Eugenio Finardi

Eugenio Finardi first appeared on the market with an English-language 45, "Spacey Stacey", released in 1973 on Battisti and Mogol's label Numero Uno. It was right there, in the label's studios, that he met Demetrio Stratos, former singer of the Ribelli, who the previous year had himself recorded the single "Daddy's Dream" there. At that very time, Stratos had been drawn in by graphic designer and photographer Gianni Sassi to help launch a record label, Cramps Records, aimed at giving space to the more experimental fringes of Italian popular music, and he convinced Finardi to join him on that venture.

The rest followed as a natural consequence, and in 1975 Finardi released his debut album for the label, "Non gettate alcun oggetto dai finestrini". At that point Cramps was only a couple of years old, and its name was tied almost exclusively to the records of Area, Stratos's band, but within a short time Finardi would become its flagship artist, thanks to a far more accessible approach.

On the other hand, by playing as session musicians for Finardi, as well as for Alberto Camerini, the members of Area showed remarkable versatility, and while the albums they released as a band never achieved satisfying sales, their contribution proved essential to the success of the two singer-songwriters mentioned above, and above all to shaping a distinctive sound immediately recognizable as the label's own. It's no coincidence, then, that the records Finardi and Camerini released during their Cramps years sound so similar, beyond the voices and sensibilities of each artist.

Success came with the second album, “Sugo” (1976), the first Cramps record to chart, peaking at number 17 in the weekly Tv Sorrisi e Canzoni chart and spawning two classics of Italian protest song, “Musica ribelle” and “La radio”.

While “Diesel” (1977) was being put together, it seemed Finardi might really become one of the most popular singer-songwriters on the scene, though he's never been comfortable with that label: the artist has repeatedly pointed out that what he was actually aiming for was to move in the territory of Mick Jagger or Rod Stewart, artists who in Italy were regarded as rock musicians rather than singer-songwriters, even though they technically wrote their own material. If he ended up being pigeonholed as a cantautore, it's perhaps because his sound later softened considerably, even if it never lost its edge entirely. Listening back to his Cramps albums, there should be no doubt that they can be considered classics of both the singer-songwriter tradition and Italian rock, with one category never excluding the other.

“Diesel” was produced by Paolo Tofani, guitarist of Area, who was leaving the band right around that time, though he continued to collaborate with its members on Cramps records until the label folded in 1980. Other Area members featured on the album are keyboardist Patrizio Fariselli and bassist Ares Tavolazzi, playing on five and four of the nine tracks respectively. The most present session player, however, is drummer Walter Calloni, one of the most celebrated sessionmen of the era, fresh off sessions with Lucio Battisti, Ivan Graziani and Antonello Venditti, besides his work with the Cramps artists themselves. His acrobatic style strongly defines the album: leaning on a device typical of jazz-rock of the time, Calloni plays certain rhythmic elements distinctly ahead of where a metronome would place them, creating a groove that seems to accelerate with every bar while the BPM actually stays constant.

The tracklist opens with “Tutto subito”, an energetic, aggressive song, though perhaps not the most original of the bunch, given its strong resemblance to the style of the Who, evident right from the opening guitar chords. The lyrics, in their simplicity, are subtly ambiguous: “I'm tired of putting up with it, and I'm tired of waiting, I want everything right now, and you have to give me everything right now, no I can't take it anymore, I won't listen to promises anymore”.

Over the years it has been interpreted in various, even conflicting ways: some argue it was a caricature of the protest movements of the time, others that it meant to support and honour them. Given Finardi's cultural background, openly left-wing, the second reading feels far more natural to accept.

Consistently, “Scuola” is an indictment of the education system, built on rote learning that stifles critical thinking and from which, to this day, Italy has failed to break free: “Because the only thing school should do is teach you how to learn. Luckily for me I never gave a damn, I didn't do my homework, I almost never studied, but I listened to records, I kept myself informed, I tried to understand and now I can get by”. These lines might come across as populist, but they need to be seen in the context of an era of great social upheaval, the last wave of sociopolitical engagement to sweep through Italy before the retreat into private life and the accompanying cultural decline that would define the Eighties. The track is a midtempo number with an R&B feel and jazz-rock arrangements, driven by a horn section and by Fariselli, who switches between Wurlitzer electric piano, acoustic piano and Hammond organ. Tavolazzi's bass traces intricate lines with a saturated tone that, while not alien to instrumental jazz-rock, was unusual on singer-songwriter records influenced by that sound, which tended to favour smoother tones.

“Zucchero” is a sweet love song, notable for a rhythm that alternates between 4/4 and 6/8, and even more so for a chorus that seems to anticipate Eighties synth-pop, thanks to the sound of the Arp 2600, played by Lucio Fabbri (one of the greatest Italian session musicians, who also appeared on Finardi's first two albums).

Running nearly nine minutes, “Non diventare grande mai” is, from its very title, an attack on the bourgeois conformity that youthful ideals are doomed to as age advances. Apart from the basic rhythm, set by Finardi on acoustic guitar, and the drums, which only enter in the second half, the track is played entirely by Tofani, who, over an ad libitum repeated bass groove, weaves remarkable acoustic guitar and marimba virtuosity.

“Giai Phong”, inspired by the reportage book “Giai Phong! La liberazione di Saigon”, published in 1976 by Tiziano Terzani, celebrates North Vietnam's victory over the United States. The lyrics can seem problematic when read today, but here too context matters. Like many left-wing activists, Finardi had no way of foreseeing what would happen afterwards, while he was well aware — since they were widely documented — of the numerous war crimes committed by the Americans during that conflict: it's therefore not hard to understand the spirit behind his lyrics, even though they paint an ideologically charged idyll far removed from reality: “A Saigon intanto tutto andava diversamente, senza violenza, ma ostinatamente, crollavano i valori e l'economia borghese, c'eran pochi soldi, ma a nessuno mancava niente”. The author himself later disavowed those words, without however renouncing the reason he wrote them, as the symbol of an ideal he believed in and continued to believe in, even while acknowledging that its application had been wrong. The track opens with a tangled electric guitar solo, played by Alberto Camerini, while the driving rhythm is led by Finardi, who plays bass superbly, by ethno-jazz percussionist Roberto Haliffi and, once again, by Calloni pushing markedly ahead of the beat.

“Non è nel cuore” is a love song that centres on mutual respect rather than romance. It's the best-known track on the album and takes the form of folk rock with a progressive edge, driven by acoustic guitars, electric organ and violin.

“Diesel” is a piece of jazz-funk marked by Fariselli's virtuoso flourishes on electric piano and by an instrumental refrain featuring Fabbri's violin and the mandolin of Lucio Bardi, a respected guitarist discovered by Finardi who had already worked with Edoardo Bennato. The lyrics tell of the life on the road of itinerant workers: “From Salerno to Milan with a load of fruit, under the sun you've got to hurry, Giancarlo's driving and Mario's up in the bunk, up through a sweltering Italy, toward a market that's waiting for them. And in Emilia on the other lane, a ballroom orchestra heading back from Pavia, the singer's asleep leaning on the clarinet player, dreaming of her job: ladies and gentlemen, everybody on the dance floor! Da una festa all'altra sempre in pista”.

A recurring feature of these songs is the simplicity of their chord progressions, even though the instrumental flourishes of the excellent musicians make the performances quite intricate. The only exception here is the closing “Scimmia”, which features several major chords outside the key.

It's also the track usually singled out as the album's masterpiece, the author's own testimony about his time as a heroin addict, told with moving delicacy, insisting on the need to treat addicts with humanity and ending with words of encouragement for anyone trying to get clean: “And quitting isn't really that hard, it doesn't even hurt that much, all it takes is a bit of care and understanding, maybe a bit of methadone. E fuori c'è tutto un mondo da scoprire, sul quale si può intervenire. E se tieni duro sei mesi vedrai, che poi non ci ripenserai… quasi mai”. The last two words, spoken after a barely perceptible pause, come across as a warning not to let one's guard down, to avoid relapse. The instrumental backing develops in step with the intensity of the lyrics: a delicate electric piano for the uncertainty and euphoria of the first fix, a frantic jazz-rock passage for the cocky conviction of staying in control of the drug, a dissonant, distorted interlude for the withdrawal crisis, and a soaring violin theme to underline the hopeful note on which it ends.

It's the fitting close to an album steeped in humanism, belonging to an era now long gone, yet one that still feels warm and vibrant today, its ecumenical spirit, its will to stand with the weakest and its choice of kindness over violence all still very much to the fore.

“Diesel” was met with a triumphant reception, at least relative to the alternative, antagonistic scene it came from, reaching number 5 and staying on the charts for seven months: not only by far the best result in Cramps' history, it also remains the commercial peak of Finardi's career, who, despite later placing seven more albums in the top 20, would never again reach such heights.

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

01/10/2023