I’ve just found out that New York artist Giancarlo Vulcano has “film scores” written on his resume. In the context of Vetro, a collection of minimal, circular works, it all makes perfect sense. Because what’s abundantly clear as you wade your way through the stodgy music is that something’ definitely lacking. Visuals, perhaps? I don’ know. I’m not sure even that could render this album even mildly interesting.
Languid and criminally overdrawn, Vetro is a test of your musical fortitude as you go vis-Ã -vis loping, repetitive instrumental passages. Kudos to you if you manage to survive the near 10 minute faux-epic “Portrait of Arthur Rimbaud’, a piano composition that repeats over and over until you just wish he’d done a hack-and-slash with the virtual pair of scissors. Assuming you’ve come out the other end of Track 1 (or just decided to skip it altogether), you’ll find that Vulcano’ vignettes are based either around a guitar or a piano, and not much else. Occasionally, as on the gritty “Tierra del Fuego’ and muted “3 x 3, no. 1′, he’ll inject a violin to compliment the solo instrument. Yes, Mr. Vulcano! With more than one instrument playing, there’ actually some texture and emotion bleeding from the stone. Ironically, on an album marketed as a minimalistic excursion, the best – well, most bearable, anyway – song is the album’ closer, “Self Portrait’, with its 808 drums, synthesiser runs and ambient electro booms and skips. It’s the least minimal piece on Vetro and the most engaging.
The way Vulcano has pieced this album together defies any sort of logic, and its abortive flow doesn’ aid his cause. The fact that tracks 1, 4 & 8 were commissioned by the Palais des Beaux-Arts while track 2 was written for a film of the same name should have been a warning sign: these songs were never meant to fit together!
Vetro is prosaic in every sense of the word.
Dom Alessio
