Fabrizio De André

A journey. Imaginary and concrete, made of distant echoes and direct contamination. The final journey, the longest one, capable of reaching the furthest extremes, of pushing beyond borders that had previously only been glimpsed. "Anime salve", the last album by probably the greatest singer-songwriter in Italian music. A swan song which, as such, holds for some an incredible sentimental and emotional weight, a sort of farewell. But one which, perhaps because of the "myth" built up around De André the poet and songwriter, has never been given the recognition it deserves within the evolutionary arc of De André the musician and researcher.

We could say, without much risk of being wrong, that the true greatness of Fabrizio De André revealed itself in the second phase of his career rather than the first. The phase in which, after having written entire pages of Italian music history by filtering current events and his own cultural background through his unmistakable poetic lens, he threw himself back into the game with the adventurous attempt to grapple with new traditions and cultures, far removed from his own. A project decisively shaped by the notorious kidnapping he suffered in Sardinia at the hands of the anonima sequestri, of which the celebrated "Hotel Supramonte" (and, in fact, starting from the cover art itself, the whole of the so-called "disco dell'Indiano") could be seen as a silent, indirect point of departure.

Research: this is the keyword of the path that led from "Creuza de mä", the last great turning point of his career, to "Anime salve", its final destination. Almost as if the former had been nothing more than a dress rehearsal, the rough sketch of a journey. Migration as the theme at the heart of this research: migration as openness, as the study and absorption of new musical cultures, as an escape from introspection and pessimism, as a fresh artistic spark. All elements proving just how alive, curious and inspired the De André of "Anime salve" truly was, and how the album was conceived to be anything but a swan song, a closing chapter.

De André is thus the first migrant, ready to borrow musical and linguistic elements from the most disparate traditions, and behind him, migrants too are the protagonists of the stories told in the songs. Stories of marginalization, of otherness, of solitude and freedom, among the most uncomfortable and deeply felt of his career, delivered through lyrics that had never been so direct, so explicit, in some ways even coarse. The focus on the "other", the eternal, thoroughly Baudelairean tension between the horror of reality and the contradictory wonder of humanity, between a marked rejection of (supposed) conventional virtues and an almost obsessive justification of vices (spuriously labeled as such), is perhaps the one true lyrical trait d'union between the early De André and the final one.

What intensifies decisively and remarkably alongside the lyrics, in this late De André, is the music. No longer a mere expressive vehicle for the lyrics, but an artistic element in its own right, on a par with them. "Anime salve" is not only his most sincerely multi-ethnic record, but also his most choral. This is true in the relationship with the lyrics, with which the music lives in wonderful, complementary harmony, as much as in the style and occasionally saturated arrangements, and above all in the guest appearances and collaborations. As if the name Faber left solipsism behind to become the name of a collective, a trademark, a corporate name, an umbrella label.

So many join De André on his journey, a host of trusted friends in what is a collective, almost Platonic quest, where the master and expedition leader (in this case, quite literally, the conductor) is, and must always be, ready to welcome and engage with the point of view of his fellow travelers: Piero Milesi in the producer's chair, his son Cristiano established as his true right-hand man, Ellade Bandini on drums, the orchestra "Il Quartettone", his wife Dori Ghezzi and daughter Luvi on vocals, and above all his fellow Genoese Ivano Fossati as co-writer, as he had already been on "Le nuvole", in a collaboration that was far from easy and saw the two diverge on more than one point.

And then the great Brazilian percussionist Naco, cymbalom legend Sándor Kuti, Russian accordionist Vladimir Denissénkov, the unmistakable harp of Cecilia Chailly, the equally trusted Mario Arcari, and a long list of top-tier musicians, many of whom, moreover, were drawn directly from the very traditions being explored, and who proved decisive in guiding the group toward the discovery of sound worlds far removed, both geographically and culturally, from their own origins.

Migration and marginalization, as we said: the keywords of the Roma culture recounted in the harrowing "Khorakhané (A forza di essere vento)", which lifts the Cohen-esque waltz standard and the ballads of the chansonniers to new artistic heights. It all begins with an electronic dawn over which an introductory recitative unfolds, and ends in an orchestral aria of Donizetti-like intensity sung in the Roma language. A passage that reaches its emotional peak live, carried by Luvi's crystalline voice, ready to stand in for Dori Ghezzi's drier delivery on the record. In between, De André lays down, with the utmost delicacy, towering lines like "Saper leggere il libro del mondo/ con parole cangianti e nessuna scrittura" or "Questo filo di pane tra miseria e fortuna".

The universal two-voice psalm of the title track, on the other hand, is the paradigm of the collaboration with Fossati, of the chemistry the two sought and, with effort, found, of vocal and stylistic differences that here enrich the duet rather than undermine its unity. Diversity, the key word that resurfaces both in the vocal contrast and in the "lone spirits" of the lyrics, free by choice from the conventions that make men uniform, forcing them to keep their personality, and consequently their best selves, hidden. A process entirely absent from the spontaneity of the animal world, honored in the absorbed, half-sung dance of "Le acciughe fanno il pallone", whose intricate framework conceals an instrumental drive that bursts out in the finale.

The magnificous overture of "Prinçesa" blends South American harmonics and overtones with a jingling refrain in the style of "Creuza de mä", swing interludes and folk dances. A combination that superbly captures the theme of the journey and connects it to another theme so dear to De André, prostitution, in what stands as the most emblematic example of the songwriter's poetics adapting to his stylistic and cultural migration (from the prostitute to the transgender woman). The protagonist is in fact Fernandinho, who becomes Fernanda, misunderstood within the context of a Brazilian farming family and forced to sell, in order to support herself, that female body she so desired. Once again an outsider, once again a marginalized figure forced to pay the price for her freedom.

"Dolcenera" follows the same path, pairing a Brazilian canticle with one of Faber's finest tarantellas, setting into it the unfurled voice of the accordion and, above all, one of his masterful narratives built on parallels, allusions and metaphors. Here love takes center stage, the love of a man anxiously awaiting a woman, to the point of picturing her arrival even as she is instead swept up in Genoa's 1970 flood and the overflow of the River Nera. A love that De André himself would describe as "paranoid, tyrannical, to the point that the protagonist mentally erases every obstacle between himself and the woman he loves, even the terrible flooding of the river".

On the sardonic ballad "Disamistade" too, the finest rhyming De André shines through, bolstered as well by free verse that heightens its pain ("uno scoppio di sangue, un'assenza apparecchiata per cena"), together with Milesi's liturgical electronic backing and the orchestral sighs. Another tribute to musical Sardinia and a denunciation of the feuds typical of the island's culture a few decades back. This is one of the two great exceptions to the album's thematic homogeneity, alongside the Genoese-dialect duet "Â cumba", set to a sparkling saltarello rhythm and buoyed by the female choir, the only moment of positivity on an album of long, tormented songs, woven from complex genetic crossings.

The closing is entrusted to a tandem that once again insists on contrast: first the autobiographical, cinematic tableau in verse of "Ho visto Nina volare," carried by a hushed rhythm and solo classical guitar. De André tells, in novelistic fashion, of his first childhood love, of his rebellion against paternal authority and, once again, of his solitude in having to watch his beloved secretly as she enjoys herself on the swing. All of it while rejecting the fear of being discovered and thus forced to leave home, and the instinct of self-imposed duty ready to make him defend "with a knife" his right to feel such emotions.

By contrast, the unstoppable finale of "Smisurata preghiera" is the album's culmination, three minutes of invective and spiritual indignation set against the moved jazz chords of the keyboards and the solemn, ceremonial syncopations of the drums (of which the title track turns out, in hindsight, to have been the premise), followed by four minutes of instrumental transfiguration: first a swelling invocation of Mediterranean horns, then a symphonic digression from which the album's moral exhales, all the boundless sorrow of the souls in the title. It is the furious demand for redemption voiced by the characters described throughout the record, those who chose to pay for their freedom with loneliness and marginalization.

It is the conclusion of the journey, the outpouring, the synthesis of the concept of freedom, the fruit of the long contrast between the initial thesis (the yearning for freedom, for the ability to tear down borders and confront the world beyond oneself) and the many antitheses encountered along the way (the prices to be paid to obtain that very freedom). In the collective imagination it is the epitaph within the epitaph, De André's pre-mortem testament, for some even the summation of the artist's entire lyrical and musical body of work. A role also filled, widening the scope, by the whole of "Anime salve." A role certainly not foreseen for what remains, without doubt, one of the absolute peaks—for stylistic variety and lyrical depth—of Italian music, as well as the final gift of one of its greatest figures.

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12/10/2014