In this day and age, when there’s no lack of opinions, I go back to a few personal heroes. When I think about putting yourself out there, to think beyond borders and history, my mind goes back to Patty Pravo. One always goes back and wonders: What was going on in her mind when she headed to China in 1994 to record Ideogrammi?
Patty Pravo, born Nicoletta Strambelli in Venice, Italy, had always been a fascinating character in the realm of Italian culture and of music-at-large. Classically-trained – perhaps more so than some of who would become her peers, like Milva, Lucio Battisti, Battiato, Fabrizio De Andre to name a few – she shed styles as much as she periodically shed attire on stage. Once, there was this striking, bubbly, feline-like model type, who rose to fame on the strength of her enormous 1968 hit, “La Bambola”. Then, as soon Patty ascended to her spotlight, she transformed from pop ingénue into a mercurial “femme fatale”, transforming from Lana Turner to an icy blonde Marlene Dietrich stand-in, always misunderstood from the beginning as an artiste who actually gave a damn about what others thought of her.
The funny thing is that in the ‘70s, in the hey-day of glam rock, funk, prog, disco, and all else, her voice, her unique ideas and music, from albums like 1973’s Pazza Idea to 1979’s …Munich-Album… nearly every creative stretch and exploit Patty touched and tried, came up smelling roses. And if record labels didn’t value her independent musical ideas, she’d drop them like a bad habit. From fashion to music and multimedia, Patty had always been just ahead of the curve. Italian canzone wouldn’t have been such a powerhouse in Europe, if it didn’t have Patty’s multitude of crowd-pleasing universal hits.
Then, the ‘80’s came, and Patty experienced her first disconnect from what she thought was her audience. Posing for Italian Playboy at the start of the ‘80s, she figuratively said the quiet part, loudly. Never one to shy away from her sexuality, for obvious chauvinist reasons, the Italian media pilloried her for not running away from that side of her. And Patty, frankly, exiled herself to America, justifiably, having enough of that conservative Italian bullshit.
By the time Patty ventured back to Italy, in the rest of the ‘80s, whatever momentum she had in the charts had ceased to be. It took until the mid ‘80s for her long bouts with real contrived scandals to subside just enough for Patty to feel comfortable to re-engage with the Italian media. Yet, ever the restless musician, she remained committed to making good music, and no matter how high-minded some of that decade’s albums would be – albums like Occulte Persuasioni and the brilliant Oltre L’Eden… – Patty released stunning music to stunningly indifferent Italian audiences.
Patty’s once provocative appearances were now cheapened by lesser artists (with more skin) appearing on cable television and music videos. What could have been a return to the top with an appearance at the Sanremo Music Festival in 1990, hastens her renewed departure. Tired of once again having to sing vulgar lyrics to tasteless music, she bailed before the concert began. Just two years later, Patty’s sometimes brushes with the law would come back to haunt her, as she’d be jailed in solitary confinement for possessing hash. Once again, she had enough of that Italian conservative bullshit and high-tailed it elsewhere for nearly half a decade.
It wouldn’t be until 1994, in Venice, donning a long Versace dress to inaugurate their Carnevale, that Patty would be giving herself a new sendoff of sorts: be the first Italian artist to perform in China. Invited by Italian music producer and manager David Zard to take advantage of a new kind of Chinese-Italian dialogue, he offered Patty the opportunity to explore another venue (and release new music) inspired by this unlikely trip, something unbeknownst to her audience.
Originally, Patty was supposed to perform live in China and come back to record the album in Italy. However, while in Beijing she felt inspired by its music and evolving culture to do something special. Somehow, they were able to convince the Chinese state to let them record an album in the city itself, with musicians from and around Beijing, in a Chinese recording studio. Working alongside Italian producers Fulvio Maras and Marco Rosano, and musicians from Chinese rock band Acupuncture Point, Patty took advantage of the relative anonymity she enjoyed in China to truly explore her idea of “ideograms”.
In Ideogrammi, Patty took that glorious voice of hers, one able to go from a deep growl to a soft high, and mutate it, making it go from singing beautifully in Italian to one that affected a Pekingese dialect. Rather than try to create “Italian” versions of Chinese-influenced songs, it appears that Patty wanted to create authentically “Chinese” songs that belonged in a modern musical dialog. Videos were created with pioneering Chinese film director Zhang Yuan. The album was recorded with a refreshingly open give and take of ideas between the Chinese crew and Italian side.
What makes Ideogrammi, at least to me, is that it doesn’t soften or whitewash its distinctly Asian influences. The opening track “Esiste Una Storia” is a trippy oscillation between distinctly Chinese vocal phrasing and “oriental” melodic progressions. Grooves that fall on the downtempo side, are injected with samples that unabashedly recall their locale. One never feels like we’re listening to an Italian record. Doubly that goes for heavier tracks like “Ultimo Impero”, ones that don’t run away from this hybrid sound they were exploring. Far from being a commercial record, Ideogrammi is gloriously living in it’s own territory.
Can you recall songs that sound like “Night Call” in Patty’s trajectory? Nearing her 50s, at an age that other musicians were aging out of doing something as revelatory, Patty was doing more than just keeping up with club culture. It seemed that the ideas she had were still quite vibrant and constantly searching. “Sogni” a dramatic reimagining of a This Mortal Coil song, cements part of this voyage.
In interviews, Patty would identify a certain Ryuichi Sakamoto, and the way he worked with “foreign” music as an inspiration of what she wanted to capture here. To treat her inspiration with respect but to not be afraid to explore, freely, what opportunities she could offer it. Songs like “Partenze” are one of those many creations that boggle the mind. To lyrics written by Rimbaud, Chinese chants join in with technodelic grooves and ambient asides, all springing to a bridge Patty wants to build to a culture that has nothing to ask from her (other than respect).
Ideogrammi would come out later in 1994, jointly released in Italy and China. This time, its middling sales did nothing to dissuade Patty. She’d come back stronger than ever — sales be damned. This personal, critical success, largely forgotten, and to this day criminally, never reissued, remains a sterling outlier in her career, one forever marked by finding new ways to carve some teeth on that bleeding edge. In this case, it’s this one unknowingly joining the rung of a “new Chinese music”. Who knew she’d save this, her most cosmopolitan mystery — one created out of selfless immersion, for perhaps, her greatest rebirth?