Almamegretta

'Mamma, puttana o brutta copia 'e n'ommo

Chest'è na femmena int' 'a chesta parte 'e munno,

Ca quanno nasce a cchesto è destinata

E si 'a cummanna 'o core d' 'a ggente è cundannata'

Naples' musical scene in the 1990s was a tangled knot, a particularly thorny mess to decipher or explain. Thanks to "Sanacore 1.9.9.5." (usually referred to simply as "Sanacore") it would become a little less so in the years to follow. Because the second album, and indisputable masterpiece, by Almamegretta seems to sit right at the crossroads of the many paths that animated the electrifying Neapolitan scene of those years. At the intersection, then, between the blunt, street-level rap of La Famiglia, the combative militancy of Officina 99 (home to acts like 99 Posse and Bisca), and also the folk music and Neapolitan world sound of figures like Eugenio Bennato, Avion Travel and NCCP. What's more, Raiz's band stood, for that era, as the ideal symbol of the centuries-old tendency toward contamination experienced by his native city. And it did so on at least three fronts: the inevitable Arabic, Middle Eastern and North African influences that had long been part of Naples' DNA; dub and reggae, and hence Jamaica; and, no less, English electronic music, the Bristol strain and therefore trip-hop.

Almamegretta press forward, head down and heart open, with a mixture that adds still more, so much more, to the fire of a thousand shades already blazing through the multicultural Naples of the time. The porous city, where everything flows and is held, absorbed and shaped according to the word of Parthenope, welcomed the hybrid sound of Raiz's band with wonder and, at the same time, deep affection. In this way the group became not only one of the most interesting acts in all of Italy and Europe, but also, inevitably, a source of inspiration for future "clones" or even entire scenes. The obvious example is 24 Grana, founded in that very same 1995 of "Sanacore", but the debt extends from hip-hop to dub to Mediterranean electronica, from Co' Sang to Nu Genea, by way of Dub All Sense.

"Animamigrante", from 1993, already contained all of Almamegretta's ideas and influences. And it was already clear what kind of blood ran through Raiz's veins, as right out of the gate he cast himself as a great Hannibal-like general, laying claim to origins and lost histories. As striking a crossroads of Afro suggestions as the debut still remains today, it's with "Sanacore", two years later, that the sonic synthesis achieved by Gennaro Tesone (drums), Gennaro Della Volpe, aka Raiz (vocals), Paolo Polcari (keyboards, samplers, production) and Mario Formisano (bass and synth bass) reached full maturity and bore its most precious fruit. If Stefano Facchielli – known as D.Rad, who died prematurely in a car accident in 2004 – was, alongside Paolo Polcari, one half of the architect duo behind Almamegretta's sound, it's undeniable that the touch of English dub-electronics guru Adrian Sherwood, who produced and mastered "Sanacore", is what allowed it to express its full hypnotic potential.

Recorded on the island of Procida, but then mixed by Adrian Sherwood and Andy Montgomery at On-U Sound Studio in London, also thanks to their contribution and British technology, "Sanacore" is a record that pulses with a doubly international sound. Firstly, thanks to its trans-Mediterranean soul, which places it on the border with world music; but even more so in the sense that it shines with production and (sonic) engineering solutions that fear no comparison abroad. Almamegretta, all obvious differences aside, are essentially a Red Snapper that washed up in the shadow of Vesuvius after a long sea voyage, settling there for good.

Having made the necessary premise about the distinctly Anglophone, Middle Eastern and Jamaican influences, "Sanacore" remains, nonetheless, a profoundly Neapolitan record, both in its settings and in Raiz's use of dialect, and above all a work deeply embedded in the underground electronic imagination of its time – as well as being ahead of that of many peninsular peers.

It's an album that takes four tracks to build its world of deep basslines, dilated, hypnotic rhythms, echoes of a distant Kingston, and electronic beats. An ethnic, spiritual and cybernetic scenario dominated by Raiz's theatrical voice, by turns a street-corner crier or a melismatic muezzin, equally at ease with rap as with toasting (the vocal delivery typical of Jamaican reggae).

"O sciore cchiù felice", that is, the one with no roots, as Raiz sings, once again affirming his migrant soul. Gennaro T.'s drums are thick with echo and set the pace for a swaying trombone and the dub interplay of D. RaD's samples. Raiz's voice whispers messages of freedom in your ear, then stretches out, stirs emotion, arrives from every direction, bounced through the ether by Sherwood – who later revisits the track on the bonus track "O sciore cchiù dub", a more psychedelic version of the song, with even deeper bass and reworked synthetic textures that sharpen its estranging essence.

In the five minutes of “Maje”, the Neapolitan word for “never” becomes an obsessive mantra. Against an even more hypnotic backdrop, marked by broken rhythms and spiced keyboards, Della Volpe delivers one of his most anguished performances, constantly shifting register and inflection, playing the part of a wounded but proud lover who insists that “Maje” — never — will she come back, never will she choose to forgive.

Maje maje maje maje cchiu ‘o vvederraje

Maje maje maje cchiu turnarra

Chello che era na vota ‘o munno pe’ nuje

Sudore anema e semplicità

Però assieme a sti cose na cundanna se ne va

Si si’ femmena muore si nun si forte

Nun ce ‘a farraje maje

The band's Mediterranean soul grows even stronger on the evocative “Pe’ dint’ ‘e viche addò nun trase ‘o mare”. After a brief electronic build-up, Polcari begins scattering keyboard arabesques that, together with Raiz's shamanic melismas, lead us into a maze of Middle Eastern alleyways heavy with intoxicating scent. As Raiz once again lays claim to belonging to the Sun God, his unshakeable faith in the vibrant soul of his city, where even the alleys the sea never reaches set loose dreams to be shattered or ridden, depending on one's mood.

We're firmly back in Naples for the title track “Sanacore”, a Neapolitan word for a folk remedy said to heal the heart. The guests, Daniele Sepe on flute and Giulia Sacco on backing vocals, turn it into essentially a traditional Neapolitan song in the vein of the Nuova Compagnia di Canto Popolare. The reggae and dub inflections are kept to a minimum, just as Raiz chooses to limit his own parts to the verses. This process of subtraction makes it something of an outlier within the album, yet one that has managed to carve out its own place within local tradition, thanks not only to the earthy freshness of the arrangements but also to the cheeky, distinctly Neapolitan irony of the lyrics.

Having conjured its hyper-contaminated world, torn between spirit and flesh, over the next six tracks “Sanacore” expands into new possibilities, unsettling melodies and open political commitment. This is the case with the aching “Ruanda”, seven tense minutes that spread under the skin and recall certain electronic surges by Massive Attack. The Campanian band doesn't need an actual lyric to politicize its electronic ghost: to strike at the West's silence over the genocide in the African country, a few words from Raiz woven into the sonic fabric, alongside echoes of Tutsi chants (the ethnic group massacred by the Hutu), are enough.

The rotating core of the album lies entirely in Almamegretta's unforgettable hit, a sad ballad at moonset that scatters interrupted feelings, indescribable passions and the price to be paid for an excessive craving for sexual freedom, whispered in the ear with Raiz's hoarse, powerful voice. The gait of “Nun te scurdà” is once again deeply dub, with Peter Tosh seeming to resurface from the waters of the Gulf of Naples to show Almamegretta the way, while Sergio Bruni (whom Raiz would pay tribute to centuries later in this way) “prescribes” the words needed to describe the heartache of a woman, shattered like a mirror by the blades of gossiping tongues that cannot tolerate her independence, that cannot bear that “fuoco ca te nasce ‘mpietto”. The memory of an identity subjugated by life's constraints takes on the shape of a parable to be handed down to future generations for a richer future, and serves as the leitmotif of a truly memorable song.

Tradition, in its most popular guise, surfaces in “Ammore nemico”, a track that also features the voice of a giant of 20th-century Neapolitan music: Marcello Colasurdo. The historic soul of Zezi is, for the occasion, both cantor and shepherd of the album's most choral song, a kind of invocation raised by Raiz from the heart of a neighbourhood market, amid anguished voices and gypsy rhythms. Successful albums would follow, such as the widely acclaimed “Lingo”. Despite a few hiatuses, Almamegretta's career is still celebrated today by the street-kid macrocosm as a shining example to draw flame and lifeblood from. “Sanacore”, however, will remain the high point in the history of one of the most vibrant and visceral bands in Italian music of the 1990s. But not only that.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google

04/05/2025