Niccolò Fabi’s ninth solo album follows up the pastoral Una somma di piccolo cose. Three years later the author of Costruire riemerges from his prolific silence with a brand new sonic jewel that, as is customary, is a record that doesn’t square up unreasonably or decants schmaltzy ballads for heart-broken teens. On the contrary: it puffs itself up with a resonating topography coasting emotional landslides and persistent, life-affirming beliefs.
Released on the 11th of October, by Universal music, the record confirms Fabi’s talent to immortalize glimpses of life with a storytelling nothing short of instinctually aesthetic wonder.
An album blooming with Scotta, with its piano-spread spine, poetically stretching out to reach human glances, sparkling indomitable artistry and crafting indelible imagery. His silky voice is balanced out by its lyrical accounts, chronicling words that we approach with the same bucolic hope to see another sunset alongside the road that would come out of a Wordsworth’s figure of speech.
A prescindere da me is a ballad embellished by the revelry of a soul showing its scrappiness against any demons, writer’s block included (What do I do surrounded by all this?, He asks). The track racks intensity up as Its concentric circles tingle across the tune, floating in suspense and predicament. Amori con le Ali is out of its depth, dazed in an electronic gaze, drawing out of the tune core via a pharaonic strings-filled scaffold. Lyrically impeccable, it’s an ode to the movement, to the quintessence of stepping forwards, whatever it leads us. His words become helixes and spin around the gratitude of being carried away by quotidian shortcomings.
Tradizione e Tradimento derives from a long-distance storytelling, which earned him two Lucrezia Awards for the album La cura del tempo and for the song Costruire. On the foam on this creative outbreak, Io sono l’altro wades into contemporary, self-flagelling outcome: we are overpopulating this world without neither having the resources nor the mental training to serenely do so. Niccolò sanitizes this Cerberus with and entrancing contexture, quite sounding like a snake-charming shaman
I giorni dello smarrimento floates on a central clincher, catching fire and putting the spotlight on the visceral discomfort of a man deluded by life floods occurrence and pallying up with and ethnic, folk-tinted bombshell. We are talking about a poet, beyond everything, who retraces, in Nel blu, the human attitude to transfer the illiterate pain to the next of kin, letting the incontestable will of taking off from the ground to fly far away, dispersed among irrepressible clouds and boundless fields of view. Its coda is a wrap-around bliss, nothing else to declare.
And impelled to convey his urgent final call, Migrazioni reflects on migration flows, a plague afflicting Italy and concerning the rest of the world. But then Prima della tempesta clears the air in a convolutedly abstract riddle mastered by a maze of twist-and-twine strings.
Because that’s the bottom line, residing in the album’s title track: investigating along the white board of human uncertainty, by providing a complex meditation over personal grief, latching onto the need, in whatever shape it might be found, to hold on to a hope. The living precondition for intersecting the oblique line of living on full display.