Sconcerto by Stefano Benni & Paolo Damiani: A Quirky, Bluesy Journey You Didn’t Know You Needed
Alright, let’s talk about Sconcerto. Released back in 1999 in Italy on the Il Manifesto label, this album is one of those hidden gems that doesn’t fit neatly into any box. It’s part spoken word, part electric blues, and a whole lot of monologue-driven storytelling. If you’re into albums that feel like a late-night chat with an old friend who’s got a flair for drama, then this might just be your thing.
The brainchild of Stefano Benni (lyrics and voice) and Paolo Damiani (music and double bass), Sconcerto blends genres like Non-Music, Blues, and Spoken Word into something completely unique. And I gotta say, it works—most of the time. The credits read like a creative pow-wow: Antonio Iasevoli on guitar, Diana Torto adding vocals, Filiberto Palermini blowing soulful saxophone lines, and even percussion from Paolo Corsi. Oh, and shoutout to Marco Sauro for the artwork—it’s as moody as the music itself.
Now, onto the tracks. There are sixteen of them, but two really stuck with me: “E’ Notte, Fuori / La Città” and “Tema D’Amore / Il Figlio.”
“E’ Notte, Fuori / La Città” feels like walking through an empty city at night. Stefano Benni’s voice has this raspy, almost conspiratorial tone, like he’s letting you in on some secret only he knows. The electric blues guitar creeps in subtly, giving off vibes that are both melancholic and kinda hopeful. At moments, it’s easy to picture yourself under dim streetlights, thinking about life’s big questions—or maybe just where you left your keys. It’s not flashy, but it digs deep.
Then there’s “Tema D’Amore / Il Figlio,” which hits different. This track layers Benni’s poetic lyrics over Paolo Damiani’s rich double basslines. There’s a raw intimacy here, like overhearing someone pour their heart out without realizing they’re being listened to. The saxophone adds this smoky texture, making it feel cinematic. Honestly, it’s the kind of song that makes you want to sit down with a glass of wine—or hey, maybe a strong espresso—and reflect on relationships, family, or whatever else keeps you up at night.
What strikes me most about Sconcerto is how unpolished yet intentional it feels. It’s not trying to impress you with perfect production; instead, it invites you into its world—a little messy, deeply human, and full of quirks. Listening to it reminded me of flipping through an old photo album: nostalgic, imperfect, but somehow richer because of it.
And here’s the unexpected kicker: while writing this review, I realized how rare it is to find an album that combines spoken word and blues so seamlessly. Most people wouldn’t think these styles go together, but Benni and Damiani pull it off like peanut butter and pickles—strange, sure, but weirdly satisfying.
So yeah, give Sconcerto a spin if you’re looking for something offbeat. Just don’t blame me if you end up humming along to poems about love and cities long after the record stops spinning.
