Vinicio Capossela – ‘Round one thirty-five
Thirty years ago the King Lear of the Italian music producers who responded to the public name of Renzo Fantini, saw good qualities in a young guy grown between the Via Emilia and the West, in the infernal circles of bars and motels with minimal astronomy, obeying only the commandments of the road. Inspired by Tom Waits, Tondelli, Modì and every alcohol that taught him the thirst, the young man in question faced with bare hands the disproportion between what is lived and what is imagined on a zebra Fender Rhodes, singing texts tattooed inside the eyelids.
In the upcoming years he would have minted, one after the other, some gold records, but for that moment, in 1990, it was a matter of putting on vinyl a handful of pre-songsbiographical, some amorous deeds that were about to happen to him and an entire epic of queens, tired of the eight hours and romantic men, poor as spiders. King Lear knew “the game” well and acted as his own: in the month of holidaymakers he booked a prestigious studio and propped the rookie with a Gasconi of noblemen, broken to any kindness. The result was that masterpiece of trepidation and sincerity that we know with the Monkian title of ‘Round one thirty-five. Then Vinicio had the career he had, immeasurable, but those years, those songs, that record, he always took them with him in a freshness-saving package that is miraculous.
And now he is here, in Jazzmi, to play them with holy reason, with the same ingredients, the same full youth full of hope, sand castles that lasted.
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