Giorgio Gaber

It's 1970 when Giorgio Gaber releases “Il Signor G,” a double LP drawn from his theatrical tournée that would continue throughout the two-year span of '70-'71. It's a landmark album, not only because it effectively marks the birth of the “theatre-song” format that Gaber himself founded together with his friend Luperini, but because it contains the first seeds of the critical thinking that the great Milanese singer-songwriter would go on to express from that point forward, with a deep awareness that persisted right up to his final days. It's the harsh critique of that petit-bourgeois world against which he would hurl himself with ever-growing force from here on. A ruthless, remarkably lucid analysis, delivered with great irony and inspiration, finding its fullest expression precisely in the alternation of songs and monologues — theatre-song, indeed.

The album, one of the first Italian concept records, tells in a farcical key the story of G, Gaber's alter ego, who soon finds himself grappling with the issues arising from class struggle and (non-)belonging to the petit-bourgeois world. It's a sharp snapshot of Italy at that time, a country emerging from the years of the economic boom yet still, at the same time, a young and immature republic, as the Years of Lead would soon go on to prove. The tracklist, as in all of Gaber's subsequent works, is made up of sung parts, which ease the tension, and monologues — in some cases outright invectives — with results that are both surprising and thoroughly innovative for the time.

The opening track, “Prologo: Suona chitarra,” could be described as an ironic hymn to “weapons of mass distraction.” Gaber theorizes the need to play the jester in order to confuse people's minds and prolong collective oblivion: “Devo fare per forza il pagliaccio/ Devo solo fare divertire/ Suona chitarra, falli divertire/ Non farli mai pensare.”

What follows is the true beginning of the concept, namely “Prima ricorrenza: il signor G nasce,” which ideally opens the story in room no. 132, where the baby is swaddled and passed from hand to hand (“quanti volti emozionati, quanta gente che mi afferra”), already showing signs of impatience with the banalities and flatteries of those around him: “'Sarà un uomo assai importante, forte, bello, intelligente'/ Ma sta calmo, che magari poi divento un deficiente!” And again: “Avrei voglia di reagire ma per ora ho troppo sonno.” Already, then, the sense of a merciless critique of the hypocrisy and falseness of bourgeois society, ever ready to judge and pass sentence, begins to emerge.

As he grows up, a process of comparison and social positioning begins. The parallel drawn between two children of different social backgrounds in “Giuoco di Bambini: io mi chiamo G” is both pitiless and hilarious, with Gaber's satire laying bare the class conflict that was at the heart of the political debate of the time: “a) Il mio papà ha tre lauree e parla perfettamente cinque lingue/ b) Il mio papà ha fatto la terza elementare e parla in dialetto, ma poco perché tartaglia/ a) Io sono figlio unico e vivo in una grande casa con diciotto locali spaziosi/ b) Io vivo in una casa piccola, praticamente un locale, però c'ho diciotto fratelli…”

But Gaber's sharp, lucid gaze also finds its way into a bedroom, addressing, in the tender ballad “Una storia normale: il Signor G e l'amore,” the gradual dying out of passion, the creeping in of routine within a couple, the breakdown of communication (“da tempo non parliamo quasi più”), and thus “il tradimento piccolo-borghese, la falsità, la commedia, la meschinità.” Even on a subject as overworked as love, the Milanese singer-songwriter manages to find words of fierce clarity, thanks to an interpretive key that surely demanded great courage alongside a profound process of social analysis.

The protagonist finds himself trapped in the workings of a society that revolves around him in a vacuous, idle way: “Signora Marchesa, latte o limone?/ Son quasi le cinque, è l'ora del tè,” quips “Il Signor G dalla parte di chi,” where the dialogue with the chorus makes the contrast jarring with the aspirations to freedom and revolution of the new generations and movements, who “solo per il fatto che sono giovani, hanno ragione per forza.” But Mr. G, by now withdrawn into his own physical, individual dimension, also wonders: “Me ne importa poi tanto di queste cose?/ … per la mia vita/ come fatto fisico, avrei voglia di prender su la famiglia, di andarmene un po' in campagna.”

Disgust toward the bourgeoisie and its squalid rituals resurfaces, however, in the wonderful tango “L'orgia, ore 22 secondo canale,” where the protagonist is portrayed bored, “in disparte, per rappresaglia,” amid that gathering of nudity, while everyone's attention is captured instead by a love film on the second channel, sparking the hilarious closing exchange: “A me piace perché alla fine i due si sposano/ Ah sì, anch'io sono per il lieto fine/ mica come quei film moderni che non si capisce assolutamente niente/ in fondo sono un sentimentale/ Scusi tanto, non ha mica visto le mie mutande?”

In this alienating context, even the metropolis becomes a trap, its frustrating frenzy devouring people ever faster through exasperating, inhuman rhythms: that's the theme of the evocative “Com'è bella la città,” underscored by a well-crafted variation on the song's metronomic rhythm. The only solution, then, seems to be seeking refuge and comfort in nature, but in the following, more melancholic and introspective “Il Signor G incontra un albero,” the impossible dialogue with the tree only sharpens the protagonist's sense of desolation and resignation.

The couple's relationship again takes center stage in the lively “Vola vola: Il Signor G e le stagioni,” while “Preghiera” is a bitter plea on behalf of the more disadvantaged social classes, overlooked in favor of the “good” and the “winners”: it's the losers, the bad ones, even the violent, “che non sanno come difendersi in questo nostro mondo,” who are championed here.

There's a deep inner conflict in the crescendo of “Io credo: autoritratto di G,” torn between faith in love and goodness and the swift denials the world keeps handing us. Sarcastically, G describes himself as a self-made man with no enemies, God-fearing (“credo alla Santa Provvidenza”) and pleased with himself: “Son sempre stato un uomo moderato/ che sa trovare il buono dov'è/ non ho nemici e sono rispettato/ mi son fatto tutto da me. Ho una posizione, penso anche al domani/ nella mia vita ho sempre lavorato/ sono abbastanza contento di me.”

After “Maria Giovanna,” which effectively serves as a hymn to love, even in the distortions society inflicts upon it, the album closes with G's death in “Seconda Ricorrenza: il signor G muore,” which picks up the episode of G's birth, returning to the fateful room no. 132, and unleashing one last, bitter critique of the hypocrisies that don't even cease after death. From the initial pastiche of platitudes (“Sì il cuore, come il suo povero papà / Sembra che dorma… no, non ha sofferto, non se n'è neanche accorto!”) all the way to the funeral procession with “questo spreco di lumini, questo coro di bambini/ e quei preti mascherati chissà quanto son costati.” And in this final parade of relatives, friends and plain opportunists (“c'è anche quello con gli occhiali che sta lì tutto sudato/ l'avrò visto due o tre volte dal quel giorno che son nato”), the fateful will is read out, bearing only one mocking line: “G. saluta la sua gente/ s'è mangiato tutti i soldi, non vi lascia proprio niente.” A track that stands out musically too, built around a cheerful, brisk march that plays as a counterpoint to the plot.

Ultimately, “Il Signor G” stands as a work of unquestionable value on two counts. On one hand, it levels a harsh, penetrating critique at the worst side of the Italian bourgeoisie and its monstrosities (much as Pier Paolo Pasolini was doing in that same period, in literature and journalism). On the other, from a purely artistic standpoint, Gaber creates a new form of communication that would, from here on, effectively give voice to the very critical discourse mentioned above, blending it seamlessly with the substance of his ideas and achieving excellent results despite the unusual format — after all, this is still the recording of a stage show.

"Il Signor G" thus represents a first, thrilling plunge into Gaber's universe, rich with food for thought and driven by a profound analysis of the individual and of the society in which they find themselves living and, often, fighting.

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05/02/2012