PFM

At the 1971 "Mostra dello strumento" there was a Moog prototype, the second one ever made, because up until then the only one belonged to Keith Emerson, who had received it from Mr. Moog himself. We were awestruck. "How much does it cost?" I asked. It cost an absolute fortune. And an absolute fortune was exactly what we didn't have. So I said: "Look, I think this instrument could really be a turning point for Italian music. Give it to us and you'll sell at least ten more." So the owner gave us the Moog. We used its sound to record "Impressioni di Settembre". The record came out and it was a massive hit.

(Franz Di Cioccio)

The story of classic Italian prog's golden era unfolds entirely within the 1970s, and especially in the first half of the decade, with 1972 standing out as the year of the great explosion and full maturity. It's the year in which British progressive rock gets absorbed, reworked and transformed into that Mediterranean version so typical of our sound, in an unprecedented, ever-blossoming flow of new sounds and new ideas unlike anything Italy had seen before.

1970 and 1971 had already given birth to some major LPs (the debut, self-titled album by Trip, "Syrio 2222" by Balletto di Bronzo in 1970, "Collage" by Orme, "Concerto Grosso" by New Trolls, "L'uomo" by Osanna, "Caronte" by Trip in 1971), but it's 1972 that stands as the year the genre's first great masterpieces were released. To name just a few: the debut by Banco and its follow-up "Darwin!", the debut of Alan Sorrenti with "Aria", "Uomo di pezza" by Orme, "Ys" by Balletto di Bronzo, the gem "Per un mondo di cristallo" by Raccomandata con ricevuta di ritorno, and the soundtrack to "Milano calibro 9" by Osanna.

1972 — what we might call the year Italian progressive rock came of age — is nonetheless indelibly marked by two albums released by one emerging band, PFM. The story of Premiata Forneria Marconi holds a central, undisputed place within the wider history of Italian prog. Alongside Banco, Area, Osanna, Orme and New Trolls, they were certainly one of the bands that, starting from the dominant influence of British prog-rock, reached such lasting heights as to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Anglophone giants.

Formed as a beat group, the now largely forgotten I Quelli evolved, after the original band's split, into Krel and PFM. Following that split — with the departure of Alberto Radius, who joined Formula Tre, a change of label (from Ricordi to Numero Uno, the label run by Lucio Battisti and Mogol), and above all the arrival of multi-instrumentalist Mauro Pagani, coming from Dalton — all the conditions were in place for a radical turning point.

The band is made up of Franco Mussida (guitar and vocals), Mauro Pagani (flute, violin, vocals), Giorgio Piazza (bass), Flavio Premoli (organ, piano, mellotron, moog, vocals) and Franz Di Cioccio (drums) — all musicians with technical abilities decidedly above the average of their beat-scene contemporaries. Fascinated by the new British progressive LPs that were by then winning wide acclaim in Italy too, they decide to draw inspiration in particular from King Crimson, Genesis, Yes and Elp. Their brand of progressive sets itself apart from that of Italy's other major bands. All hints of social or political concern disappear entirely (Banco and Area), there's no youthful rage (Biglietto per l'inferno), no anti-militarist references (Campo di Marte), and a total abandonment of any tie to the beat world. Their perfect alchemy is an intimate, reflective progressive sound that has no wish to be descriptive or explicit in its lyrics, but rather enigmatic and introverted, rich in unspoken or half-hidden thoughts. It is, in a sense, an expressionist strand of Italian prog, detached from reality, seeking emotion through abstract images and metaphors instead. 1972 is their great year, with no fewer than two LPs of immense worth, destined to become two giants of Italian progressive discography. The first is "Storia di un minuto", followed shortly after by "Per un amico", a less celebrated album but of equal value.

"Storia di un minuto" stands out immediately for the band's professionalism and technical skill, and for the originality of its songs. Even though the nods to British prog are plain to hear, PFM's sound — with its ever-frail, alienated vocals — sketches out a world apart from the Italian and European progressive scene. Mussida and Pagani write all the songs, while Mogol collaborates on the lyrics for "Impressioni di Settembre". That collaboration proves decisive in making it their first masterpiece.

Mogol's lyrics depict an autumnal landscape all too familiar to anyone who knows the fog and atmospheres of the Po Valley. A sad, grey, misty landscape anxiously awaiting the arrival of the sun — a metaphor for the state of mind of a lonely man on a difficult quest to find himself, waiting, just like the landscape, for daybreak so he can find himself again.

It's the first Italian song to feature the moog, and for several reasons it stands as the band's manifesto: the fog as a metaphor for a solitary, anguished soul is typical of the band's cryptic expressiveness. Everything feels bleak; one gets the impression that autumn is not merely a season but an inescapable condition of the human state, and of all living things. The only positive element, however fleeting, is the protagonist's capacity for thought — a faint, temporary thought that might vanish into nothing, unremembered by anyone. The only hope seems to lie in the new day to come, which, however, can do nothing but replay — like an endless loop — the very same reflections.

After so much introspection, the mood is lightened by the playful "È Festa", a technical showcase for Premoli that would go on to win great admiration from Peter Gabriel and Greg Lake. This sort of progressive celebration blends classical music, folk-like refrains, a structure bordering on hard rock, Emerson-esque virtuosity, constant time changes, and instruments such as violin, piccolo and harpsichord. "Dove... Quando...", split into two parts, is the song most reminiscent of early King Crimson, both in its mellotron and flute sounds. Inspired by Renaissance music, it's an enigmatic love song, slow and poetic, whose second half features striking piano solos with a much more pronounced Emerson-esque flavour.

"La Carrozza di Hans" is one of PFM's most significant tracks (it won first prize at the 1971 Viareggio Festival of Avant-Garde and New Trends), a small masterpiece of balance between arpeggios, flutes, classical elements, and a shifting structure that veers now toward Crimson, now closer to Genesis. The album closes with the joyous "Grazie Davvero", another typically progressive track, but this time so markedly upbeat that it comes across as a majestic hymn to life.

"Storia di un minuto" is the album that proves Italian progressive rock has finally come of age to challenge the British giants. So much so that, just a few months later, PFM would manage to match that level again (and even surpass it in some respects) with the gorgeous "Per un amico". 

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17/02/2019