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The year was 1980 and we were all quietly basking in the sun on Senigallia’s "velvet beach" when Giovanni arrived on the beach breathless and excited, shouting: "I have the four tickets for Bob at San Siro! ...I have four tickets for Bob Marley at San Siro, yay!!!!"
The days dragged by until finally, after an excited, alcohol-fueled night of waiting, the morning of June 27th arrived: WE’RE OFF!
8:00 AM: Andrea and I meet in front of the Rotonda by the seafront, waiting for the usual latecomer Giovanni, who - miracle! - arrives only 10 minutes late in his shabby blue Dyane, with a Bay Angels and Cosmic sticker on the hood and the skyline of the Big Apple on the side; with him is his girlfriend at the time, Gabriella. Roll call: we're all here, the beers, the tickets, the blankets, the packs of soft M.arlboro S.tudents, and all the remaining gear for the "artisanal joints" are well hidden inside the gear knob, what’s missing? This time nothing; there’s even gas, and we already pooled money for the highway... 8:30 AM, we pass the toll gate, heading to Milan.
The Dyane unleashes all its 6-hp power, resembling a Roman chariot, reaching a crazy speed of 110 km/h on the A14!
3:30 PM: we enter the Temple of Football, for the first time lent to other noble uses.
Nervous waiting, sunny and with a lot of people, I didn’t count, but it seemed like there were 100,000 of us that night smoking joints (they’d have to re-sod the entire field later, lacking grass, even Collovati and Altobelli’s football turf would do as a hallucinogen).
Breaking the wait was the performance of a certain Daniele Pino from Naples.
9:00 PM: the sun sets, even though inside the "Meazza", given the high steps, it had already set a while ago, and from a simple yet dazzling stage of lights and colors, those which today might be confused with the peace flag’s colors, appears our messiah who at the cry of "RASTAFARAI!" begins "Positive Vibration", slow, insistent, and with a rhythm that leads everyone to sing along "Rastaman Vibration YEAH! Positive."
After the first song, a liberating scream rose from the field; the two most exciting hours of my life had begun, at least until the victory at the "Bernabeu" two years later.
Then "Punky reggae party" at the cry of "JUEHI... JEHEEEI! JUEHI... JUEHEEEI!!! till "Exodus, movement of JAH people."
"Stir it up", "Rat Race", "Concrete Jungle" and "Kinky Reggae" sped by with a stadium that danced and a Bob jumping on stage to the voices of the "I Threes", his splendid colored (o) singers.
Music, colors, and happy people in "Live up yourself" where the syncopated rhythm grabs hold of you as much as the grass growing on the field, a hundred thousand in rapture for the reggae messiah’s only Italian appearance, who proclaims his message in "Rebel music" and "War/No more trouble", still fresh with their charm and communicative strength, the message always current.
Break, need to re-oxygenate before the final sprint.
Chants, ovations, and at the call of his 100,000 Bob & Wailers re-emerge on stage for an explosion of joy almost unmatched in music history, it’s the classic sensation of the best concerts that "now the stadium is coming down" when Marley’s guitar strums the first chords of "It is love", by then we’re all one tribe dancing (quote), and someone, using the song as a pretext, makes out on the field like our friends Giovanni and Gabriella. Another song passes and then the apogee of Bob, the Wailers, me, my three companions, and the other 99,996 at San Siro: "Jamming", for me the quintessence of reggae, is lived as a collective experience of love between Bob Marley and his audience.
Then, as another singer-songwriter might have said, lights on San Siro and slowly you realize that two hours have passed of which Italy's music history will be forever memorable.
We are literally shattered by the infamous post-concert 3F syndrome, stoned, finished, and happy, and somehow we manage to reach our Dyane, which we’ll ask for one last push through the night.
The return is filled with disorientation, make-out sessions on the back seat, and souvenirs from the Meazza field which today sees much other (very sad) protagonists like Recoba and Pirlo.
The next day the alarm reminds me that I'm not at the sea but in Verona and that dreams last just as long as a review; this is the concert that, sadly too small, I didn’t experience but in return dreamed of many times. If I ever had the chance to attend, I believe I would have lived it just like this double live album recorded during the European tour two years prior.
NO MORE TROUBLE IN THE WORLD (Bob Marley)
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