-inflected rhythms. The engine behind these arrangements is the fiery Zu trio, who trade phrases with Venitucci's accordion and Fender Rhodes piano and with Borgianelli's vibraphone, glockenspiel and percussion, leaving Farina's electric guitar to a meticulous job of counterpoint.

Also worth noting are Felici's vocal performances, which spin together passion and rage with a fervor worthy of the late Gabriella Ferri.

Adding even more appeal to the work is the rich booklet by Alessandro "Scarful" Maida, inspired by the aesthetics of prison tattoos, and the price, 8 euros, in keeping with the (praiseworthy) policy of "Il Manifesto"'s record series. "Ardecore" is music three centuries old, yet it sounds as if it were written the day before yesterday. Street poetry, not ethno-chic. The heart of Rome skipping a beat. And it still seduces.

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20/04/2005