David Bowie
Ragazzo solo, ragazza sola

THE REVIEW

This work, composed of a single piece yet complete in every aspect, is a pillar of the global discography. A cornerstone. A monument.
Trust me.

Lyrics by Mogol. Voice by David Bowie. Yes, you heard right.
When an evening with friends doesn't take off, when topics run dry, when the rain beats against the windows and the only soaring thought of your life is the mortgage payment; when nothing brings back your smile, your love has left you, politics nauseates you; when there’s only scantily clad dancers and grim images of distant wars on TV, and in the venues of your city there are only sad cover bands of 80s cartoons…
Well, these are the moments to listen again to this immortal piece.
Laughter will arise spontaneously, friends will praise your ability to surprise them, the mortgage will pay itself off, wars will end, and your favorite artists will perform every night at the pub down the street.

Because this song does good, it creates spontaneous and healthy merriment and is also a boon for self-esteem: it shows that, whatever happens, someone has done worse than you, no matter what you've done. And not just anyone: David Bowie!
To be fair, this genuine crime against humanity isn't even remotely Bowie's fault; it's ours. It's an Italian crime.
The lyrics by someone who for thirty years has been sold to us as the “best Italian lyricist” graft onto one of the century’s most celebrated songs like a parasitic carnivorous plant. Poor David, sings with a pronunciation between Don Lurio and Heather Parisi words of which (I hope) he ignores the meaning. Of the original, nothing remains, not even Major Tom. Let alone the rest.
What did Major Tom ever do to Mogol?
Has anyone ever had the courage to ask this reckless person, simultaneously giving him a slap?
The only thing more artistically awful that I've had to endure in my life was the viewing of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” dubbed by Bagaglino. Another Italian crime.
This Bowie all'amatriciana is probably ground zero of our music: we've heard a lot of nonsense, but managing to turn “Space Oddity” into an authentic mess was beyond most.

Indeed, they called Mogol to do it, not some random person.
When the going gets tough, etcetera. He was the toughest of them all, and he succeeded.
Magnificently.

And now, unbelievers, bow to the Poet.

RAGAZZO SOLO, RAGAZZA SOLA

My mind has taken flight
A thought, a single one
I walk while the city sleeps
His eyes in the night
White headlights in the night
A voice speaking to me who will it be?
Tell me lonely boy where are you going,
Why so much pain?
You have certainly lost a great love
But the city is full of love,
No lonely girl, no no no
This time you are wrong
I haven't only lost a great love
Last night I lost everything with her.
But she
The colors of life
Of blue skies
A woman like her I will never find again
Now lonely boy where will you go
The night is a great sea
If you need my hand to swim
Thanks but tonight I would like to die
Because you know in my eyes
There's an angel, an angel
That no longer flies that no longer flies;
That no longer flies
There is her
The colors of life
Of blue skies
A woman like her I will never find again.