One of the reasons I look forward to sharing music on the blog is the opportunity it gives me to introduce alternate histories–those parallel cultural timelines we sometimes ignore to tap into. As much as I love and appreciate experimental or little-known gems, I’m also a huge fan of artists whose music, in another cultural context, is rightfully far more loved and widely known. Music that feels immediate, generous, and deserving of universal appreciation, equally, needs “foreign” affirmation. When I think of a fitting example, I keep coming back to Luca Carboni and his 1985 release, Forever.
Speak to any Italian and sing the words “Mare, mare, mare / Ma che voglia di arrivare lì da te, da te”, and I’d wager you’ll hear them speak fondly of Luca Carboni’s smash 1992 hit “Mare Mare.” Capturing a certain non so che particular to those who live surrounded by the Mediterranean, Carboni spoke to quotidian, landlocked Italians–far from tourist hotspots–who dreamed of escaping their lot in life to grasp something freer, farther from any piazza and closer to Italy’s shores.
Born in Bologna in 1962, Carboni came of age during a period of deep political turmoil in Italy, when tensions between far-left and far-right factions ran dangerously high. To show support for one side often meant becoming a target for the other. Bologna itself sat at the epicenter of this unrest, widely regarded as a nucleus of Italy’s countercultural movements. Raised in a working-class family, Luca initially followed a pragmatic path, skipping school to work alongside his father in a factory. Later, after landing a job at a high-end Bolognese fashion store, he felt firsthand how sharply those political lines were drawn when he found himself caught on the wrong side of a left-wing demonstration. Caked in yolk and eggshell, Luca wisely decided it was time to do something else.
Music would shape his next step. Inspired by Italian giants like Lucio Battisti and Francesco De Gregori, he formed a band called Teobaldi Rock, which played a role in Bologna’s burgeoning punk and New Wave scene–one that would eventually spawn groups like Gaznevada and the aptly named R.A.F. Punk group. Yet just as Luca’s youthful aggression began to gain a foothold, he chose to veer off-course and search for another way to reach that audience.
At the tail end of Italy’s so-called “Years of Lead,” only a few years removed from the tragic Bologna Massacre, Luca opted for a third way forward. It was Stadio, the backing group for fellow Bolognese giant Lucio Dalla, who took notice of the young songwriter and invited him to write music for them. By 1982, Stadio’s principal songwriter Gaetano Curreri sensed that Carboni had more to say and encouraged him to record a solo album for RCA Italiano–a record that would ultimately feature production and even songwriting contributions from Dalla himself.
Carboni’s debut, …Intanto Dustin Hoffman Non Sbaglia Un Film (1983), introduced Italian audiences to a new kind of singer-songwriter. Far from a simple heartthrob, Luca felt like the arrival of a new lineage altogether. Songs like the lead single “Ci Stiamo Sbagliando” and later standouts such as “Fragole Buone Buone” oscillate between soulful, Balearic-leaning melodies and deeply personal lyricism, touching on human emotion and social observation. To nearly everyone’s surprise, the album became a modest hit on the strength of those tracks alone, earning Carboni his first supporting tour.
There is, however, something about his follow-up record that feels fundamentally different–and it’s the reason I chose to center Luca’s music here.
Pressed by his label to capitalize on his debut’s success, and only months later, Carboni returned to the studio. Perhaps shaped by circumstance and a severe time crunch, he chose to write all the lyrics and compose all the music for what would become Forever himself. It was a glorious decision.
Evoluzione–Carboni’s instinct to stay one step ahead–defines the shape of Forever. Moving away from traditional singer-songwriter frameworks, he embraced synthesizers, drum machines, and a palette that signaled a clear break from the norm. Searching for a midpoint between Bob Dylan, Duran Duran, and The Clash, Forever deliberately fused dance music with canzone italiana.
The lead single “Sara Un Uomo” takes you there immediately. Built from an arrangement you can count on one hand, its minimalist, quasi-ambient construction perfectly supports abstract lyrics that trade overt sentimentality for a warm, liberal humanism expressed through filtered noise and dance groove. Stretching his vocal cords, Carboni seems to imagine an update to one of his early touchstones–Anima Latina as Anima Macchina.
That tension between contrasts fuels tracks like the mutant latin-tinged groove of “Sexy.” Elsewhere, “Ci Sei Perchè” drifts into epic ballad territory, conjuring something grand from the faintest musical airs, its floating electronic ambience hovering between nostalgia and mercurial daydreaming. A true showcase of Carboni’s songwriting, it recalls some of the best work of Scritti Politti released that same year–no small praise on my part. One track later, “Sugo” reaches for the bleachers with a widescreen earnestness that U2 would similarly explore just a year later on The Unforgettable Fire.
Clocking in at under forty minutes, Forever reflects a time that prized concise, potent statements. By the fourth of its eight tracks, “Le Nostre Parole” continues this ethos, unfolding as an engrossing, evolving piece that recalls The Police in its economy and tension. “Simmu Gente Ca Nun Sà” draws inspiration from watching a soccer match, transforming that communal experience into an exaltation for the common person. Unsurprisingly, it was the second single, “Solarium”, whose quirky disco-inflected pop recalled the experimental dance mysticism of Franco Battiato, that helped propel the album’s popularity.
Still, I find myself lingering on the closer, “La Mamma”–an impressionistic piece, centered on maternity, that fuses symbolic weight with deeply felt sonic craft that reaches for some kind of eternity. Exploring our bond with our mothers, it gestures toward a future-facing form of singer-songwriting, one in which contemporary tools speak just as eloquently as those that inspired us. The things that endure, or travel through time, tend to be those that “remain inside you a little,” just as you remain inside them. Though Luca Carboni would go on to explore other spirits and inspirations, there is something about Forever that still invites you in–and asks you to tuck in.