Alan Sorrenti
L.A. & N.Y.

Alan Sorrenti - "L.A. & N.Y." (1979)

Am I getting older or am I getting younger listening again to these little songs? Or like Hal 9000 are my brain circuits breaking down once and for all, allowing me to only mumble over some childhood song? Well, one of these might be "Tu sei l'unica donna per me" (You Are the Only Woman for Me). I feel like that astronaut as I press the jukebox buttons, my mind drifts away, I feel it, time stops, the sticky, unhealthy selection starts... the 45 spins the first mellifluous notes. To write such simple and rich rhymes - which by now will rightfully find their place in the school anthologies of 2025 - I was saying you have to have been in love, at least once in your life, there's no denying it, not even dreamtheater can hold a candle to it. What seems trashy today might have seemed like a Shakespearean midsummer night's dream back then, that's all, out of historical context it's hard to communicate the emotions of the Mantra of this record, or the summer sleet with orange reflections on her loose hair.

There's nothing to explain, nothing to understand or speculate about; it's the translation into pop poetry of fantasies and clear, universal emotional movements: cunning little guitars, dripping fender piano reflux from every note, strings..strings of cotton candy, and finally a touch of west coast-the production of Jay Graydon "when the morning sun wakes us ... time flies when we're together, it's sad to open that door, I'll stay if you want...it's truly you, the only woman for me, time doesn't matter if I'm with you..." Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Poliziano genetically and popularly they're all there, sweetened for consumption like an ice cream to lick together on a starry night with your girlfriend: and I was in love during that period, no reasons needed... now more than the sounds, I feel the lights of those songs, I see them again; it was June, she and I had a date made the afternoon before: we knew each other, then like in a movie, I called her passing by her balcony, she was watching with a friend my skateboard tricks; I gathered courage and... after an almost sleepless night, but hers probably wasn't any better, I felt it, I felt her breath on me, it's indescribable, at that age you can even do telepathy. And Sunday morning, the sun's rays slipped through the blinds, waking me, coffeemilkovaltine, I look at the Love is calendar, what day is it? and from the TV, the superchart serves up the number one's video... Give me your love, don't ask me for anything.

The rest is history, mine. The one where at a fateful, hermetic, uniform, not very debatable, not very modifiable moment, you find yourself unable to think of anything but her. An oriental proverb says: only by falling in love can you SEE.