113. Gli impermeabili

Paolo Conte (CGD, 1984);
composed by Paolo Conte

Occasionally, it occurs to me how scary Leonard Cohen would have been if he had gone to law school, because such thoughts usually occur only because I happen to be listening to this ex-avvocato: a Piedmontese composer, pianist, and singer (sort of) who does the chansonnier-roué bit with a resonating sarcasm that inheres just a shade more musically than it does lyrically, which latter it unquestionably does, very much, also. This tune is proof of concept. The title, loosely translated, is “Raincoats.” A dulcet instrumental refrain intoned by massed cellos and single line guitar over a brisk four. On a rainy morning, Conte broods on romantic nights gone by and excuses himself to go get coffee. Key line: “But how well it rains on raincoats / And not on the soul.” Sound dopey? Conte evidently thinks so, too. He separates the lines with the deadest-possible-deadpan scat of “dah, dah-dah, dah-dah” like a dumb imitation of raindrops. Then on the last refrain he joins in on kazoo. It sounds even prettier. And the more ridiculous the juxtapositions, the more genuine the despair seems. People I play this for often tell me I must be joking to extol something so sweet. Probably.

Note: Secular essays about individual songs, each one exactly 200 words long, appearing one per day (or at least regularly) until Donald goes away.