Alice
A cosa pensano

“Better a brunette at the window than a blonde dressed up for a party”... My father, after seeing Alice on Domenica In....

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"And we ran out of gas in the open countryside, this warm breath that you feel even in winter, this dense wind that children don't feel,"

Little phrases like that, slight estrangement like that, fragments of pop exercises from the Messina school.

Sumptuous voice yet in this case breezy. A feminine beauty not of this world. What more could we young men have asked for?

And then it always ended, smiling, with the list: "What do the shopkeepers think when they sell? What do the girlfriends dream of when they kiss?" Et cetera et cetera et cetera...

Lists, lists that at the time we really loved...

Alice...

Cosmic girlfriend, girl who delivers words...

Alice has been haunting me forever.

The first time was a juke box somewhere... a hundred lire well spent, I would say. After all, as we know, at certain moments a little coin is worth as much as the most precious of treasures.

I imagine it was a little country bar. And I certainly remember a couple of foolish extras, the guy behind the counter and a little boy playing an ancient video game.

And a guy, incredibly white beard, unbelievably blue eyes, and the inevitable glass of red in hand.

Ah gentlemen, that guy was an elderly farmer who (hear ye, hear ye!!!) played the role of the village elder, the representative of intuitive wisdom, set in the middle of the scene by my priceless ghostwriter.

A smart guy, my ghostwriter....

In any case, after playing the song three times and shaking the fiery (or perhaps bronze) faces of those present from their stupor, came the unexpected gift, in the form of a smile and a glass raised to the sky, from our unsuspecting shaman.

I don't know if this has ever happened to you, but it’s quite an experience to leave a little country bar with the blessing of the wisest of men. And to do so while humming, moreover. Then it doesn't matter if the song is one of those Francuzzo wrote in five minutes. Oh no, it really doesn't matter.

God, what a jaunty sensation, a rare commodity for our Alice, ex-girl Carla, indeed always rather aloof and stern. Jeanne Moreau, consider that, the beauty that holds a mystery, the elegance, the style, and blah blah blah...

Oh yes, girl Carla, what joy, even now, just like then, more than then. It's nice to discover that a little song can be a demon killer.

Against “the guardians of the usual gray”... against “my relatives, belts of chastity.”

And it makes me smile, with all the masterpieces you've made, to write about this airy little trifle. But nothing can be done against the power of imprinting...

And anyway, I've always loved you madly. Always.

Always!!!

Trallallà...