Mango

We should trust in the eternal rhythm

(Nikos Kazantzakis)

For Pino Mango, Kazantzakis's thinking must always have carried an expanded meaning. His style proved it time and again, remaining unique on the Italian scene even today, eleven years after his untimely death. The singer-songwriter from Lagonegro brought together different worlds, explored seemingly impossible paths, and above all had the courage to put forward an alien brand of pop, steeped in exotic rhythms and electronic ideas so singular that, at least in the earliest years of his career, they made him something of a UFO in Italian mainstream music. His voice then raised the bar even further: equally recognisable and supreme, marked by an extremely soft, cultivated falsetto and a range spanning a full three octaves.

Having already reached the upper echelons of the Italian record industry in the first half of the 1980s alongside his brother Armando, a refined composer and lyricist and his most trusted collaborator, Mango arrives in 1990 buoyed by the success of one of his most beloved songs, "Bella d'estate", co-written with Lucio Dalla. His aim is to further upend a now well-tested formula and steer clear of the numbers posted by "Inseguendo l'aquila", which certainly couldn't match the figures of the previous album, "Adesso". To do so, he decides to put his new intentions to the test at the Sanremo Festival, which he takes part in for the fourth time that same year with the song "Tu... sì", also recorded by Leo Sayer under the title "The Moth And The Flame", and, with Mia Martini's "La nevicata del '56", the first song to be introduced on the Ariston stage by the legendary (and equally missed) Peppe Vessicchio.

"Tu... sì" indeed lays out some of Mango's new creative impulses, amplified by the exotic atmosphere conjured by the keyboards of a giant like Geoff Westley, who is also the deus ex machina behind the eleven songs on "Sirtaki", together with the lyricist of all lyricists, Mogol, brought in for the occasion by the Lucanian musician to bring out the best in the lyrics and, in some way, carry them back to the top of the charts. It's a double masterstroke, given that "Sirtaki" remains the best-selling album of Mango's career to this day, with around half a million copies sold and a peak at number 2 on the Tv Sorrisi e Canzoni chart.

But the wonder of Pino Mango's eighth album lies well beyond the mere contribution of Westley and Mogol. Starting with the opening track, "Nella mia città", featured on the record in an extended version at the start and a radio-edit version at the close. Mango unveils his own distinctive brand of Mediterranean pop, in which the echoes of the famous dance devised in 1964 by composer Mikis Theodorakis for Michael Cacoyannis's film "Zorba the Greek" are merely a percussive pretext to soften the step and lead the listener into uncharted geography, while carioca saudade meets Eastern ecstasy at some unspecified point in the Mediterranean Sea, and the natural warmth of a city like Marrakech hints at the epicentre of a heat that cradles both heart and soul.

In my city

There's a white house

With wisteria in bloom

Climbing, climbing, climbing up

Over my city

There's a vast sky

That throws your heart wide open

And never lets you down

Through the words of Mogol, Mango pays clear and heartfelt tribute to his hometown of Lagonegro, a genuine celebration free of hermetic weight or excessive poetic flourishes. Mango sings about his city, embracing both its virtues and flaws, its stories and its changes. From the very start there's a clear desire to carry the listener on a magic carpet of Middle Eastern sounds and tropical rhythms, stirred up by Frank Ricotti, the sought-after English vibraphonist and percussionist who has worked with, among others, Status Quo, Pet Shop Boys and Tina Turner.

The following track, "I giochi del vento sul lago salato", brings out on one hand the telltale sense of mystery so dear to Battiato, and on the other Mango's angelic voice, with its swells and dips as caressing as they are shape-shifting. "Terra bianca" doubles down on this approach, but with a narrative centred on the meanings of the Universe, understood as the perfect gaze with which to welcome an awaited motherhood.

"Sirtaki" has the charm of an enchanted oasis. Mango exults like a shepherd stroking the desert sand, contemplating "an unknown sun" that shines by chance. The shifts between verse and chorus are disarming, delivered with a blissful air ("Ma com'è rossa la ciliegia", "Preludio incantevole"). The musician marvels at the wonders of the earth and puts that gift to use to heighten his own singing. In fact, "Sirtaki" fully anticipates the moods that would later crystallise on the songs of "Come l'acqua", the 1992 album that contains another manifesto track of his style: "Mediterraneo".

Amid this string of seraphic fascinations, off to the side emerges the hit that would bring Mango back to success: "Come Monna Lisa". The inscrutable gaze painted by Leonardo becomes the springboard for conveying a feeling of bewilderment and reverence. The melodic hook is among the most gripping in the history of Italian pop, a gem that would further elevate Mango to the status of prophet of a new possible journey — one in some ways already inaugurated just two years earlier by another Marco Polo of Italian song, Ivano Fossati, in the mystical phrasing of "La pianta del tè", as well as by Paolo Modugno in the elusive tribalism of "Brise d'automne".

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05/04/2026