Les Deux Saisons De La Vie: A Timeless Score That Feels Like Home
Alright, let’s talk about Les Deux Saisons De La Vie by Ennio Morricone. This 1973 gem is one of those albums that sneaks up on you—like when you're walking through Paris in the rain and suddenly realize how beautiful it feels to be lost. It’s not flashy or loud; instead, it whispers into your soul with strings, organs, and Edda dell’Orso’s haunting voice. Released under Delta France, this Stage & Screen masterpiece has a way of sticking with you long after the needle lifts off the record.
First off, kudos to Bruno Nicolai for directing this sonic journey (and flexing his organ skills while he’s at it). But honestly? The real star here is Morricone himself—the man who wrote these tracks, arranged them, and somehow made them sound like they’ve always existed. You can tell every note was crafted with care, almost as if Morricone sat down thinking, “What would life sound like if it had two seasons?” Spoiler alert: He nailed it.
Now, onto the tracks. Let’s start with the title piece, "Les Deux Saisons De La Vie." If there’s ever been music that captures nostalgia without being cheesy, this is it. The violin work by Dino Asciolla hits hard—it's delicate but packs a punch, like remembering an old friend you haven’t seen in years. Then comes Edda dell’Orso’s voice, floating in like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. Honestly, I remember this track because it feels like autumn leaves crunching underfoot and spring flowers blooming all at once. Weird combo? Sure. Does it work? Absolutely.
Next up is "La Cité," which feels like stepping into a forgotten corner of Paris where time stands still. Arnoldo Graziosi’s piano takes center stage here, weaving something both melancholic and hopeful. There’s a moment around the 2-minute mark where everything just clicks—the melody shifts slightly, and suddenly you’re not listening anymore—you’re living inside the song. It’s cinematic without needing visuals, proof that Morricone could paint entire worlds with just sound.
The credits list reads like a who’s who of talent: Jacques Arnoul producing, Bruno Nicolai pulling double duty on direction and organ, and of course, Morricone wearing multiple hats like some kind of musical superhero. Together, they created something special—an album that doesn’t shout for attention but quietly demands it.
So yeah, Les Deux Saisons De La Vie isn’t perfect. Sometimes it meanders a bit too much, and maybe the pacing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But isn’t that what makes it so human? Like life itself, it ebbs and flows, leaving little impressions along the way.
Final thought: Listening to this album feels like finding an old photograph tucked away in a drawer—a reminder that beauty often hides in places we overlook. And hey, if you ever need background music for staring out a rainy window while sipping coffee, look no further.
