Teresa De Sio

Italy is a country that has always struggled to properly celebrate its great female artists. Looking at the giants of Italian song capable of spanning four decades or more of unscathed career, they are practically all men, with the sole exception of Mina. All the most representative female singers are tied to one specific era (Gabriella Ferri, Giuni Russo, Alice, Marcella Bella, Loredana Bertè, Patty Pravo), and once their golden age passed, at best they managed to spark a fleeting comeback. Gianna Nannini's 2006 relaunch was the only one to prove lasting (though one might well wonder whether it was really necessary). Beyond that, again with the sole exception of Mina, none of the names listed was ever, even at their peak, a dominant figure in the way that — we won't say Battisti — but not even Dalla or Baglioni were.

The same fate befell Teresa De Sio, one of the sharpest minds in Italian music. After selling more than half a million records over 1982-83 with the albums "Teresa De Sio" and "Tre", marked by that gorgeous blend of Neapolitan song and jazz-fusion sonorities, the artist decided to shake things up. Likely on the advice of Maria Laura Giulietti, music critic and her producer, De Sio scaled back the jazz component and embraced the icy textures of the then-new digital music, following the shrewd principle of never lingering too long in the same garden, not even when the results are particularly successful.

The bestsellers of 1982-83 were indeed dense with electronic keyboards, but strictly analogue ones (Rhodes, Prophet 5, OB8, CS80), and the only digital presence was the Linn drum machine, used with considerable restraint at that. The whole arsenal was overhauled for "Africana", bringing in the Dx7, the Ams, the Casio Cz-101, and no fewer than three drum machines. A nightmare for anyone who loathes the open, reverb-drenched sounds typical of new wave and Eighties pop-rock; a neutral fact for those who judge by how the tools are used rather than the tools themselves.

Undoubtedly, "Africana" has a much colder sonic palette than De Sio's previous albums, but her fondness for intricate arrangement and production details remains unchanged, as does the warmth of her vocal performances.

The result is a play of contrasts between the sterile digital textures and warmer elements (not just the voice, but also the incursions of acoustic instruments and leftover traces of her fusion excursions, placed exactly where they belong), which effectively adds yet another facet to the universe of a visionary artist. Venturing into territory outside one's natural habitat may seem risky, but it shows the good health of an inspiration that, had it refused to do so, would have been forced into a third consecutive album in the same style. A decidedly un-De Sio-like approach.

Unfortunately, the shift wasn't understood by the general public, and the record failed to break into the top 20, marking a decline in popularity from which there would be no turning back.

"Africana" is a record dense with moods, opening with a striking black-and-white cover in which a somewhat shamanic-looking De Sio poses in front of a music stand. It opens with "Scura", an atmospheric midtempo dominated by blanketing synthesizers, sudden piano touches, and trumpet and accordion solos (neither is credited in the booklet — it's possible the accordion is digitally reproduced, though that seems far less likely for the trumpet). The track is co-written with Gigi De Rienzo, one of the great Italian bassists of the era, whose full-bodied basslines had already defined much of the classic work of Edoardo Bennato and Pino Daniele (as well as Musicanova, alongside De Sio herself).

The most prolific co-writer is guitarist Francesco Bruno, who has a hand in no fewer than five tracks, starting with the sprightly pop-rock of "U.F.O.", its chorus marked by cutting synths, electronic mutterings and subtle dissonances. The more subdued "Mano e mano" is one of the vocal high points of the record, with De Sio's melismas dipping low, trembling with hints of ancient Moorish heritage, before climbing to seek out the diaphanous tones akin to Kate Bush.

De Sio and Bush share more than one similarity, starting with their look. Both fit within the aesthetic canons of the Eighties (think of their voluminous hairstyles), yet both sought to personalise them with an artistic, sophisticated touch, hinting at a romantic, cultured dimension behind the hairspray. Both reached the peak of their careers in the mid-Eighties, after years of steady growth. From that point on, both would turn their backs on easy success. A remarkable chronological coincidence.

The spiritual kinship between the two is also evident in the title track, both in its drumming rhythm and its ethnic-tinged choruses, which might invite comparisons to "Running Up That Hill" and "Cloudbusting" respectively. The track is co-written with keyboardist and programmer Ernesto Vitolo, another member of the Bennato-Daniele circle.

The pursuit of a complexity all her own is evident in every track — even in diametrically opposed ones like "Ma che bella cosa", whose ethereal layers, marked by fretless bass and jazzy piano, allow themselves the luxury of anticipating Battisti's revolutionary "Don Giovanni", and "Tamburo", an exercise in pop avant-garde with rhythm marked by electronic drums and hammer, keyboards firing off flashes of alien sound, chains of sampled voices, and a cacophonous saxophone solo played by Bob Fix, years earlier a member of the Neapolitan prog group Saint Just. He's also featured on the more romantic "Camminando sull'orlo dei mari".

Closing the record are two tracks co-written with Brian Eno. Having met entirely by chance in a recording studio, Eno was struck by De Sio's songs and offered to collaborate. "Sotto 'o cielo" is an impossible collision between a Neapolitan song and the more intimate sketches of "Before And After Science", while in "Veneno e vanno" the song form has by now completely dissolved, leaving only angelic keyboards and lost voices wandering through an indistinct space.

The friendship between the two would endure over time, leading to a second collaboration on "Sindarella Suite" in 1987.

Among other things, "Africana" had the distinction of containing, for the first time in De Sio's career, songs in Italian — half the tracklist, no less — whereas up to that point she had always favoured Neapolitan dialect. As much as her dialect carries an innate dose of poetry, De Sio proves herself a skilled writer in the national language too.

Many of the lyrics evoke distant images and spaces, as metaphors for hope, yet without closing their eyes to a present made of social injustice and poverty (themes inevitably deeply felt by a Neapolitan woman who loves her own culture).

To this day, Teresa De Sio continues undaunted on her own path, playing whatever suits her, while the general public is happy to applaud her at performances around folk music festivals, where she has become a local icon. A prestigious recognition in itself, but a limiting one for an artist who, at her peak, delivered technological pop albums, at once urban and cosmopolitan, among the most refined on the international scene – and of which only the wonderful "Voglia 'e turnà" is still remembered today. "Africana" would instead deserve, at least among fans of Italian music, a consideration similar to that which the British reserve for "Hounds Of Love" by the aforementioned Kate Bush, released that same year, 1985.

Walking along the edge of the seas, everyone stands with their lantern lit, eyes fixed on a distant planet, everyone already feels the weight of the moon.

("Camminando sull'orlo dei mari").

And she looks out in the morning, to see if the rain is coming, to see if the wind has carried off the washing, and if someone passes by looking for her.

("Sotto 'o cielo").

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11/11/2018