There are records that you listen to.
And then there are the records that push you back to the beginning without you even realizing it.
Måneskin guitarist Thomas Raggi‘s solo debut clearly belongs in the second category. Not because it is long, ambitious or grandiloquent. Just the opposite: because it is direct, electric and dangerously addictive. An album that lasts just long enough to leave you hungry… and that’s why you end up playing it over and over again.
Thomas Raggi is no longer “the guitarist for”.
For years, Raggi has been one of the key pieces of the Måneskin gear: recognizable riffs, classic attitude and a way of playing that draws from both seventies rock and modern urgency. But on his solo debut he doesn’t try to replicate the band’s formula or compete with it. He does something smarter: he steps away from the collective spotlight to show his musical DNA without intermediaries.
This first work does not sound like a “whim between albums” or a shy experiment. It sounds like a musician who was clear about what he wanted to say and how to say it, and who has waited for the right moment to do it.
A short disc… and therein lies the rub.
One of the main reasons why this album works so well on loop is its length. There are eight songs, no filler, no detours, no forced ballads or transitional cuts. Each track comes in fast, leaves an impression and leaves before it gets tiring.
That compact format is reminiscent of rock albums from another era, when the goal was not to inflate streaming numbers but to build a rounded experience. When it ends, the silence is uncomfortable. And then you hit play again.
Rock without asking permission
The sound of the album is unmistakable: guitars up front, organic drums, dirty grooves and a production that prioritizes energy over surgical perfection. There is no fear of volume, no fear of the classic riff, no fear of the chorus that sticks.
There is no indie posturing or empty nostalgia here. There is respect for the rock tradition, but also a contemporary reading: songs that could be played in a small club or in a big festival without losing their identity.
Collaborations are numerous, but well understood
One of the great risks of any solo debut with guests is that the project ends up looking like a showcase of names. The opposite is true here. The collaborations are not meant to steal the limelight, but to reinforce the character of each song.
Each guest enters when the song needs them and disappears when they have fulfilled their function. The result is a choral album, yes, but with a very clear voice at the helm: Raggi’s as sonic architect.
“Getcha!” and the art of opening an album.
The album kicks off with a track that works as a declaration of intentions. “Getcha!” is not only one of the most immediate cuts, it is also the one that sets the tone: sass, rhythm and a constant feeling of forward movement.
It is a song designed to hook you from the first minute, and it succeeds. From then on, the album moves fluidly between different intensities without losing coherence.
An album designed to be played live
You can tell that this album was born with the stage in mind. There is nothing overly produced or unnecessary layers that only work in the studio. Everything sounds playable, real, almost physical.
That band feeling, of sweat and hot amps, is another key to its addictive effect. Listening to it awakens an almost instinctive reaction: to imagine how it will sound live.
So… why do we keep hearing about it?
Because it doesn’t try to prove anything.
Because it doesn’t explain too much.
Because it doesn’t go on too long.
Thomas Raggi’s debut works because it relies on the power of the songs, on the guitar as the main language and on the idea that rock, when it is well done, needs no justification.
It’s not a record that begs for your attention: it steals it.
And when it’s over, the only thing that seems logical is to start over.
