Why Do My Daughter's Eyelids Look Pink

The evening is not the best. I'm tired, tired. It rained until six in the morning, makes a warm and humid el 'air is sticky, it seems to swim rather than walk. Forte Antenne A, Villa Ada, I have to get there on foot, with the means I lose. The ticket costs 13 €, not much, but not a foolish thing, for me at the moment are slaughtered. Arrive at 21:30, the concert will begin an hour, I have to well wait.
I sit in the third row, looking around the stage. I get bored a bit, 'I came alone.
four chairs on stage. I bet on an accordion and a violin, perhaps a guitar.
I'm bored.
Then everything changes. John Lindo takes the stage, and everything changes. E 'tall and skinny, awkward, lanky. Funny, I would say almost more now than when he was the leader of the CCCP, is not a man 's age has made it more fascinating.



Averei almost won my bet. Joining him an accordionist and a violinist, plus a second voice, a good content you would see at a festival, singing traditional songs.
The music starts, and for two hours I forget everything. As always the 'impression, to hear him sing, is that someone has replaced the trachea with a cane' s body. Reads, sings, recites chants, screams, gets up, gets back his seat. And you can not take my eyes off her. The music is along the sacred and profane, sensual and cerebral. It 's like an electrified village festival, a sacred song become electronic music. It 'a Mass, a celebration, a spectacle, a statement of faith. The audience is rapt, at the end of some songs explodes into applause liberating, other times it can only remain silent to think, to reflect on what he just heard. In his spare
celebrates the life and death, the continuous flow of the seasons and the nature of the times, a song that grows quietly, his Apennines, his faith with simple and complicated, and highly popular. And you expect a
is on its way, to retire. But it gives the audience smiling and ironic, apologizing for his forgetfulness, because it is the 'only concert that will do this summer and is "just come down from the mountain." He smiles, leans over, always seems to find someone in the audience.
After the concert, someone gives him a rose on stage. The collection with a smile, tightens, it seems really happy. Then he gives us an encore, almost better than the concert itself, and sings "Loving" as if it was the coolest thing I've ever written (and maybe it is).
The concert closed with the litany / hook "for them polverizzaerà last not least, last not least polverizzerà them", his voice slowly fades away, so the instruments, the stage remains empty. But it remains full
the feeling of having seen one of the few artists in the fullest sense of the term, of Italian music, one of the few truly charismatic, in a landscape so flat. One that is now as much as punk in '82, but with other forms, other content. One that, to hear him speak, it seems a Nietzsche who met the faith. Restless and peaceful.