Montecarlo by Ennio Sangiusto: A Forgotten Gem That Still Shines
Man, oh man, let me tell ya—this album Montecarlo by Ennio Sangiusto is like stepping into a time machine. Released back in 1960 in Italy, it’s one of those records that feels dusty but alive, you know? Like an old photograph with edges curled up from years of handling. It’s got Latin vibes mixed with rock and pop, plus ballads and chansons sprinkled all over. And guess what? Somehow, it works. The label, Astraphon, might not be a household name anymore, but they sure knew how to pick 'em.
Now, I gotta talk about the title track, “Montecarlo.” This song just hits different. It starts off slow, almost shy, like someone tiptoeing through a dream. Then BAM—it opens up into this sweeping melody that grabs your heartstrings and doesn’t let go. You can practically picture yourself strolling along the streets of Monaco (or at least what you imagine Monaco looks like). There’s something so cinematic about it; Sangiusto had this way of making music feel like a movie scene. Honestly, every time I hear it, I’m transported somewhere far away—not just geographically, but emotionally too. It’s nostalgic without being specific, if that makes sense. Like remembering feelings rather than moments.
Then there’s “And The Heavens Cried…” Woah, this one's heavy. Right off the bat, it throws you into this stormy mood—you can almost feel raindrops hitting your skin. The lyrics are poetic, kinda haunting even, but in a beautiful way. It’s not overly complicated or flashy, just raw emotion laid bare. When the chorus kicks in, it feels like… well, like the heavens really ARE crying, right alongside you. It sticks with you long after the last note fades out. Songs like this don’t come around often—they remind you why music matters in the first place.
What’s wild is how Montecarlo blends genres and styles without feeling forced. One moment it’s smooth as silk, the next it’s got these jagged edges that catch you off guard. It’s messy in the best possible way, like life itself. And yeah, sure, some parts sound dated now, but isn’t that part of its charm? It’s real. Imperfect. Human.
Here’s the thing though—at the end of the day, albums like this make me wonder: How many other hidden gems are sitting forgotten in basements or thrift stores? What stories do they hold? Maybe we’ll never know. But for now, I’m glad I stumbled across Montecarlo. If anything, it reminds us that music isn’t just entertainment—it’s connection. Even when it’s six decades old and written in another language.
So grab a cup of coffee—or maybe pour yourself a glass of wine—and give this record a spin. Let it take you somewhere unexpected. Trust me, you won’t regret it.
