Originally released in 1978 on Edizioni Leonardi’s Squirrel Records label, Discorsi occupies a prime but long‑obscured corner of Italian library history. Credited to Raskovich (Giuliano Sorgini), the album was pressed once, circulated quietly among broadcasters and production houses, and then disappeared into collector mythology. Its first official reissue, now handled by Redi Edizioni with a faithful reproduction of the original artwork, restores an LP that encapsulates the moment when library music had fully absorbed jazz‑funk’s swagger, cinema’s sense of drama and the studio’s growing appetite for electronic colour.

Part of what makes Discorsi so striking is its consistency of approach. All eleven tracks follow a closely related pattern: tight, mid‑tempo grooves rooted in supple 70s funk, then “contaminated” - in the best sense - by intricate interplay between flute, keyboards, electronics and small but telling orchestral touches. The core language is jazz‑funk, with Fender Rhodes figures and rhythm sections that could have stepped out of a cop film or late‑night talk show. Around that spine, Sorgini threads lithe flute lines, wah‑flecked guitars, analog synth shadings and strings and brass that nod directly to the blaxploitation scores of the era.

Nowhere is that cinematic impulse clearer than on the closing track, “Limoni Verdi!” Here the orchestral arrangements swell into full blaxploitation mode: bold horn stabs, lush yet gritty strings, a bassline that prowls rather than walks, all riding over a clipped drum groove. It feels ready‑made for a freeze‑frame chase through Roman backstreets, yet it remains unmistakably part of the same universe as the earlier, more restrained cues. Across the album, each piece sits at the intersection of function and flair - crafted to be synced to images, but with enough melodic and harmonic personality to stand alone.