Bandabardò
Il circo mangione

This shouldn't have happened, you know Enrico? You fought hard against what was eating you from the inside and today, on Valentine's Day, it takes over. And you leave us like this, like a photograph of lightning, on a day that will remain in its swiftness. No party, no song, no smile. You left at dawn to go where the night never falls and I was there, watching over the phone, and I find the news. A part of me dies, Enrico: the part born in '96 when, still a fetus, I heard the Band in concert from my mother's womb, when I was lulled to your gentle melodies, simple but as captivating as a glass of sparkling water, when I went to see you and your great band in the theater to present the adventures of Ottavio, when I bought Scaccianuvole and L’improbabile thinking I would find new gems and instead found an album too dark and twisted on one side and on the other a work too "overblown" for the band's standards. There I abandoned you, Enrico, although I continued to see you live, I abandoned you: I used to say that you were old by then, that your body could no longer withstand the breeze of those evenings. But I will never forget the concert at Obihall in 2015, the concert in Empoli in 2016, in Terranuova on September 1, 2017, the mega concert at Mandela Forum on December 7, 2018. But above all I will never forget the last time I saw you on that stage: September 1, 2019, your birthday. A year and a half later... you're no longer here.
For my life, you have been a father who introduced me to music, to its magic, to its eternal changing, and to juggle words, a gift that I still carry with me and that continues to grow every day I see. Right now I am listening to the debut of the Band, Il circo mangione, and it comes from the bottom of my heart to dedicate your best song to you, according to both me and you: Ho la testa. My first lullaby, the first song that lulled my senses, a track that is the complete opposite of a lullaby; an invitation to stay awake because sleep steals the time to accomplish something great. In your last message, you wrote that you no longer have regrets and that your life has been a great adventure: in truth, Enrico, I tell you that you have one regret. You left in silence, in your house in Fiesole, without giving any sign of your illness. You should have given yourself and us one last great party, one last performance before saying goodbye, a joyous and festive finale typical of the Band. But no, you chose to fall asleep in the quiet as many characters have done and not to play anymore at night for those who want to love. You, Enrico, were an experience: the experience of being able to find a huge community that gathers in front of a stage to dance with joy and adrenaline to your music, which you composed with the good Finaz and the whole band for almost 30 years. And for this, I will always be grateful to you. Goodbye Enrico, go play your songs in Hell, Purgatory, and if possible even Paradise.
Chapeau, Martello