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And the thought goes (slowly) to those episodes of Domenica In endured solely while waiting for 90th minute, the triumphant guest appearances with Venier, and the joyous crowd baths during the Sanremo period, to a white piano that magically turned turquoise or cobalt blue under the stage lights, and to that composed (yet charismatic) air of an old master from a swashbuckling film. Chinese.
An excuse to listen to – even more than once, if necessary – the latest hit regularly in fifth or sixth place on the charts, but also to savor the consecration of what you could have called at the time the most poetic of Italian songwriters (and people would have taken you seriously).
I think of '96 and Cantare è d'amore, but also of '93 and Notte bella magnifica, songs that could easily have contended for the title of “most romantic Italian song of the '90s” (with great uncertainty about who would have won). If, in between, that timeless and out-of-category masterpiece Cinque giorni by Zarrillo hadn't arrived.
An artist far too multifaceted to limit himself to easy chart successes, he laid the foundations (in Italy) for the soundtrack of fantasy-themed fiction, linking his name to high television moments made in Fininvest. From Fantaghirò to Sorellina e il principe del sogno, from La principessa e il povero to Desideria e l'anello del drago (even though almost everyone remembers Anna Falchi and hardly anyone the soundtracks by Amedeo Minghi).
Anyway, let it be clear: agreed on the consecration and agreed on the ambitious side projects, but the Minghi that changes your life (marking a before and after) is the one from Serenata. First of all, because there's Panella. Who signs as Duchesca, but is always Pasquale. And “Sciocca luna se le goda lei le stelle facili” is a heavy blow from Panella that hits you straight in the forehead, leaving a lifelong mark. Second, for that effortless floating between remote past and conditional present – and, at the same time, for those finals in diphthong - without which Amedeo wouldn't be Minghi.
"E vagamente mi muoverei... forse ti sfiorerei... come un'alga ti ondeggerei..." (complete with the transitive use of the otherwise intransitive wave)
"E lì l'amai... dimenticai di lei... e lei... (of me)"
Not forgetting "te che non ti svegli mai e fiamme in sogno crei, scese a dirmi che non ci sei".
All first-degree cousins of the neverlands that I flankstrolled when I wonderazed and you carefreeed, and falling I watched your foreign head (that rolled).
Third and fundamental reason, because the Minghi of Serenata also knows how to open a breach of Porta Pia in everyone's hearts. He doesn't do it only by playing the nostalgia card (Anni '60, marking the end of his collaboration with the late Gaio Chiocchio formerly of Pierrot Lunaire), but also by experimenting with celestial and keyboard-like new-age sounds halfway between Vatican music and the Fantaghirò to come.
Who better than him, furthermore, would have been able to sing the greatness and humility of the greatest Pole of the 20th century? Someone tried to do likewise, but without reaching the same heights of lyricism.
And you who are sitting there snickering conceitedly, know that you can also have the entire discography on vinyl of De André bought with L'Espresso, but if you don't then include Vattene Amore among the most beautiful Italian songs ever, you really have a little spool instead of a soul.
And you'll bump your head.
Ouch.
Ouch.
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