Album Review: Giuseppe Cucè – 21 grammi
Giuseppe Cucè, the Sicilian songwriter known for his honest, cinematic style, returns with 21 Grammi, released by TRP Vibes and distributed by EGEA Music. Produced by Riccardo Samperi, the album blends acoustic warmth with subtle electronic textures, creating a sound that feels contemporary yet close to the skin – part confessional booth, part dreamy arthouse film.

The centerpiece of the album is the single “Ventuno”. On this song Cucè examines the invisible weight of the soul through earthy, sensual imagery: “two grams of breasts, two grams of legs, two grams of arms…” becomes a way to evoke the physicality of the body while hinting at the lightness of the spirit. The track is a scream – caught between hope and suffocation – an immersion in a sea of emotions where truth hides in the folds of desire, turning into a spontaneous, fairy-tale-like story. It’s the day after Carnival: clothes are burned in the sun, the past is left behind, and a small masterpiece of rebirth, vulnerability, and authenticity emerges.

“Ventuno” has resonated strongly with listeners, racking up over 200,000 streams on Spotify alone, a testament to its emotional power and cinematic allure. But Cucè didn’t stop there: several other tracks from 21 Grammi have also become standout hits, each deserving attention for their unique beauty. One of these is “Dimmi cosa vuoi”.

The song unfolds like a reflective journey, with lyrics tracing the search for understanding and connection: “We won the same years, we’re here again… how do you find the direction? We made all the mistakes, yet we’re still standing.” It’s a meditation on recognition, light, and movement through life – the spaces we repeat, the choices we leave unexplored.

Musically, “Dimmi cosa vuoi” wraps these themes in warmth and softness. The gentle piano and warm organ underpin the arrangement, while Cucè’s intimate vocal delivery adds a tender, human touch.

Another standout from 21 Grammi is “Fragile equilibrio”, which hits with more urgency and drive. The track pulses with a direct kick drum, bright EDM-style synths, and guitars that push the momentum forward, creating a sense of movement and tension.

The lyrics navigate a fragile inner world, a dance between destiny, memory, and self-awareness: “She asked her fate from the magician and his cards… when her monsters vanished from her mind.” The song evokes the push and pull of life’s precarious balances – the coincidences, omens, and glimpses of a wounded soul struggling to hold itself together.

Another track that has become a hit from 21 Grammi is “La mia dea”. The song wraps a soft piano and delicate strings around a melody that evokes the elegance and bittersweet beauty of The Beatles’ “The Long and Winding Road”. Cucè channels that McCartney-like melodic sensibility, but the track surprises with a more explosive chorus, drawing on the traditions of Italian pop and chanson.

The arrangement balances intimacy and grandeur: the verses float with tender refinement, while the chorus bursts with emotional release, creating a contrast that feels both cinematic and deeply human. It’s a song that captures the light sadness of memory and love, yet it celebrates musicality with joyous, soaring melodies. 

While “Una notte infinita” hasn’t yet amassed the streaming numbers of some of the album’s other hits, it has become a personal favorite and a standout moment on 21 Grammi. The track evokes the warmth of piano-led ballads reminiscent of Coldplay or Travis, with a vocal performance that is especially heartfelt and intimate.

Its minimalistic arrangement leaves the song feeling particularly vulnerable – almost naked in its emotional exposure. The lyrics trace a quiet, suspended night: “The last emotion flies / To stay connected with the center of the world / It’s just a simple infinite night.” Each line carries both longing and fragile hope, supported by soft piano motifs and subtle atmospheric touches that allow Cucè’s voice to fully inhabit the space, making every word resonate.

Listening to 21 Grammi is like walking through a city at night, where every light casts a shadow and every shadow carries a story you’re too awake to ignore. Cucè doesn’t offer comfort; he catalogues the pulse of being alive, the weight of the body, the itch of desire, the sting of memory. His songs are precise dissections of feeling, stripped of pretense, and yet each one throbs with a strange, hypnotic beauty. You recognize yourself in the fractures, the glimpses of tenderness, the sudden bursts of motion—and even when the melodies lull you, the tension never entirely disappears. It’s music that watches you back, and you, in turn, can’t look away.