The Italian phase of Zucchero’s World Wild Tour began on Tuesday, at the Baths of Caracalla, with an abundant, very pleasant and particularly histrionic concert; yet, at times (not always sequential), meditative to the point of being a little melancholic. “Rain was forecast for today, but the sky hasn’t sent us tears. We have already paid too many », Adelmo Fornaciari confided to the spectators, returning from one Baila particularly eventful, as if the more bluesy rhizomes of the master from Reggio, the hint is understood, were trying to gain a few centimeters of depth on lighter forms and contents. «Okay Adriano, let’s do it Two moves».
As usual, Zucchero managed to make himself perceived as very close even by the last few orders from the audience. But, above all for the two most engrossed pieces in the lineup, performed not standing in a sugar-centric way but seated and a few centimeters from the front row (the moment culminated with A warm breath), seemed to get excited perhaps more than the spectators themselves; certainly, with them. «In Caracalla the public is very close and, if it wants, it touches you. You are more afraid of making a mistake than when he is far away: perhaps he sees things he would not like to see», the Emilian soulman revealed to a curious press of his psychological behind-the-scenes, just after the first of the five Roman evenings. Nine more will follow around courtly places such as the Greek Theater in Syracuse or as huge as his Campovolo in Reggio. Thus the World Wild Tour, which started from the Town Hall of Auckland in New Zealand, will in fact function as a Homeric return home, where they have prepared the arena with the most seats in Europe, as if they really served an audience that Zucchero has the ability to make you dance in defiance of any ergonomics and any covering.
In short, on Tuesday the singer-songwriter was the protagonist and supporting actor of almost three hours of both personal and collective performance; occupying the center of the limelight so permanently but, at the same time, remaining close to each element of his thick superband with looks, gestures, intonations and intentions.
Adriano Molinari, Polo Jones and companions were nevertheless able to shine even more during the cigarette break that Zucchero allowed himself in the middle of the lineup, leaving room for three pieces performed by the band alone: an exquisite fat-burning cover by Stayin’ Alive; a tribute to Tina Turner, full of pathos and cazziatoni aimed at the public guilty, according to the lead singer, of not being heard loud enough; and finally a truly glorious version of Honky Tonk Train Blues by Keith Emerson. Returning to his post, until the final bow, the head boy still had two pieces and three encores to perform (total: 29 pieces); all accomplished by dealing with the inevitable physical fatigue as Zucchero himself would with a fellow in the tavern who backs down at the last glass, that is, cheerfully sending him to shit. Needless to say from the first chichichirichi’s Whose fault? no one ever dared to remain seated.
Another merit of Caracallian Zucchero was to apply equal artistic opportunities to veterans who have accompanied him since his live debut – such as James Thompson (on sax and transverse flute) – or to the young singer Oma Jali (the one who cazziatone to the public), discovered after have seen her participate in The Voice in France. With her Zucchero performed a duet of 13 good reasons with an operatic air, taking full advantage of the Caracalla setting, which evoked many summer lyrical nights. Oma, whose voice has already changed the course of our YouTube history forever, mimed comic-comedy sentimental diatribes, with an expressive assurance of Wakanda’s ruling class. It was hilarious to see someone who, so many times, stood up to the legends of international music, such as Miles Davis or BB King, relentlessly back away from the power of the voice of his young Cameroonian pupil, presenting the usual feeble remonstrances, but basically for nothing regretted, whatever the fictitious excuse of that disagreement set to music. “If Mick Jagger sees Oma, he’ll steal it. She immediately seemed the right one to me », Zucchero was keen to clarify the following day, speaking to the press.
Sugar with Oma Jali. Photo: Daniele Barraco
The hats that Zucchero wore throughout the concert were made in Los Angeles by a Mexican milliner from the Marche region. Evidently, for the prodigies that Zucchero performs while he puts them on – commanding the audience with one gesture, directing the band with another and at the same time mimicking himself – it is as magical as that of a sorcerer without an apprentice. In the basement of the Hotel Parco dei Principi he is asked if he has singled out his potential heirs. «In Italy there are musicians who have square balls. Find them on YouTube or at the birthday of the rich. But they are real highly trained musicians. Take my nephew, my brother’s son: in Reggio rocks. I was surprised”.
We too. The phenomenon is interesting. Perhaps Fornaciari, placing his hat on the table behind the armchair, and showing how red his hair is still, has partly renounced Zucchero’s prerogatives and is sharing Adelmo’s secrets with us?
And then Adelmo himself – as he tells us that, having reached 67, he would prefer to be called, and not with that nickname, albeit a very lucky one, given to him by a teacher – wanted to make it clear that celebrating his splendid forty years of activity, this summer, will in any case be an important objective for him, but completely secondary to that of focusing the spotlight on a peculiar element which, in recent years, seems to have fallen to an all-time low among the priorities of the music scene in our country, and that is . To reinforce this concept (expressed, the night before, through the variety of arrangements and the simplicity of the scenographic apparatus), when Adelmo answers our questions, he thinks fit to claim once again the right not to literally give a shit about – almost – all the rest.
He is asked how he can reconcile, in his production, sacred and profane love, high or sublime themes and double meanings (all together: I see black!), contemporary society and politically correct. The answer: “I don’t give a shit. I want to say that we should be more prepared on the history of popular music. Pieces like Love in vain they are tall, but there are other equally important ones that talk about… no, there are girls. Anyway, De André talked about a dwarf’s asshole: why does he and I don’t?».
Social media: give a fuck. The featuring: give a shit, except Salmo, with which he confirms his appreciation for the cover of Devil in me, an incipient friendship and a collaboration. ChatGPT? «Music made with artificial intelligence, the word itself says, will be artificial music. I have nothing to do with that stuff. If aging artistically means continuing to do the things you believe in, I’m as old as shit». For the musician now known as Adelmo, even a spiritual activity such as art is a question of adherence to reality, more of special encounters than unique visualisations.
Having exhausted the long list of things that Adelmo doesn’t give a shit about, going by exclusion, here’s what he cares about: the rhythm, or rather the groove; sex and sexual double entendres; above all, his Emilia-Romagna which still suffers.
The transition between facetious and serious takes place thanks to Pavarotti, but indirectly. He is asked if the yellow leather jacket, which he wears hit et nunc at the press conference and in the graphics on the panel behind him, as well as the night before on stage in Caracalla, is or is not the result of the professional performance of an armochromist: «It’s all bullshit that I’ve never followed», Adelmo cuts short, as was to be expected. The jacket is nonetheless very interesting and organically bears the marks of the places and times lived, as the face of the artist who wears it does not seem to do, smooth like that of the thirty-seven-year-old in the images with Pavarotti that the maxi screens broadcast during the live of Wretched. Before intoning the attack, however, Adelmo tightened a special silk scarf around his neck. The soulman will thus respond to the good journalist who, having asked him if it was a gift from someone special: “Sentimentalone”.
After joking so much Adelmo becomes dejected when he replies about the flood. Already in Caracalla he changed a verse of Let It Shine: from “I saw the Mississippi” to “I saw my land”. Soon, thanks to his commitment to Italia Loves Romagna, he hopes to reach at least 4 million euros; how many he collected, together with many friends and colleagues, for the 2012 earthquake.
Like the concert, the press conference is also made up of ups and downs. In the darkest moments Adelmo wonders if the disco form still has a sense, especially now that, three years after the last collection and five since the last studio album, he dismays us by reminding us that he, one of the most prophetic Italian musicians in home and abroad, is not currently signed to any record company, and cannot foresee new releases. «The sense of the disc depends on the artist. I would very much like to still be able to listen to albums that can be considered as a painting, with each song having its own location and with the sound that unites it to the others. I don’t think a record can be a sum of tracks glued together as if it were a jukebox».
Taking advantage of this moment of relative weakness, he is asked why begin an evening which, in any case, would have ended punctually by igniting a devil in him, with a piece full of uneasiness like Spirit in the dark. “The fact is that perhaps today you can no longer say: everything will be fine”. But music, like life, luckily is made in scales. Even in moments of maximum discomfort, it is there that presses to come out into the open, like the live lactic ferments of a yoghurt that is about to expire. «I remember my sixth grade, when we moved from Roncocesi to Forte dei Marmi. I felt uprooted, because Versilia is to the Bassa Emiliana like a tie to a pig. But at school I immediately made a small orchestra. The principal, from Livorno, said to me: “But do you read the newspapers?”. Me: “No, I just want to play”. “So you’re a qualunquista?”. Me: “No, but she doesn’t give a shit” ».
