Delone

The music of Sacri Cuori is a kaleidoscopic road trip through imaginary '60/'70s soundtrack music and post-folk sonics from Italy, Europe, and beyond. Sacri Cuori only half-jokingly call themselves the bastard children of Fellini. Their sound palette is defined by a moody, Adriatic twang, falling somewhere between the old-time dance music of their native Romagna and Lynch's Mulholland Drive; between Santo & Johnny and Ry Cooder (or Brian Eno). Of course Ennio Morricone and Nino Rota are also present, as are Riz Ortolani, Piero Piccioni, Piero Umiliani, Armando Trovajoli, and other maestros of Italian film music's golden age. Delone was crafted over two years in a series of sessions in which the band consciously stretched their identity. Core personnel Antonio Gramentieri (guitars and more), Francesco Giampaoli (bass and beyond), and Diego Sapignoli (drums and percussion) recorded the album with Francesco Valtieri (baritone saxophone), Denis Valentini (percussion, horns, and more), Christian Ravaglioli (keys and horns), and Enrico Bocchini (drums and percussion). While still primarily an instrumental affair, the album introduces the resplendent voice of Carla Lippis, the last Italian diva, whom Sacri Cuori met in Australia and brought back to her ancestral homeland (and language). She sings in both English and Italian. Other vocalists include French chanteuse Emmanuelle Sigal, Howe Gelb of the famed American cult band Giant Sand, and Adam Gladyszek (Snake Charmer). As always, Sacri Cuori is more like an enlarged family than a fixed ensemble, and other guests include Evan Lurie (The Lounge Lizards, soundtracks for Roberto Benigni's films) on keyboards, guitar pioneer Marc Ribot (Tom Waits), drummer Steve Shelley (Sonic Youth), and members of the Mexican Cumbia sensations Sonido Gallo Negro. While certainly beholden throughout to it's Italian musical roots, Delone collides in unpredictable ways with a variety of global sound transmissions. The breathless rush of the surf-driven opener Bendigo cuts hard to the sultry romanticism of the second song Una Danza, which in turn, slyly gives way to the nostalgic twang of La Marabina. The album flows like this for the duration, brilliantly touching upon disparate sound-worlds that range from the pastoral (Billy Strange) to the cosmopolitan (the Gainsbourg-influenced Serge) to the classically pop (Delone). There is passion and adventure, excitation and sadness. There is a magnificent sense of wonder. Delone plays like a treasured notebook full of restless dreams and nostalgic sketches, all of it edited together like an old, suspenseful TV movie.