Ornella Vanoni

Sometimes all it takes is a simple idea to trigger unimaginable convergences, leading to synergies that go well beyond the (already high) caliber of those involved. It may not be the most revolutionary idea, and it might even seem sharply at odds with the context it emerges from, and yet, by roundabout means, it ends up being a one-of-a-kind achievement that, better than many contemporary projects, captures the moods, attitudes and imprint of an entire era. Granted, in a decade as magical for Italian music as the Seventies, similar ideas were hardly scarce, yet very little compares to what lies behind the conception and development of "La voglia la pazzia l'incoscienza l'allegria".

Born of a refined encounter between Italy and Brazil, bringing together the songwriting pedigree of the "Poetinha" Vinicius de Moraes and the subtle guitar work of his partner Toquinho at the court of Ornella Vanoni - already, by then, the reigning Lady of Italian song - the album is the magical piece that crowns a career already dotted with memorable successes and significant milestones, a showcase of expressiveness and interpretation that digs deep into a voice of a thousand nuances, perfectly at ease amid the ceaseless dynamism of emotion. And to think that history initially seemed intent on leaving her out of such a feast.

Sergio Bardotti, a leading figure in the history of Italian popular music thanks to a versatility that saw him write and produce for many of the biggest names on the Italian scene for over three decades, had originally had other singers in mind. Among the first in Italy to grasp the artistic value of the concept album, already working on productions that clearly pointed in that direction (he co-coordinated, alongside Roberto Dané, Fabrizio De André's "Non a denaro non all'amore né al cielo"), by 1976 he was more than ready to embark on a long-cherished dream that, until then, had been kept firmly under wraps.

Well-versed in Portuguese, to the point of translating masters of Brazilian song as far back as the Sixties and personally writing the lyrics for Chico Buarque's "Per un pugno di samba", he had long harbored the desire to adapt a select sampling of bossa nova classics into Italian, overseeing the translation of the lyrics and the overall direction. What was missing, in short, was the voice that could act as the project's vehicle, the figure who would breathe life into the scores - an experienced, weighty voice, endowed with the charisma and versatility needed to plumb the deep emotional undertones of a genre whose true cornerstone is saudade.

The names under consideration were wildly varied: there was talk of Mina, a true chameleon but ultimately too emphatic to convincingly inhabit a genre so dense with subtlety; then Anna Identici was considered, having in recent years moved away from the lightness of her early work to embrace popular music and a more engaged social commitment. Eventually the name of Ornella Vanoni came up - an artist who, even in recent times, had shown she could move fluently within the idioms of a Nara Leão or a Maria Bethania (the 1973 bestseller "Dettagli" opens with its title track, an exquisitely delicate Italian adaptation of Roberto Carlos's "Detalhes"), and with whom Bardotti himself had already collaborated (he produced "A un certo punto…", the inaugural release on Vanilla, the singer's own label) - yet even here there were several second thoughts and refusals, as if the very idea of such an album provoked sheer panic.

Backed by an independence and decision-making power that did nothing to dent the popularity or provocative force of her image, the singer threw herself into the project with genuine enthusiasm, taking the time to get to know the other two points of a triangle that, once complete, would prove nothing short of electric.

When discussing "La voglia la pazzia…", mention is always made of the speed of the sessions, of live-take recordings that leave almost no gap between one track and the next, as if they were coherent parts of a progressive suite. Without the four months of exchanges, conversations, visits and mutual favors, the synergy between Vanoni, de Moraes and Toquinho would undoubtedly not have been the same, and the result would have come across as far colder, more muted. Of course, the incentive for such a long stretch of time spent with those who were already old friends of Bardotti (they had worked together back in '69 on the landmark "La vita, amico, è l'arte dell'incontro", which saw none other than Giuseppe Ungaretti and the Brazilian author collaborate on lyrics entrusted to the voice of Sergio Endrigo) also found support in Brazil's difficult political situation, which had long been distinctly unwelcoming toward critical voices, prompting frequent trips abroad. It was precisely in this way that the deeper understanding, the necessary rapport - always recalled with great affection by Vanoni herself - took hold, that the interplay of glances and cues grew and flourished, leading to the effortless, streamlined development of an album built with astonishing naturalness.

A nimble collection of songs drawn from the already vast bossa nova songbook, not necessarily limited to pieces penned by de Moraes himself - though he did help develop and spread the genre worldwide (the first recordings of the style, credited to him and Antônio Carlos Jobim, appear on Elizete Cardoso's landmark "Canção do amor demais") - the record traces a path that embraces passion, wistfulness, playfulness and fleeting literary touches all in one sweep, with a delicacy and sparkle that the three artists, together with the handful of supporting musicians (Azeitona on bass and Mutinho on rhythm), develop with extraordinary intimacy, as if it were a spontaneous get-together, an evening spent among trusted friends.

It's also for this reason that the arrangements by Gianfranco Bardotti (under whose hand passed all the greats of the Seventies and Eighties), added at a later stage along with the choral parts, prove so respectful of the winning rapport between the three principal performers, framing their pas de trois in a tender embrace free of ornamental flourishes or ill-timed sonic flights of fancy. The spotlight, however suitably dimmed, remains firmly trained on where the action unfolds: there's no escaping it.

Why run away, after all? “Senza paura” itself invites us, with its blend of playful whim and nostalgia, to embrace the courage that defined us as children, to stop fearing a future that will, in any case, keep slipping through our fingers. It's an opening track that plays like a painting: Vanoni and Toquinho render the studied verbosity of the verses as light as a nursery rhyme, while Toquinho's guitar moves nimbly, delighted, like a charm suspended in mid-air — rigor and finesse from one of the genre's greatest guitarists. Here the production work heightens the pair's sophisticated expressive search, their dance folded into a vibrant call-and-response, further refining away any trace of melancholy. It's an exemplary opener for the album, which nonetheless turns the page entirely by the second track, framing one of Vanoni's most admirable performances.

A brief opening of woodwinds, a few plucked strings, and “tutto il piacere, tutto il martirio di una passione immensa” instantly plunges every ease into the most complete surrender, the regret of a love withered, torn like the petals of a shredded rose. Vanoni's jazz backing, her voice full of that subtlety that seeps into words and their meaning, are the perfect vehicle for a lyricism that has found some of its most cherished themes in surrender and regret.

“Samba in preludio”, among the most famous songs recorded by the Poetinha (worth recalling the version recorded by Maria Creuza), is yet another demonstration of a performer who perfectly captures the tension humming beneath a message, reading the love and the doubts it can unleash — a lament to the Moon built on de Moraes' weighty verses, translated by a Bardotti who brings out the universal simplicity of a separation not yet finalized, yet fully possible.

If “Samba della rosa” takes on the desolation of “La rosa sfogliata” and transforms it into a compelling ostinato of feminine references and symbols, “La voglia la pazzia” — the disc's undeniable hit — overflows with vibrant carioca energy, the brio of Rio de Janeiro condensed into a joyful attempt to freeze a moment, an instant of pure joy, before any hesitation can ruin its beauty. Only then can one confidently recite:

At this point

Goodnight to uncertainty

To troubles, to bitterness

I feel carnival entering me.

And I feel the urge, the madness growing

The recklessness and the joy

Of dying of love together with you

Less concerned with pop communication, but compensating with far greater poetic depth thanks to de Moraes' spoken interludes, skillfully woven in and out of the various tracks, side B serves as a testing ground for bolder pas de deux, guitar caresses, passages of dazzling narrative force, unfurled in a steady progression. Almost prophetic, the opening of “Semaforo rosso” speaks perfectly of human relationships fraying under the weight of countless commitments and “Scusami la fretta, è la legge di tutti gli affari…”, a chorus barely uttered underlines a farewell that feels more like a goodbye for good, a sort of Antonioni's “Eclisse” translated into music. And it's here that absence takes pride of place, running through poems and songs with a thread of heartfelt despair, tempered only by a faint hope.

Physical absences, absences of feeling, semblances of absence: the Brazilian poet's world emerges here in all its passionate clarity, forcing slowdowns (the nighttime swells of “Lo so che ti amerò”) to give weight to every single word, building stages on which lovers can speak to each other like ghosts separated by the ocean. French echoes in “Un altro addio” frame another tormented dance between Vanoni and Toquinho, an actual dance made of thoughts unable to express themselves together, a love lived in absence, in daily needs to be met, before the night blows out the fire of desire (“L'amore è un'agonia, vien di notte e poi va via, è un'allegria e poi un pianto e poi soltanto nostalgia”).

Making room for tears and regret, “Samba per Vinicius”, written years earlier by Toquinho together with Chico Buarque, closes the album with heartfelt gratitude for the “poeta, mio poeta vagabondo”, once again affirming the debt owed to a pivotal figure of Brazilian culture. In this same spirit, the album's true outlier, the Salve d'Esposito and Tito Manlio classic “Anema e core”, reimagined here as “Samba di Napoli”, bears witness — in the guise of a fleeting dedication (and a profound blending of Italy and Brazil) — to the great weight and legacy of Vinicius de Moraes, honored with yet another tribute by his own companions in adventure.

The first real step in a relationship with Brazil that would last for years to come, “La voglia la pazzia l'incoscienza l'allegria” remains a fundamental turning point in the Lady of Italian song's long artistic journey, proof of vocal gifts capable of pinning down, with the utmost ease, the whys and hows of feeling. Not that earlier years hadn't already offered ample evidence of such skill, yet here, in these thirty-odd minutes, the demonstration leaves no doubt whatsoever. Ornella, thank you, saravá!

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24/07/2022