Ennio Morricone – Morricone Segreto
Ennio Morricone, the flying spaghetti monster responsible for some of the most memorable soundtracks of all time, is newly survived by a compilation of his truest creative works in Morricone Segreto.
Morricone is such a big film scorer and composer that his works break into the mainstream, and someone who simply wears Nikes or drinks Modelo has likely been struck by his awe. He’s scored some of the greatest westerns ever made and has even joined the Tarantino digest in more recent years. What many don’t know is that beyond the big pictures lies some of his greatest work. Some progressive individuals were able to compile an entire side of Ennio Morricone that the mass majority of the world has never seen, and what comes to fruit is the flavor of a different genius.
Navajo Joe took a hike to the sewer Boroughs and joined a beatnik expatriate jazz cult that has great cough syrup etiquette. The compilation glides over passion scores from movies only macho metrosexuals have seen. These scores might as well have been solo albums, because Morricone worked with total Americana freedom and did exactly what he wanted. You gain an exponential respect for the quality of the mind and the mountainous range of influence that passes through the man. The compilation has reefer siestas, raves for Neapolitan guidos on hot ice, elevator music for the fifty-floor limbo trip, and even primal garage kicks that sound like Ennio knew who The Godz were and dug their Contact High. There’s also some really decent straight-up jazz on this album. Jazz that would be respected even if the cover were made of cardboard.
The man really had the music in him, and he didn’t let a single thought build a wall against another. He could never be a victim of the time because he already held in his hand the severed head of a grandfather clock. He died last July, and though it was sad to see him go, I can take comfort in knowing every emotion he ever felt still rains here, and that would mean I’ll never see him really leave. Because though not all his glitters were gold, they were of the ecstasy that comes from such a gem.
E cuando l’amico chiede, non v’è domani
(And if a friend asks, there is no tomorrow)