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It would be nearly impossible to succinctly describe what Vinicio Capossela does musically on his album Ovunque Proteggi. It starts out intensely, almost menacingly so, and ends with a gentle, pretty love song, but the path to it -- Eastern-influenced chants to patriotic marches to waltzes to sad jazzy piano numbers to bolero -- somehow seems to follow a natural progression, or at least trick listeners into believing that's the case. Perhaps this is because Capossela is such a gifted lyricist, and consistently so, that it's easy to focus on his words (or the sound of his voice) instead of the music behind it. Not that the instruments aren't important: Capossela and his crew (which includes Tom Waits -- to whom comparisons can certainly be made -- associate Marc Ribot and former Area bassist Ares Tavolazzi) play purposeful and interesting notes and rhythms, but they are used to accent and augment the power of the singer instead of stand out on their own. The lyrics, which are intricate and detailed, often allude to Biblical scripture, but also to Greek myth, Italian, British, and American literature, Russian historical figures, and jazz standards; he's willing to explore almost any Western cultural tradition. "Brucia Troia" (brucia translating to "burn," while Troia refers to ancient Troy but also is a vulgar synonym for "whore") is one of the most aggressive songs on the album, the tale of a city and a man betrayed ("burn," Capossela growls, "like I burn for you"), but "Medusa Cha Cha Cha" is sung from the perspective of the goddess, who, perhaps a bit duplicitously, wishes for someone who won't turn to stone under her gaze. Ovunque Proteggi is part love and hate and anger and lust, imparting the wisdom of the immortals (Melville, Pasolini, and Homer, besides the array of gods and God) to all the rest of us. Hardly an easy task, but Capossela keeps the album accessible through his great sense of arrangement and lyrical phrasing, making it a challenging, but ultimately rewarding experience.© Marisa Brown /TiVo

There is hardly a single misstep in the Vinicio Capossela discography, but Marinai Profeti e Balene may be his definitive masterpiece. It is certainly his most ambitious work to date, a double CD inspired by the classics of world literature about the sea and its frightful spawning of amazing creatures, human, animal, and mythological. Appropriately for an album of such Napoleonic scope, its brilliant cover shows a positively deranged Capossela in a bicorne hat, doing his best impression of a mad sea captain. The first CD, "Oceanic," is roughly dedicated to the universe of Herman Melville, with lyrics taken from both Moby Dick (in the seminal Italian translation by Cesare Pavese) and some short stories, but also includes songs based on Céline's Scandal aux Abisses, The Book of Job, Conrad's Lord Jim, and a few Capossela originals. The second Cd,"Homeric and Mediterranean," jumps back several centuries, as it is devoted to Greek mythology and populated by characters from The Odyssey. Not to be undone by its mighty literary references, the musical foil of Marinai Profeti e Balene is simply staggering, from the apocalyptic sonic collages of the first half to the delicate lullabies of the second. Much has been said about Capossela's infatuation with Tom Waits, but in this album, the disciple has gone to places the master never contemplated, expanding the frame of reference from Weimar Cabaret to Ancient Greek Theater and Opera Buffa. In the same way, the fantastic cast of supporting musicians assembled dilutes the presence of Waits' regulars Marc Ribot and Greg Cohen; incidentally, both had previously worked with Capossela. Curiously, the one track that most closely resembles Waits was co-written with Calexico, the terrific "Jockey Full of Bourbon" soundalike "Polpo D'amor" does not feature Ribot or Cohen, but the great Jimmy Villotti and Ares Tavolazzi (both legendary Paolo Conte bandmembers), who step in to do a spot-on job of re-creating the seedy Latin atmosphere of Waits' Rain Dogs. Other guests include pianist Stefano Nanni, percussionist Francesco Arcuri, and harpist Luisa Prandina (all present in many of the tracks), Daniel Melingo as the voice of Ishmael in "I Fuochi Fatui," and a seemingly endless list of collaborators in any number of both classical and exotic instruments -- notably of Greek origin on the second disc -- whose participation is absolutely essential to the fascinating world music labyrinth from all ages where this album seems to be taking place. Still, perhaps the most important role is that of the choir (listed as Coro Degli Apocrifi) blending in and out of the mix and alternatively evoking the allure of the sirens, the suffering of the damned in Hell, the commentary of a Greek Tragedy Choir, or the bellowing of a bunch of drunken sailors. Projects such as this are often weighed down by their own overblown ambitions, but Marinai Profeti e Balene astutely manages to overcome the most common hurdles. First of all, it is not overkill. Not counting the rather pointless 15 minutes of silence followed by a few seconds of "the song of the sirens" at the end of the record, there are only 85 minutes of music (little bit more than a single CD allows) split into two 40- and 45-minute halves, each with a distinctive character. Secondly, for every nightmarish, awe-inspiring recitative such as "La Bianchezza Della Balena," there is a lighter, often irresistible tilting number such as the tarantella "L'oceano Oilalalà," which sounds like the overture of Rossini's The Barber of Seville sung by a drunken choir, or the Charleston "Pryntyl," which can induce unsuspecting listeners to break into tap dancing. Most of all, not for a single minute does the record turn into the Vinicio Capossela show: storytelling, atmosphere, and group and choral arrangements take center stage over any individual virtuoso display. Yes, everything is gloriously over the top and it may sag a bit when a couple of the longest pieces are paired together, but any objections seem insignificant next to Capossela's boundless creativity, originality, and superb execution of a deliriously larger than life vision. This album purports to drag the listener into a sonic trip to the bottom of the sea in the belly of a whale, only to lift him to the heights of Mount Olympus in the embrace of sirens and sea nymphs, and it does exactly what it promises. From conception to implementation, Marinai Profeti e Balene is nothing but an astonishing achievement. Had it been released by an English-speaking artist, it would have been an instant shoe-in for best album of the year, in almost any conceivable musical category.© Mariano Prunes /TiVo

It would be nearly impossible to succinctly describe what Vinicio Capossela does musically on his album Ovunque Proteggi. It starts out intensely, almost menacingly so, and ends with a gentle, pretty love song, but the path to it -- Eastern-influenced chants to patriotic marches to waltzes to sad jazzy piano numbers to bolero -- somehow seems to follow a natural progression, or at least trick listeners into believing that's the case. Perhaps this is because Capossela is such a gifted lyricist, and consistently so, that it's easy to focus on his words (or the sound of his voice) instead of the music behind it. Not that the instruments aren't important: Capossela and his crew (which includes Tom Waits -- to whom comparisons can certainly be made -- associate Marc Ribot and former Area bassist Ares Tavolazzi) play purposeful and interesting notes and rhythms, but they are used to accent and augment the power of the singer instead of stand out on their own. The lyrics, which are intricate and detailed, often allude to Biblical scripture, but also to Greek myth, Italian, British, and American literature, Russian historical figures, and jazz standards; he's willing to explore almost any Western cultural tradition. "Brucia Troia" (brucia translating to "burn," while Troia refers to ancient Troy but also is a vulgar synonym for "whore") is one of the most aggressive songs on the album, the tale of a city and a man betrayed ("burn," Capossela growls, "like I burn for you"), but "Medusa Cha Cha Cha" is sung from the perspective of the goddess, who, perhaps a bit duplicitously, wishes for someone who won't turn to stone under her gaze. Ovunque Proteggi is part love and hate and anger and lust, imparting the wisdom of the immortals (Melville, Pasolini, and Homer, besides the array of gods and God) to all the rest of us. Hardly an easy task, but Capossela keeps the album accessible through his great sense of arrangement and lyrical phrasing, making it a challenging, but ultimately rewarding experience.© Marisa Brown /TiVo

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Vinicio Capossela has often been described as Italy's answer to Tom Waits, an influence that is plain to see in any of his impressive albums, and certainly not missing from Da Solo. To be precise, it is not the entire Waits catalog that Capossela re-creates in his own idiosyncratic way. He is seldom interested in the cacophonous experimentation of Bone Machine, or the strictly nightclub balladeer of the early years. Rather, what Capossela takes from Waits is an interest in revamping ethnic dances of various origins (mostly Central Europe, the Balkans, and the Mediterranean) in a stunningly original fashion, thanks to the use of a mixture of traditional and electronic instruments and a romantic outcast lyrical vision. Da Solo is certainly less adventurous than its highly rated predecessor, 2006's Ovunque Proteggi, as it put the reins on staggering sonic variation to favor instead a more classic piano-led ballad format. This makes for an album that is easier to listen to at first, but ultimately not as exciting, as too many tracks sound alike. Da Solo is a melancholic roundabout trip set to circus music played languidly: the soundtrack of an Emir Kusturica film as if performed by Paolo Conte -- arguably the Italian artist Capossela is most indebted to. Capossela's tales are alternatively naïve, touching, humorous, and desolate. A sense of tender frailty emanates from these songs, as they seamlessly oscillate between a childhood's sense of wonder and a lonely adulthood's quiet desperation: for instance, the opening "Il Gigante e il Mago" or "Il Paradiso dei Calzini," a bizarre and yet strangely moving song about misplaced socks unable to find their matching pair. As mentioned, Da Solo loses steam along the way, not because of a drop in Capossela's largely impeccable songwriting, but because of a certain uniformity of tone. Perhaps this is why the songs that end up leaving the most lasting impression are those placed at the beginning of the record, such as the disarming "In Clandestinità" and the buoyant "Una Giornata Perfetta," which magically re-creates the old panache of a Fred Buscaglione or a Domenico Modugno. Pure class Italian style, in other words.© Mariano Prunes /TiVo

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Vinicio Capossela has long been revered in his native Italy as a visionary and talented performer, a kind Tom Waits-meets-Paolo Conte figure who has also, throughout the trajectory of his now 20-year musical career, brought together elements of Italian film composers and cantautori, Gypsy, Eastern, American, and traditional Mediterranean music, as well as more biblical, literary, and mythical references than the average listener has time to comprehend. It was only in 2010, however, that Capossela released an album in North America, in the form of The Story-Faced Man, a collection of 17 of the artist's best songs, and which serves as his official welcome into the English-speaking world (even though, with the exception of a couple of phrases, the songs are all in Italian). While an understanding of the language certainly adds an inevitable level of comprehension, it's anything but necessary. Capossela's songs are stories, his songs are journeys, Old World tradition and New World mystique (or, perhaps, Old World mystique and New World tradition), and this comes as much in structure, in the timbre and delivery of his voice, of musical elements and interludes, as it does in the lyrics themselves. It's a performance, it's a spectacle, it's a show, and Capossela happily plays the court jester, the fool juggling alone on the side with his balls and his hat, spouting what sounds like nonsense initially, but what an astute audience realizes to be more honest and real than any of the other proffered truth. This ability to mix farce with profound observation is even more developed in his later work, specifically 2006's Ovunque Proteggi, from which a large part of The Story-Faced Man draws, like in "Brucia Troia" or the powerful "SS. dei Naufragati" ("naufragati" means "shipwrecked"), an exploration of sin and destiny, most of which Capossela delivers in an ominous, menacing whisper, counterbalanced with a lonely cello and the Angels of St. Maurice's Chapel choir. At heart, however, Capossela's a songwriter, and an appreciator of good songs, and so his cover of Adriano Celentano's 1962 hit, "Si è Spento il Sole," previously only available on the best-of collection L'Indispensabile, is a perfect example. Here, Capossela ties together the eternal Italian fascination with the American West with the equally satisfying elements of 1960s Italian pop. It is, to say the least, a successful pairing, representative of the album, and hopefully will help to enamor the English-speaking world to him as much as Europe already is.© Marisa Brown /TiVo

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