Fausto Amodei, una chitarra non illibata ma innamorata

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di Enrico de Angelis – blogfoolk.com

Aveva intitolato uno dei suoi dischi, nel 1965, “Canzoni didascaliche”. Uno di quei “Dischi del Sole” che sembravano dei 45 giri extended play e invece erano dei 33 in piccolo formato. Che modestia, che fair play, che autoironia. Certo, le canzoni di Fausto Amodei erano anche didascaliche, anzi quello fu un approccio stupefacente allo strumento della canzone, che forse è rimasto esclusivo suo. Basti citare Il tarlo, che partendo da un’aria della “Carmen” di Bizet era, in forma di deliziosa favoletta, sempre col sorriso sulle labbra, “una perfetta divulgazione del ‘Capitale’ di Marx”, così scrisse Umberto Eco; con puntualizzazioni persino tecniche intorno al sistema economico. O altre centrate quasi maniacalmente sugli aspetti finanziari della società: “Ero un consumatore”, “Uomini e soldi”, “Ninna nanna del capitale”, “II prezzo del mondo”. Immaginate come si possano cantare allegramente – e lui ci riusciva – concetti come l’inflazione, l’aumento dei prezzi, il consumismo, le speculazioni, i meccanismi di formazione della ricchezza, le fughe di capitali all’estero, le frodi commerciali, l’uomo valutato «non per quello che sa fare ma per quello che possiede», la concezione del plus-valore come «maltolto». Ma Fausto Amodei era anche ben altro. Era il contagio di un’indignazione popolare e l’inquietudine esistenziale, la satira esilarante e la puntigliosità del cesellare nei dettagli, da architetto, parole e melodie; e altro ancora. Quello che si dice un poeta. Se n’è andato a 91 anni, in un attimo, all’improvviso, ancora nella vitalità di un’esistenza certo placata ma ancora attiva e vigile. Con la sua barbetta e l’aria perenne di uno gnomo della foresta, pignolo e sornione, la voce incerta e petulante, apparentemente freddo e imperturbabile, è stato il grillo parlante della nostra canzone, praticamente il primo cantautore “politico” italiano dell’era

moderna, essendo stato tra i fondatori a Torino di quel movimento Cantacronache, a fine anni ’50, che per la prima volta innestò la canzone in un filone tematico strettamente connesso a concrete situazioni sociali, civili e appunto politiche. Quando i Cantacronache stampano il primo disco, addirittura un 78 giri che dire in edizione limitata è un eufemismo, diffuso con un altoparlante da un furgone durante la manifestazione della Cgil il 1° maggio 1958 a Torino, se una delle tre canzoni incise è “Dove vola l’avvoltoio” di Italo Calvino cantata in coro, le altre due sono interpretate proprio da Fausto: “La gelida manina o della coscienza politica”, che lui musica su testo di Guido De Maria, e “Viva la pace” di Michele Straniero e Sergio Liberovici. Il pacifismo fu un altro suo tema prediletto, si pensi anche al canto che contrassegnò la famosa prima marcia della pace Perugia-Assisi, il 24 settembre 1961, improvvisata sul momento da lui e Franco Fortini. Ma succede anche, inopinatamente, che fin dal ’59 una delle canzoni musicate da Amodei (su testo di Michele Straniero) raggiunge nientemeno che un’importante casa discografica e una sua promettente cantante, Ornella Vanoni, che tra le sue cosiddette “canzoni della mala” include, su uno dei primissimi dischi etichettati Ricordi, “La zolfara”, ispirata alla morte di 8 minatori in una solfatara siciliana. Da lì in avanti le canzoni di Amodei “cantautore” a tutti gli effetti – testi e musiche – non si contano. Una di esse diviene uno dei rari esempi di “canzone d’autore” entrata nel patrimonio popolare orale dei nostri tempi, ed è naturalmente quel grande canto di rivolta che è “Per i morti di Reggio Emilia”, originato dai luttuosi tumulti del 1960 contro il governo Tambroni appoggiato dall’estrema destra, tumulti che a Reggio lasciano sulla piazza 5 manifestanti.

Amodei lo scrive nell’immediatezza dei fatti, mentre è in servizio militare, sull’onda dell’emozione, ma anche… del terrore di dover essere da un momento all’altro comandato a far servizio di ordine pubblico col fucile in mano. È comunque una composizione anomala rispetto alla sua produzione. Non si pensi a lui come a un barricadero focoso e irruente. Amodei è il padre della moderna canzone satirica in Italia, implacabile fustigatore di costumi ma divertendo, sull’evidente e dichiarato modello Georges Brassens, e, di conseguenza, anche di quel jazz manouche alla Django Reinhardt che spesso accompagnava Brassens e altri francesi. Come in Brassens, le sue linee melodiche sembrano semplici e sono complicate, e con una versificazione tanto precisa e sottile da sembrare ossessiva, nel lessico, nei ritmi, nelle rime. Musicalmente coltissimo, ha sempre dichiarato di essersi abbeverato a moltissime fonti: non solo Brassens ma tutta la canzone francese fin dal primo ‘900 (Béranger, Aristide Bruant, Pierre Mac Orlan, Prévert-Kosma, Vian), il kabarett tedesco (Tucholsky, Brecht e i suoi musicisti), il canto yiddish, la tradizione irlandese e i suoi derivati, compresi i canti western, e i grandi folksinger americani come Woody Guthrie e Pete Seeger, o inglesi come Ewan McColl. E ha inoltre dichiarato di aver studiato, “di casa nostra”, il repertorio popolare, la ballata epico-lirica, il canto anarchico, la canzone napoletana classica, persino i cori di montagna. Ma pure il suo spettro tematico è ampio. Capolavori di afflato esistenziale sono ad esempio “Qualcosa da aspettare”, cantata anche da Jannacci, o “Questo mio amore”, canzone-simbolo di quella compenetrazione pubblico-privato che abbiamo vagheggiato per tanto tempo. “Metacanzone” è “Il ratto della chitarra” (ripresa da Daniele Silvestri), un pezzo possiamo dire autobiografico con cui Amodei racconta ironicamente il suo stesso disagio di cantautore alle prese con l’industria dell’intrattenimento, soprattutto televisiva. “Il censore” fu ispirata dal caso clamoroso della

“Zanzara”, il giornalino studentesco di Milano perseguito con una umiliante inchiesta giudiziaria perché aveva svolto un’inchiesta sulla sessualità fra i giovani (per la cronaca, il tribunale poi mandò assolti gli studenti, e il procuratore che li aveva accusati venne a sua volta indagato per collusioni con la mafia e sospeso dalla magistratura). Forse non si sa abbastanza che persino uno dei cavalli di battaglia del cabaret più surreale, lanciato in tv da Monica Vitti, è in buona parte suo: “I crauti”, scritta da un un gruppo di intellettuali buontemponi e buongustai di Torino (giornalisti, pittori, avvocati), tra cui anche Piero Angela (Francesco Guccini l’ha poi trasformata in “I fichi”, si vede che gli piacevano di più). E per tornare ai temi più politici, come non vedere, ahimè, l’attualità del nostro momento storico in “Non è finita a piazza Loreto?”. Peraltro Amodei ha imbottito la sua discografia anche di canzoni non sue, dunque lasciando un segno anche come interprete, sia alla voce che alla chitarra, e particolarmente nella riproposta del grande patrimonio di musica popolare che proprio Cantacronache prima e I Dischi del Sole dopo stavano riscoprendo e valorizzando. Cioè, tanto per dire, è anche dalla voce di Fausto che abbiamo potuto ritrovare documentate cose come “Trenta giorni di nave a vapore”, “Addio a Lugano”, “O Gorizia tu sia maledetta”, “La Comune di Parigi”, o altre della tradizione dialettale come “Jolicoeur”, “Baron Litron”, “Mia mama veul ch’i fila”… Non solo: Amodei recupera in un disco alcune canzoni di quello che reputava il nostro Brassens: l’avvocato astigiano Angelo Brofferio, personaggio del Risorgimento piemontese, illuminato ed anticlericale, giornalista, scrittore, uomo di teatro, nonché autore in dialetto di poesie e canzoni, musiche comprese, per lo più di satira politica, un po’ come il predecessore Ignazio Isler, abate settecentesco pure lui autore di canzoni piuttosto profane, attentamente studiato ed emulato dalnostro Fausto.

Ma ad accomunare Brofferio allo stesso Amodei c’è anche qualcosa d’altro: il primo fu deputato della sinistra garibaldina al Parlamento Subalpino, fiero avversario di Cavour, sostenitore della democrazia; il nostro Fausto è stato negli anni ’60 deputato nelle file del PSIUP, e come per il suo modello ottocentesco non fu propriamente soddisfatto dell’esperienza, se la cantò polemicamente in una canzone, Il Parlamento, che non incise ma lasciò cantare a Leoncarlo Settimelli. Ora, non è un mistero che importanti cantautori taliani abbiamo riconosciuto il proprio debito nel repertorio dei Cantacronache e Amodei in particolare. Ecco una dichiarazione testuale di Francesco Guccini: “Fu dopo aver sentito i Cantacronache che cominciai a sforzarmi di comporre in maniera diversa. Questa gente mi è stata maestra. Penso in particolare a Fausto Amodei”. Al Club Tenco, quello presieduto dall’indimenticabile Amilcare Rambaldi, gli assegnammo uno dei primi Premi Tenco alla carriera, già nel 1975. Non poté essere presente subito, ma arrivò l’anno dopo, quando, incredibilmente, il “Tenco”, unica volta nella sua storia, passò in tv in diretta e in prima serata, comprese le inaudite canzoni politiche di Fausto Amodei! Ma Fausto non si fece notare solo sul palco, fu anche uno dei protagonisti del cosiddetto “dopoTenco”, ovvero delle cene seguite allo spettacolo, quando artisti e altri addetti ai lavori passano la notte a cantare insieme. Certosino versificatore qual è, Amodei seppe gareggiare a lungo nientemeno che con Francesco Guccini e Roberto Benigni nelle famose improvvisazioni di tradizione popolare in ottava rima. Conservo preziose registrazioni di quelle straordinarie sfide a tre. Amodei era reduce allora dall’album “L’ultima crociata”, che per la cronaca era

quella per il divorzio; da lì scattò ben un trentennio di silenzio discografico; ma evidentemente Fausto aveva ancora molte cose da dire contro chi detiene le leve delle nostre esistenze, tanto che nel 2005 se ne esce con un cd dal titolo sarcasticamente chiaro e tondo: “Per fortuna c’è il Cavaliere”. Ma non ce l’ha solo con lui, no: anche con i comunisti voltagabbana, con Bush quanto con Saddam, con i potenti corrotti di ogni parte politica, con la televisione, e così via. A pubblicarlo è Valter Colle per la sua etichetta Nota, e Valter sarà fino alla fine il suo affettuoso complice culturale e operativo. Nel luglio 2008, per esempio, lo porta a una grande serata di celebrazione dei 50 anni di Cantacronache a Cividale del Friuli, nell’ambito del Mittelfest allora diretto da Moni Ovadia. Poiché Valter mi chiamò a collaborare alla direzione artistica, pensai di invitare alcuni artisti di generazioni attuali a rappropriarsi di quel repertorio “vecchio” di mezzo secolo. La modernità di Amodei riesplose senza discussione quando, sull’indimenticabile palco allestito ai piedi della pietrosa Cava di Tarpezzo, vidi Caparezza interpretare “Il censore”, Frankie Hi nrg “Le cose vietate”, Alessio Lega “Il ratto della chitarra”, i Kosovni Odpadki “Ero un consumatore”, e l’incredibile ensemble Banda Osiris-Yo Yo Mundi-Moni Ovadia fare “Il tarlo” (che poi, lo stesso anno, Ovadia tornò a cantare al Premio Tenco). Per non parlare, in quella stessa occasione, di Giovanna Marini in Uomini e soldi o Gualtiero Bertelli nei “Morti di Reggio Emilia”. Non fu l’unica occasione, in quel 2008, che il Club Tenco tornò a incrociare Fausto Amodei. Il quale accettò di arrivare a Roma per cantare a una rassegna di canzone d’autore che curavo nel benemerito locale The Place, e fu poi presente a Sanremo per il “Tenco” di quell’anno, perché anche a Sanremo celebravamo il cinquantenario di Cantacronache, che combinammo con un omaggio all’appena scomparso Franco Lucà, anima del

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leggendario FolkClub di Torino. Due eccellenti motivi per avere Fausto tra noi, a cui se ne aggiungeva un terzo, la presentazione del libro di Margherita Zorzi “Fausto Amodei, canzoni di satira e di rivolta” per le edizioni Zona. E proprio in occasione dell’uscita di questo libro, l’anno dopo ospitammo Amodei per un’intera giornata a lui dedicata nella mia città, Verona, e fu facile intitolarla “AmoDay”. Lo volli ancora a Verona nel 2012, in collaborazione con il Movimento Nonviolento, per un incontro pubblico con lui, nel teatro comunale Camploy, stavolta col titolo “E se la patria chiama…” Lui sempre affabile, generoso, ironico e autoironico. Un pizzico di Amodei rispuntò poi al Club Tenco nel 2015, con una chicca. Avevamo ideato una manifestazione collaterale, in quel caso sul tema dell’eros in canzone, col titolo “Pazze idee”, inserendo anche letture di testi di canzoni. Facendo ricerche presso quello che allora era il Crel di Torino (Centro Regionale Etnografico Linguistico, fondato proprio da Franco Lucà), avevo scovato una canzone di Amodei registrata in un suo live ma mai uscita su disco: “La diva”, storia di una ragazza piuttosto spregiudicata nell’approcciare il mondo dello spettacolo. Era giusta per il nostro tema e la svelammo al pubblico affidandola alla recitazione di Daria Anfelli e Massimiliano Antonelli. Nel 2021 arriva una sorpresa che finalmente appaga i “fans” (chiamiamoli così). Si era sempre saputo che Amodei non solo si era ispirato a Brassens, ma l’aveva anche tradotto, e finanche in piemontese, e giravano a questo proposito registrazioni più o meno clandestine. Ma mai un documento pubblico aveva ufficialmente sollevato il velo su questa ghiottoneria. Soltanto un pezzo, “Le tristezze di una donnina allegra”, era apparso in un album del ’73, rivelandosi subito come una chiara trasposizione, per ammissione dello stesso autore, di “La complainte des filles de joie”, ma non accreditata all’autore originale, chissà perché (problemi di diritti editoriali? pudore? caspita, non farò più in tempo a chiederglielo). Inoltre, alcune sue traduzioni erano state ospitate, su carta, in un paio di libri di Nanni

Svampa, suo omologo in questo tipo di operazione. È naturalmente Valter Colle a pubblicare finalmente su disco le sue versioni di Brassens, in registrazioni risalenti al 1990: 15 in piemontese e 7 in italiano. Operazione rinforzata nel 2023, sulla soglia dei suoi 90 anni, da un cd di altre traduzioni da Brassens, sempre per Nota, eseguite stavolta dal bravo Carlo Pestelli, concittadino e amico di Fausto. Anche come traduttore Fausto si conferma magistrale, linguisticamente e ritmicamente. E non solo dal francese: pochi sanno, ad esempio, che per un lavoro teatrale dedicato al vaudeville americano dalla bravissima e compianta Raffaella De Vita (napoletana trapiantata a Torino), a tempi di one-step, blues e boogie, Amodei curò – credo unico – le versioni in italiano di brani dal repertorio di mostri sacri del “pre-musical” come Al Jolson, Sophie Tucker, Jimmy Durante, Mae West e persino Bessie Smith. Ma le sorprese non erano finite. Fausto mi aveva parlato più volte di una sua creazione un po’ anomala, che gli stava molto a cuore: non canzoni ma una unitaria cantata per 4 voci e 6 strumenti, che aveva scritto ispirandosi al “Diario di trent’anni 1913-1943” di Camilla Ravera, cronistoria di una vita dedicata da protagonista alla genesi del Partito Comunista, sofferenze comprese come il confino impostole dal regime fascista. Ma sembrava difficile che qualcuno riuscisse ad allestirla, finché compare il demiurgo della situazione, e chi se non Giovanna Marini, che la concerta, la adatta e la dirige. Debutta a Roma il 21 giugno 2021 e Valter Colle la fissa su disco, immagino raggiante per dar voce in un sol colpo a quei suoi due grandi affetti, Giovanna e Fausto. Spero si sia capito che persona ci siamo persi con la sua scomparsa. Non però il patrimonio che ci ha lasciato, e la sua attualità. Il grande bersaglio di Amodei è stato sicuramente il potere: quello del bastone e della carota, del blando riformismo e della

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repressione, coi suoi efficienti lacchè e i suoi benpensanti censori; il fascismo «che cambia colore ma è sempre quello, che sopra l’orbace ha messo la cravatta, che chiama sfollagente il manganello». Sulla carta la cosa potrebbe apparire noiosa se non fosse che il suo strumento principe è stato quello brillante della satira. Le sue ballate sono un concentrato velenoso ma anche comico di punture corrosive, non lasciano spazio a fronzoli o divagazioni, sono tutto succo. Di ironia sono pieni tutti i versi, l’ironia è in ogni concatenarsi di vocaboli, in ogni gioco di parole, in ogni rima accuratamente scelta, nella miniatura delle trovate umoristiche che si susseguono senza dar respiro. Quella di Amodei è una chitarra che – per usare le parole cantate da lui stesso – «canta senza paura dei versi un poco insolenti, in barba alla censura, contro i padroni e i potenti». Una chitarra che «canta senza pudore, senza badare agli offesi, anche argomenti d’amore, ma senza far sottintesi». Una chitarra «molto espansiva, non certo illibata, ma che concede i propri favori soltanto se innamorata».

In un libro il racconto del periodo udinese di Mario Mascagni

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Messaggero Veneto – 28/07/2025

Il viaggio di Zohra di Nicole Coceancig

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by Franco Giordani – instArt.info

recent years, several young musicians have given strength and value to the Friulian language in the regional music scene, exporting it beyond the borders of the Piccola Patria. Among these, Alvise Nodale, who has received prestigious national awards for his Gòtes, Massimo Silverio, and Nicole Coceancig, a singer-songwriter originally from Premariacco who now lives in Carnia and has an extraordinary voice, are certainly worth mentioning. I remember when I first met her, I was immediately struck by her energy and her unmistakable voice. One day, I told her an anecdote I had read in Johnny Cash’s official autobiography. The American artist says, “I am grateful for my gift: my mother always called my voice a gift”. This is Nicole’s distinctive feature, the gift of having a tone of voice that you may or may not like, but which remains unique, different from all the others you hear around you. But that’s not all, of course. Her poetics are marked by a firm conviction to spread messages of civil commitment. From the very beginning, the influence of Fabrizio De Andrè has been strongly felt in her musical writing, starting with “F”, her first work composed of nine songs in Italian. She has collaborated with numerous other artists, both in the musical and literary fields; one could say that Nicole is tireless. Every new artistic encounter is an enrichment and a new beginning for her. Her long collaboration with Leo Virgili has resulted in her new album, which received the prestigious Ciampi 2024 Award, published by Valter Colle‘s Nota label. The album, developed as a concept, tells the story of a young woman from Pakistan who arrives in Europe. As highlighted in the album presentation on the website www.nota.it, Nicole’s voice is capable of immediately bringing us back to physical reality, made of flesh, hair, pupils and blisters, which transcends the muffled digital bubble into which we have fallen. The sounds, skilfully calibrated by Leo Virgili, greatly emphasise the multi-hued timbre of the Friulian singer-songwriter. It is an album that recounts a painful journey full of obstacles and suffering, but also characterised by great tenacity and an immense will to live. It is a story that borders on and intersects with that told by writer Antonella Sbuelz in her novel “Questa sera non torno” (I’m not coming back tonight), published in 2021 by Feltrinelli. Antonella Sbuelz and Nicole have also shared the stage at a number of cultural events, cultivating the invitation to go on a profound search for love and humanity. Zohra‘s booklet is part of the Block Nota series and contains introductory contributions by Loris Vescovo, Mojra Bearzot, Sara Rosso and Angelo Floramo, some of whose observations are worth highlighting. Loris Vescovo writes that listening surprises and shocks with the power of its simplicity. Angelo Floramo emphasises that there are many reasons why “one must go”: war, hunger, discrimination, the gagging of some tyrannies and the shadows of those who flee pass by the hedges of our indifference. According to Sara Rosso, telling the story of humanity and putting people back at the centre in this long night that seems never-ending is the stuff of very courageous artists. Mojra Bearzot observes that Zohra rebels against a predetermined fate, finding the courage to raise her head and say no. She sets out for herself, for all her sisters, for her mother. In addition to Nicole and Leo Virgili, Giacomo Iacuzzo (percussion), Marco Tondon (double bass), Davide Raciti (violin), Riccardo Pes (cello) and Federico Pascucci (ney) participated in the recording of the album at the Invisibles Recordings studio in Premariacco. Zohra’s musical journey is so dense that it is exhausted in just eight pieces and, before the finale, it intersects with a Carnic legend that tells the story of Silverio, a man accused of embezzling a piece of land in Monte Moscardo: “And who knows what will become of us / people without a home, without a name / abandoned, running after a dream / But we, like the moon / will belong to no one”. I always encourage music lovers to buy albums and not limit themselves to listening to them on digital platforms, especially when an album is so well structured and composed, with lyrics, translations, illustrations (in this case by Sofia Cappello) and external contributions. So, anyone who wants to learn more about Nicole should know that her CD can be purchased by contacting the artist on social media or on the Nota label website www.nota.it. I thought that the best way to present the work would be through this exchange of observations directly with the author.

Nicole, first of all: Zohra’s writing required a lot of energy and passion. It seems that every word has been thought out and weighed as if it were definitive. Is that the case? Dear Franco, first of all, thank you for these questions you wanted to ask me. My personal creative process does not usually involve changing words: what I write in the first draft remains definitive. This was also the case here, but the process certainly involved much more attention to the words and how they fit together. The theme of “Zohra” is not an easy one, and finding the words that would give it the right weight without becoming too heavy was a goal I set myself from the outset. It wasn’t easy, and I can’t say how it turned out in the end… Obviously, with hindsight, I would have changed a few things, but perhaps it’s fine as it is.

The album was produced by Valter Colle, who said at the CD launch that you feel an urgency to communicate messages of civic engagement. Yes, as well as urgency, I feel a moral duty to do so. I consider myself privileged for many reasons, one of which is the opportunity to get on stage and have people in front of me who have come to listen to me. I feel the need to use that microphone that is always in front of me to say things (always, as you said, messages of civic engagement) that other people, in this way and in these conditions, cannot do even though they would like to. We do wonderful work, but in my opinion, it also imposes responsibilities on us.

You have collaborated with many other artists, both musically and literarily. You also participate in every event that allows you to make new artistic acquaintances. I have been fortunate enough to collaborate with many truly extraordinary artists, including you, Franco. This is one of the things I appreciate most about this job; I find it really stimulating and enriching to share music with other people. In fact, I believe that for me, this is its deepest meaning. In Zohra, one senses your strong emotional involvement with people forced to live on the margins of society.

What do you think of today’s political factions (of all persuasions), of how they manage to create constant divisions to bring people over to their side without getting to the root of today’s critical issues surrounding emigration? Look, this is precisely one of the reasons why Zohra exists. The issue of immigration has always been a sensitive one for me, and at a certain point in my life, I felt the need to explore it in depth in the field. I worked for two years in a community for unaccompanied foreign minors. And just think, as time went by and I learned more, I kept telling myself that until then I had talked a lot, but the truth is that I knew nothing at all. I am telling you this to say that not all of us can know everything, and we cannot expect to. One thing is certain, however: we must ask ourselves questions before anything else. And I am noticing that “Zohra” is making you ask them. I could not be happier or prouder.

In “Di trop che o ai cjaminat” (How far I have walked), there is a very poetic line: “Feet worn down by the seasons / without beginning or end / feet shaped like a man / abandoned to his fate”. In these verses, Zohra tries to describe not only the fatigue and pain of the journey along the Balkan route, but also and above all her condition: Zohra had to disguise herself as a man in order to leave (“Soi partide di gnot, tal scûr / Lassânt il vêl poiât tal liet / i bregons luncs / i cjavei cûrts […]”), because women cannot do so alone; they can do so as daughters, as wives and as mothers, but not alone. Among the very few who try, many are forced to disguise themselves.

In ‘Clamimi par non’ (call me by name) you sing: ‘Call me by name / but do it in the dark / because in this story the light is scarier’. Returning to the previous question… precisely for this reason. Zohra is in disguise and in this song, a hypothetical dialogue with her passeur (human trafficker, the person who is paid a certain fee, not only in money, to get to a specific destination), she asks him to give her the name she wants, the age she needs to be, to take whatever body she wants, but to do it all in the dark, because in this painful story with such a big secret to keep, light is more dangerous than darkness.

You recently received the Suns Europe Festival Award and the prestigious national award dedicated to Piero Ciampi. How rewarding were they for you? I cannot quantify the gratification and gratitude I felt and still feel. Not so much for myself, but for Zohra. Zohra as a person. Knowing that there were people who really listened and chose, too, to give a voice to this girl and her story is the most important thing for me, I would say unsurpassable. The goal of this long and demanding work was to give her a voice… doing it together with others was and still is even more beautiful. I am really lucky.

You have a very busy concert schedule. What do you expect from your shows? Look, I’ll take advantage of this question to announce something: at every presentation of “Zohra”, along with the records, handmade gadgets made by some of my wonderful friends will be sold for a donation; the proceeds from these sales will be donated to Emergency’s bank account for Gaza. On the first evening alone, we collected €170 in donations. So, if there’s one thing I’d like to see happen at the next shows, it’s that people donate to try to help, even if only in a small way, Gaza and the Palestinian people.

An obvious but necessary question. Even though you are very busy promoting Zohra, do you have any plans for the future? I must say that I always have lots of plans for the future, and they vary greatly from one discipline to another.                     I have never worked on and concentrated on just one project at a time until now; this is challenging, but I think I like it that way.

Thank you, Nicole. Good luck to you and to all the Zohra’s of this world who, now more than ever, need a more aware and humane world.

Ascolti imperdibili – AA.VV.: “Canzoni di fuga e speranza”, disco tributo agli Yo Yo Mundi

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A 35-year career is a long time, especially if lived without interruption, with the right spirit that allows you to keep going, always seeking new challenges and paths to explore.
By doing so, you don’t risk losing sight of the meaning of your work or seeing your inspiration diluted.

by Gianni Gardon – Pelle e Calamaio

Yo Yo Mundi have done exactly that, and are still doing it, because it is right for them to speak in the present tense, despite the happy and impromptu solo release by their figurehead, Paolo Enrico Archetti Maestri.
At the end of 2024, the singer and guitarist, lyricist and main composer of the group, released a truly significant and exciting album under his own name, aptly titled “Amorabilia”, which I felt the urge to mention on these pages after my first enthusiastic listenings.

However, he himself took care to immediately reassure fans about the future of the band, announcing, among other things, some news, precisely in view of the anniversary of its foundation.
While a very interesting exhibition dedicated to the history and works of the band had already been inaugurated at the end of the year, in 2025 it was decided to follow up on that initiative, keeping the same name. Originally conceived as a gift from the various members of Yo Yo to their leader, “Canzoni di fuga e speranza” (Songs of Escape and Hope) has thus become a tribute album, in which many artists from various backgrounds have revisited a small piece of this fantastic story.
Kindred spirits, old friends, soul mates, shared intentions, similar values: human relationships are at the heart of these collaborations.

The artistic direction of the project (published by Nota in a CD book that also includes an engaging story by Giorgio Olmoti) is by Eugenio Merico, with Gianluca Spirito (formerly of Modena City Ramblers), Maurizio Camardi and the technical collaboration of Dario Mecca Aleina.
It was exciting to try to bring together so many names who then managed to get in tune with some of the historic pieces from the Acqui Terme group’s repertoire.

The peculiarity of this album also lies in the fact that each artist who attempted to reinterpret the chosen pieces did so by adding their own touch, but without distorting the originals, whose beauty remains intact.

Scrolling through the list of participants, we immediately come across the Tupamaros, a band that started from similar premises and, like the others included here, shares fundamental ideas with the protagonists.
Their reinterpretation of a fundamental song for the band, “Freccia Vallona”, immediately makes it clear that the overall level of the work will be very high, but then again, the raw material is excellent.

How else can one judge immortal songs from their repertoire, old and more recent, such as “Chi ha portato quei fiori per Mara Cagol?” (Who brought those flowers for Mara Cagol?), performed by an excellent Alessio Lega; “Chiedilo alle nuvole” (Ask the clouds) by the unusual pairing of Ricky Gianco – Lalli, or “Alla bellezza dei margini” (To the beauty of the margins), embellished by Massimo Carlotto‘s interpretation?

Also noteworthy is the Gang‘s version of a very significant episode such as “Tredici” on Banda Tom.

These are all songs that every participant in this tribute has approached with enormous respect, without distorting them but still trying, as mentioned, to add something, such as the excellent Lastanzadigreta grappling with “Evidenti tracce di felicità”, Roberto Billi, formerly with Ratti della Sabina, with the poetic “Ovunque si nasconda”, Flexus, who bring rhythm and vigour to the historic “Carovane”, not to mention the wild Banda Popolare dell’Emilia Rossa, who modernise “L’ultimo testimone”. And then there is Massimo Ghiacci of Modena City Ramblers, who maintains the original spirit of “Ho visto cose” (I have seen things), Daniele Gennaro, who treats “Fosbury” with extreme delicacy, and Simona Colonna, who moves us deeply with her acoustic and intimate version of “Il respiro dell’universo” (The breath of the universe).

In truth, all the artists involved in this project deserve a mention, and I warmly invite you to listen to them, because in my opinion Yo Yo Mundi have never been sufficiently celebrated for their undoubted merits.
This compilation (as they used to say) is therefore a welcome opportunity to shine the spotlight on them once again, accompanying us on a 24-stage journey that has never faltered in over thirty-five years.

 

Armandino Liberti, poesia e voce di un’utopia proletaria

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(Pop)ular A book/CD, Noi de borgata, for the first release of the new series in the I giorni cantati collection

by Alessandro Portelli – il manifesto

In the last ten lines of his supplement to the reissue of Giuseppe Micheli’s monumental (627-page) Storia della canzone romana (Newton Compton, 2005), Gianni Borgna acknowledges the existence of Armandino Liberti. Together with another of the pillars of the history of the Circolo Gianni Bosio, Silvano “Cicala” Spinetti di Genzano, he exorcises him by placing him in the category he calls “post-song”: a song that goes “beyond the limits imposed by the recording industry” but cannot be called “popular” precisely because it is difficult for the people to know and make it their own, precisely because, as Gramsci would have said, it ‘conforms to their way of thinking and feeling’ .

Much has happened since Borgna wrote those somewhat paternalistic lines, and Roman songs have had a life and growth that was unthinkable at the time. But it is right that the history of Roman songs, if it does not end with Armandino Liberti, at least stops off at him and finds further strength in listening to him. Now, beyond labels – “post-song”, ‘popular’ – Borgna was right about two things: Armandino Liberti’s songs remained unknown to the musical public and, above all, they “conform to the way of thinking and feeling” of the popular world precisely because Armandino belonged to that world and in all his songs he strove both to pay homage to it and to change it.

Armandino Liberti (Rome, 1970s), photo by Susanna Cerboni

LET’S START with the most material, concrete fact: the voice. In Una vita violenta (A Violent Life), Pier Paolo Pasolini describes a couple of times, briefly but precisely, the voices of his suburban characters: a “low, hoarse voice”, a “rough voice”. Armandino Liberti’s voice is precisely like that, “rough” both literally and, above all, metaphorically: Armandino Liberti’s oral, poetic, musical, political voice is not a voice that seeks to please, it is not a “beautiful voice” but a rough, harsh voice which, like other more famous rough voices, from Tom Waits to Bob Dylan, does not sing just for the sake of singing and to make life less bitter, but sings to tell us something and to give voice to all the bitterness generated by a society that exploits and marginalises him and those like him.
In fact, his best-known song, Noi de borgata, is an angry response to another Roman voice, rough but consoling. To Franco Califano, who in Semo gente de borgata sang “we’re better off than those who never eat”, as if foreshadowing today’s minister who claims that the poor eat better than the rich, Armandino Liberti responds by reminding us that his mother provides him with food by working as a servant in the homes of the rich; To Califano, who hoped for “tanti modi pe” sfonna’ (many ways to get out) by leaving the neighbourhood individually, Armandino Liberti responds by evoking a “popolana” (popular) justice that restores freedom and dignity to everyone together.
There is a classic African-American spiritual song about a train “bound for glory”, heading towards glory, towards paradise. This train, says the song, carries only the righteous and the saints, it does not carry thieves, whores, cheats… Bruce Springsteen takes hold of it and changes it: “this train carries saints and sinners, it carries losers and winners, it carries whores and gamblers” – there is room for everyone on the train to glory. There is room for everyone, workers and whores, rebels and pimps, even in Armandino Liberti’s poetic “train” travelling towards a proletarian utopia based on work: “The suburb then revives with work and freedom”.

Texts that recount the bitterness generated by an exploitative society

LET’S TAKE A CLOSER LOOK. Where does that strange expression, “s’arisana”, come from? It does not come from below, from the language of the slums; rather, it is the ironic popular appropriation of a word from the sociological and bureaucratic lexicon that thinks of the slums as a disease to be cured. Armandino Liberti reverses the meaning of the term: the slums are then healed, not as you say, with urban decorum and a few cosmetic adjustments, but as we say, with justice, work and freedom. Here too, be careful: it is not rehabilitation that makes the slums worthy of freedom, but freedom that will heal everyone, including thieves and pimps. When we are free, we will be restored.

Armandino Liberti came from the same world as Tommasino in Una vita violenta: “I’m a fanello and I’m from Pietralata”, and he was a communist, as Tommasino eventually becomes. He follows almost the same path: ‘I find myself face to face with life’, the trajectory of the street kid, petty theft, the “street hustlers” (Lenzetta in Una vita violenta), poverty, marginalisation, prison – until the vision of hope and redemption that Pasolini embodied in a “red rag, all soaked and stuffed”.

But while in Pasolini’s novels the suburbs are an excluded world, in his songs they are in relation/contrast and conflict with other institutions and other social strata.

HOWEVER, there is a difference. In Pasolini’s novels, the suburbs are an excluded world: the street kids roam the whole city, but the city never comes to the suburbs. In Armandino Liberti’s song, on the other hand, the suburbs are from the outset in relation – contrast, conflict, invasion, exclusion – with other institutions and other social strata: it is not a self-excluded world but a dominated world, the product of a network of power relations. It begins with the first verse: “and since the school kicked me out”; then continues with the propaganda “litany” of the media, the missionary intrusion of “priests, bizzoche and fiji de papà”: and the conflict between the suburbs and the world outside culminates in the last verse: the curse on “policemen, judges, lawyers”… / dogs loyal to the institutions’ to the “good, honest, cultured, refined people” who feed on the misery of the neighbourhood.
In this sense, it is worth returning to Gianni Borgna’s other suggestion: Armandino Liberti’s songs as “post-songs”. It is not entirely clear what Borgna meant, but there is no doubt that many of these compositions go beyond the song model we are used to. All in all, Noi de borgata is one of the simplest, most linear, verse after verse, as in traditional narrative ballads. In many other songs, however, there is no single idea, no single musical theme, no single voice, no single linguistic register; and it is not just a matter of the verse-bridge alternation of popular songs, but a play – a clash, a dialogue, an interweaving – of languages and voices. In a song like Omicidio bianco, the narrator’s voice, in essential, almost journalistic Italian, contrasts with the dialect of the child asking about his father who is not coming home (and the open, public space of the building site contrasts with the intimate space of a suburban kitchen). If we are talking about post-song, we should think rather of the Neapolitan sceneggiata, ready to transform itself into theatre: there is always dialogue, explicit as in Servo e padrone (Servant and Master), implicit in the dynamics between linguistic registers as a figure of class relations (and the sense of humour that runs through many of these songs, from the mockery of Dispettoso (Mischievous) to the self-irony of Mo’ la machina ce l’ho (Now I’ve got the car), also refers to theatre and masks.
I said that Noi de borgata is one of the least theatrical of Armandino Liberti’s songs. Yet, even here, there is more than one voice and subject: the maestro’s words, for example, are reproduced directly, as in a theatre script. But above all, in the last verse, Armandino Liberti addresses directly, in an implicit dialogue, the “first pillars” of this society – as if he had told his whole story to them, the implicit recipients, a silent chorus on the sidelines. Listening to these songs now, it is important to remember that they are at least half a century old and that many things have changed. And perhaps, looking each other in the face, we should ask ourselves who and where are those cultured and respectable people against whom the anger of a neighbourhood where that red rag no longer flies has become shapeless.

* One of the essays in the book/CD “Noi de borgata” (first release in the new series of the I giorni cantati collection produced by Circolo Gianni Bosio and the publisher Nota).


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    Noi de borgata. Le canzoni di Armandino Liberti

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    Artisti Vari – Canzoni di fuga e di speranza. Yo Yo Mundi (Nota, 2025)

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    by Marco Sonaglia – Blogfoolk.com

    It was 1994 when a band from Acqui Terme released their first album, with a rather strong title: “La diserzione degli animali da circo” (The desertion of circus animals). We are, of course, talking about Yo Yo Mundi who, to celebrate over thirty years of career, are being honoured by important names in the Italian music scene. The artistic direction of the project is by Eugenio Merico, with Gianluca Spirito, Maurizio Camardi and the technical collaboration of Dario Mecca Aleina. The double album, with artwork by Ivano Anaclerio Antonazzo, contains a substantial 32-page booklet with an unpublished story by the late Giorgio Olmoti entitled “Lande Rumorose” (Noisy Lands). The first CD opens with a super folk version of “Freccia Vallona”, revisited by the ever-talented Tupamaros. The next track, “La storia e la memoria”, features heavy doses of electric guitar in Michele Anelli’s interpretation. ‘Chi ha portato quei fiori per Mara Cagol’ finds the right political-musical line in Alessio Lega (assisted by the trusty Rocco Marchi and Guido Baldoni). “Il silenzio che si sente” becomes even more pop and catchy thanks to the intertwining voices of Roberto Grossi and the excellent Helle. Passion and energy for “In novembre”, with C.F.F. and Nomade Venerabile; dirty and sharp “Domenica pomeriggio di pioggia”, with the talented Cristina Nico and the Colbhi collective. “Al Golgota”, on the other hand, is very evocative thanks to Marco Rovelli and the inseparable Paolo Monti. ‘Chiedilo alle nuvole’ is undoubtedly the highest and most intense moment of this work, with the great Ricky Gianco, the deep voice of Lalli, Sergio Cossu and Maurizio Camardi. The legendary Gang re-release “Tredici” (the version is the one contained in “La rossa primavera” from 2011), one of the most beautiful songs about the Resistance. Stefano Giaccone is also effective in revisiting “Il silenzio del mare”. Massimo Ghiacci (Modena City Ramblers) reinterprets “Ho visto cose che in solitaria” with Irish tones, while “Alla bellezza dei margini”, with the reciting voice of Massimo Carlotto and the musical finesse of Maurizio Camardi and Enrico Pesce, closes the first part. The unmistakable sounds of The Vad Vuc open the second disc with “Andeira”. “VCR” is a combat song with an Andean flavour, performed by the highly talented Ned Ludd All Stars (which, in addition to Gianluca Spirito, features Daniela Coccia – from Muro del Canto – on vocals). Flexus are enthralling in “Carovane”; Simona Colonna is as refined as ever in “Il respiro dell’universo”. “L’impazienza” is very energetic, performed by Giorgio Ravera (La Rosa Tatuata), accompanied by Paolo Bonfanti’s crackling electric guitar. “Fosbury” finds the right delicacy in Daniele Gennaro’s version. In “Evidenti tracce di felicità”, Lastanzadigreta happily combines singer-songwriter music with electronica, while Cri and Sara Fou give “Lettera di morte apparente” a very enveloping acoustic dimension. Roberto Billi fills “Ovunque si nasconda” with sunshine; “L’ultimo testimone” has dance echoes thanks to the Banda POPolare dell’Emilia Rossa. ‘Léngua ed ssu’ is embroidered with Fabio Martino’s accordion and Steve Wickham’s (Waterboys, Sinéad O’Connor, U2) prestigious violin. “Tè chi t’éi” is presented in a powerful live version, with Maurizio Camardi accompanied by La Banda di Via Anelli. This work is a true labour of love, where each artist has managed to personalise these songs, which have taken flight and truly become everyone’s. Projects like these comfort us and make us understand that nothing unites like music. Long live Yo Yo Mundi and their journey made up of stories, encounters, courage, memory, civic engagement and, above all, consistency.

    Corzani Airlines: Nicole Coceangig

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    by Valerio Corzani – blogfoolk.com

    Nicole Coceangig
    (Ciampi Award, Livorno, November 2024)
    Photo by Valerio Corzani

    “In Friulian, there are words that cannot be translated into Italian (and this is one of the values of a language), but a saying that my grandmother always told me and that I have always tried to preserve is “do good and forget, do evil and remember”. It is a saying inherent in Friulian ethics, that of doing good without expecting anything in return and, instead, feeling the weight of the harm done with the hope of being able to make amends.”
    Nicole Coceangig

    Catanzaro, Ettore Castagna e la lira: la vivida testimonianza di un mondo antico e mai perduto

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    by Vittorio Pio – La Nuova Calabria
    images Catanzaro, Ettore Castagna and the lyre: vivid testimony to an ancient world that has never been lost Ettore Castagna, a native of Catanzaro living in Bergamo but a migrant by destiny and an anarchist at heart, is a character who defies categorisation: researcher, anthropologist but also a highly regarded writer. His artistic output is fluid and encompasses various experiences: from Re Niliu, a group that pioneered a sharp ethnic sound, to a solo career that recently saw him debut with “Eremìa”, a highly inspired album with a singer-songwriter style, released by Alfa Music some time ago. In his latest work, he has focused on the lyre, a fascinating stringed instrument with only three strings, a witness to an ancient and never lost world.

    “Lira sona sona” is the eloquent title: it is a commission published by www.nota.it, reserved for him by none other than the prestigious Faculty of Ethnomusicology at the Sorbonne in Paris. It is a raw and magnetic album that stirs the soul and reveals the roots of a dimension originating from ancient yet unsurpassed masters: “This is an album,” he begins, ‘that I should have made thirty years ago but never did because I was constantly distracted by other things. I’ve always done too many things at once. In the last decade, I have perhaps definitively distanced myself from philological reinterpretation, but I would add that Destiny has resolved the issue. One morning in May 2023, the illustrious Professor Dider Demolin appeared at my door in Bergamo, immediately striking me as very determined. ‘I came to see you because I need to talk to you about a project…’ he began, and then launched into a speech that I found hard to believe, given my not always peaceful relationship with the academic world, at least in Italy.

    A sort of investiture in the field, in short…
    ‘Fortunately, that had already arrived earlier. Didier is a smiling scientist, frank and direct, without any rhetoric. ’You are the historical witness of the Calabrian lira,‘ he continued, ’so it’s up to you to summarise your experience, essentially about yourself, since you represent the Italian Bartok.”

    Wow, what a shock!
    “In fact, once I had recovered from that, what could I say? Maybe no? Never. With the valuable support of an important international sponsor, the album was recorded at lightning speed in a month. I did almost everything myself, recording between Reggio Calabria and Bergamo. There were very few external contributions. I would describe it as an ethnographic album, hard, frank, direct: the lyre as it has been played for centuries and as I have been playing it since 1985. However, I must mention my wonderful companions on this journey, the voice of Jenny Caracciolo, very ancient but sometimes with neo-melodic undertones, and the primordial sound of Mimmo Morello. Peppe Muraca and Anna Cinzia Villani also participated in the album.”

    What does contemporaneity mean to you? Why do you insist on playing the lyre in this way? Aren’t you afraid of archaeology?
    “I may be trivial, but my idea of contemporaneity is very philological. Everything that exists at this moment, that exists with me at this moment. Playing the lyre in such an ancient way seems limited to many: drone chords, modal scales with altered notes, insistent, dirty and primordial rhythms. No vibrato and no spectacular scales with Paganini-style position jumps, but circularity, continuous, hypnotic recombinations. Sometimes when I play alone, when I play for myself, I lose myself in dilated and infinite times in these cycles of micro-variations and microtones. I think more of Steve Reich and Terry Riley than of the virtuosity of romantic strings… And I must tell you that by proceeding in this way, I find peace of heart.”

    You have been living in Bergamo since the late 1980s, far from Calabria, and almost obviously, as well as inevitably, you have achieved greater acclaim elsewhere. How do you feel now compared to when you left? Does the consideration of not being a “remnant” weigh on you? Or does Calabria remain, as someone has already said, a place of the mind?
    “The illustrious De Martino said that it is necessary to have a village in one’s memory, and Pavese said that one “needs” a village, even if only to leave it. Calabria is the village of my memory. I have a non-rhetorical view of Calabria and I accept what my region of birth is today, just as I jealously guard the memory of what it was before and when I left. I am a supporter of memory and a sceptic of nostalgia. Memory is restoring things as they were. Nostalgia is Leopardi’s remembrance, it is transforming the past for better or for worse. “I want to be a witness even when there is no one left to bear witness to,” says Cassandra by Christa Wolf. And that is what I think.”

    Let’s stay with regional themes: if I’m not mistaken, Paleariza was founded in 1998, Tarantella Power (now Kaulonia Tarantella Festival) in 1999, Primavera dei Teatri in 1998, and Joggiavantfolk in the same years. Today, Primavera dei Teatri is considered one of the most important festivals on the Italian theatre scene precisely because of its openness to other realities and territories, while Paleariza no longer takes place. Kaulonia Tarantella Festival finds itself almost forced to invite TV personalities, almost old glories, whom no one really considers from an artistic point of view, in order to get coverage in the local press, and Joggi Avant Folk remains a festival based on volunteering, like other commendable initiatives that have not lasted. What do you think happened?
    ‘What happened is that the political and cultural levels in Calabria do not communicate with each other. Politics is stagnant, incapable, insensitive, depressed. It reflects the dismay, disenchantment and lack of dreams of the electorate. Quality is not important, it does not deserve funding. Calabria lives for a fortnight in August, and the yardstick of politics for funding entertainment in general is the so-called “sausage meter”. How much sozizzu have you sold? A lot? OK, then the festival went well’.

    A few days ago, the first bagpipe player graduated from the conservatory in Nocera Terinese. But as far as I know, “u sonu”, which is also the subject of your research, has declined sharply at traditional festivals. On the other hand, CDs and books on the subject are being printed. Does this seem logical to you? What could be an effective policy for the cultural and tourist promotion of local traditions?
    “Until a few years ago, we were ashamed of our grandfather’s barn because it smelled of animals and manure. Today, we are asking for funding to turn it into a panoramic space with a hot tub inside a farmhouse. This is what has happened. Peasant and pastoral culture has been the subject of centuries of historical shame. After throwing the baby out with the bathwater, today we are left with regret. Nostalgia is rampant for what we never really knew because it was the object of absolute historical and social rejection. We want the so-called “tarantella” back, we want the so-called “tradition” back. The South seems like an Indian reservation where the defeated natives stage their own hypostatic rituals to earn a few quid from tourists. Calabria has its repertoire… chilli peppers… the tarantella… even the ‘ndrangheta… There has never been a truly serious policy of critical analysis of the history of Calabria and the South. Only such a process, with the awareness it brings, could have value as a founding element of a project for the future.

    What do you consider to have been the greatest satisfaction of your artistic career? What is the difference between writing a song and writing a novel?
    I am very proud to have always stood tall. I have always played, sung and written what I liked to write at the time. I have never chased trends. I did everything possible and, often, the impossible to ignore them. I like to write timeless music and books. Records that you will listen to in ten or forty years and think that they still speak to you. I’m not interested in being up to date, following the so-called mood. I have worked and continue to work hard to be myself and to remain so. Within my music and my writing there is the punk bassist of the 1970s, the traveller, the lover of philology, the reader of classics and the beat generation, the player of traditional instruments, the anthropologist, the vinyl collector (which was stolen from me), the postmodern emigrant, the documentary filmmaker, the journalist, the professor of literature… A song can be very different from a novel. Not only because a feature film is different from a short film, but also because I follow the teachings of my dear, unforgettable friend Mario Giacomelli. He once told me, “When I get excited while taking a photo, it means that it will certainly be a great photo”. This applies to everything: photos, novels and songs.

    What’s in store for you in the coming months? I know you already have at least one, if not two, albums of unreleased material ready, and what are you listening to today, motivated solely by the pleasure of doing so, without any repercussions on your research?

    “I am a chaotic but global listener. I don’t have any reference genres. I generally avoid the mainstream but end up listening to it anyway. I don’t like opera, with rare exceptions. The beauty of it is that everything you listen to inevitably has an impact on what you write and play. But this is my artistic way of experiencing contemporary life. Generally, for superstition’s sake, I am rather stingy with previews of the future. I’m working on my next and second album as a singer-songwriter, which should be out by 2025. However, as I don’t have any big, rich productions behind me, the timing is uncertain. That’s what I’m proud of: my entire artistic life, in writing and music, has always been self-produced. I’ve always decided everything myself… full stops, commas, even square brackets.

     

    Nicole Coceancig – Zohra

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    by Ignazio Gulotta – distorsioni.net

    We saw Nicole Coceancig in November when the young musician from Friuli won the well-deserved Ciampi Award. On stage at the Teatro Goldoni, she immediately won us over with her determination and personality, even in her short set of two songs. Of course, as soon as it was released, we immediately bought her CD “Zohra”, a concept album based on the fictional but extremely realistic story of a young Afghan girl forced to leave her country and seek refuge in Europe. The album is the story of her odyssey, unfortunately common to many who are forced to flee due to war, hunger and political repression. To tell this story, Nicole Coceancig, who is not lacking in courage in her choices, has used the Friulian dialect, which adds emotional strength to her songs, in which one can breathe the flavour of a land and a people little inclined to rhetoric, who know the harshness of life and the generosity of a land that has been and is a crossroads of peoples and cultures, but which risks forgetting its history by drowning in the rhetoric of “masters in our own home”. ‘Zohra’ is a passionate and dramatic cry to rediscover the values of humanity and empathy for those who suffer, values that are more necessary than ever in these dark times when calls for war and the genocide of entire peoples tragically resurface amid the cynical indifference of the ruling classes. The album is released by the Nota label, and you can order the CD on its website, which also features Gualtiero Bertelli, Giovanna Marini and Caterina Bueno, names that Coceancig now stands alongside, joining that noble tradition of civil song that has given so much to Italian folk music. To tell the truth, in terms of expressive power and ability to move the listener, it does not seem blasphemous to compare her even to the great Joan Baez. After all, the Friulian singer’s voice is highly effective in expressing the moments of pain, loneliness and anguish of her protagonist, for example in the touching beginning of Di Trop Che o Ai Ciaminat or in the intense Ciare Mame, as well as the strength, determination and anger that animate her during her journey to Europe. In the sombre and sorrowful Chiamami Per Nome, the arrangement seems to come in waves, the voice becomes more dramatic and the lyrics impressively evoke the sense of loss that comes when one risks losing one’s identity: “Call me by my name/but do it in the dark/because in this story/the light is more frightening”. The acoustic arrangements by Nicole herself and Leo Virgili, who plays guitar on the album, create the appropriate pathos and the right dramatic atmosphere, never overshadowing the protagonist, the voice, but accompanying it beautifully with a predominantly minimalist approach, but also in some cases emphasising it, as in Silos thanks to the strings, or in the splendid La Liende Dal Silveri, where the voices of the guitars, strings and percussion intertwine fascinatingly to accompany a song that is a sort of warning not to shut oneself away and a hope for a different future, because, as the title of the traditional villotta rearranged at the end of the album Non C’è Mai Stata Pioggia (There Was Never Any Rain) says, Zohra has set out to conquer her freedom and independence. The hope is that the public will become aware of this work, listen to it and appreciate its undoubted qualities. With Nicole Coceancig, we can salute an artist who is not afraid to appear committed, to sing about our unhappy times and knows how to do so excellently. The CD has a very well-designed booklet containing the lyrics in Friulian and translated into Italian.

    Rating: 8/10