L'Inciampo Dell'Uovo by Cormorano is a daring, eccentric slice of Italian avant prog that feels like a cracked egg spilling both chaos and nourishment. It's messy, philosophical, and deeply rooted in the lineage of Area and Stormy Six, but with a modern urgency that makes it more than just homage. Cormorano, formed in the mid 70s but only sporadically recording, returned in 2025 with Raffaello Regoli on vocals, joined by Gabriele Giovanardi (sax), Antonio Dondi (drums), Francesco Boni (bass), Elia Filippini (keys), Michele Zanni (guitar), plus guests Alice Sandri (vocals) and Leonardo Zanni (guitar). Released on Lizard Records, the album clocks in at about 40 minutes, balancing concise statements with sprawling experiments. The album arrives with the kind of title that already suggests something faintly surreal, slightly unsteady, and just a little mischievous—and the music follows suit. This is a disc that delights in imbalance, in near-misses and awkward turns, where elegance and abrasion coexist in a constantly shifting relationship. Performance is at the heart of what makes this album work. The playing feels deliberately tactile: strings scrape and chatter, winds wheeze and curl around one another, and percussion often sounds less played than provoked. There's a strong sense of ensemble awareness here, with musicians listening closely and reacting in real time, allowing pieces to lurch forward or pull back unexpectedly. Moments that might feel like mistakes in another context are embraced as structural features, lending the music a human, slightly precarious quality. The production wisely avoids over-polish. Instruments are given space, but not isolation—sounds bleed into each other, creating a blurred, almost physical soundstage. You can hear fingers on strings, the clatter of keys, the decay of notes as they collide and overlap. This approach suits the album's character perfectly, reinforcing its sense of instability and keeping the listener alert. Nothing here feels smoothed out for comfort; the rough edges are very much part of the point. Structurally, L'Inciampo Dell'Uovo operates in fragments and asymmetries. Rhythms stumble, regroup, then fracture again; motifs appear briefly before being twisted or abandoned. Rather than building towards conventional climaxes, the music often seems to circle its ideas, worrying at them from different angles. Harmonically, there's a fondness for tension—clusters and dissonant intervals are allowed to hang in the air, unresolved, creating a constant low-level unease that gives the album its peculiar momentum. In terms of influences, Cormorano feel aligned with the more playful end of the avant-garde: echoes of early Henry Cow, and the anarchic spirit of certain Italian experimental collectives are all detectable. There's also a faint kinship with contemporary improvised music, particularly in the way structure and spontaneity are held in productive conflict. Ultimately, L'Inciampo Dell'Uovo is an album that thrives on awkwardness. It trips, stumbles, and occasionally sprawls, but it does so with intent and intelligence. For listeners drawn to experimental music that challenges without posturing—and that finds beauty in imbalance—Cormorano offer a deeply engaging and quietly subversive listen. This album is not polite prog—it's confrontational, witty, and philosophical. Cormorano embrace risk, crafting a record that forces listeners to reflect as much as enjoy. It's less about virtuosity and more about attitude. This one is right up your alley if you relish prog that challenges rather than comforts. ***+ David Carswell Where to buy? |
