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I have friends who knew him, many many years ago, and they've never forgotten him. Very unfortunate, a short life.

As a musician, I remember her in the dual roles of the chocolate-carrying nymph in the full Swinging London in the beautiful film/album Rock and Roll Circus, and as the angel of the night in a live album from 1990, Blazing Away, where she sings a chilling and moving "sister morphine."
I believe this is one of the best albums of 2018.
As an actress, I remember her in a film where she was a virtuoso of the "pugnetta."
I am a huge fan of yours, Lector, and also a devoted fan of chocolate and... erm, chocolate indeed. I give it a score of 6 and 6.

Lector, you're transforming into Tom Joad from "The Grapes of Wrath," lucky you. You have everything to gain; he's a wonderful character. I'm finishing my transformation into Bardamu from Journey to the End of the Night, and I assure you, it hasn't been pleasant. I just have my toes left to go.
I wasn't familiar with this story, which sooner or later, if it hasn't already happened, will be plundered by some brilliant screenwriter who will bring it to prime time TV or to the cinema.
Here on Debaser, you’ve done it, raising the quality of the blog page to dizzying heights. What can I say, it's grand and moving.

I grew up listening to Fetus and Pollution, which had been released 4 or 5 years prior, because I lived in an environment (dad, mom, and family friends) that adored that kind of music. I didn't dislike it either, but I was really very young. Then, with the shift towards pop songs (and my personal turn to jazz and rock), Battiato faded almost entirely from my interests. He is still an artist I respect. I don't tear my hair out over him, but I moderately admire him.
In my opinion, the operation of delving into all the citations, references, and inspirations of his songs is the least interesting way to approach this musician's pop phase. This is because the result is (necessarily) a piece like the one you wrote, that is, a deeply detailed, boring dissertation/salad of Tannhauser-Wagnerian/D'Annunzio/Mar shall Plan/Francis Bacon/Litfiba/Proust/Gurdjieff/Ousp ensky/Fleur Jaeggy/György Ligeti/Vaslav Nijinsky. I at least thank you for not including ginger, which is currently all the rage to put everywhere.
You didn’t miss a beat. A psychedelic display of hints of philosophy, literature, history, poetry. Well done, I believe (I’m not able to assess many of the citations), boring.
In Italy during those years, a movement that had bravely experimented, through the avenues of progressive, concrete, and contemporary music, dissolved and evaporated. In its place emerged the galaxy of "cantautori" and an underground movement of punk and new wave music. From Le Orme, we ended up with Gaznevada; it was quite a leap. Even Battiato underwent a radical change, from the Fetus era to the pop songs of Cinghiale Bianco and Patriots. An in-depth exploration of the significance of that epochal transition, of which this record is a testament, would have been enormously, enormously more interesting. I correct myself; it would have been, in my opinion, the only interesting way to talk about this album.
Instead, we have a salad analysis without ginger. Anyway, congratulations; I could never write such an erudite stew. Or rather, I wouldn't be able to see its purpose.

I remember an album from the '80s, Steve McQueen. A couple of nice tracks. For me, it was the most boring pop group in the history of Western music from 1492 to the present day.

I, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate it. Too egocentric for my taste. It exudes a sinister narcissism that doesn’t convince me.
But you’re that Stregazzurra who slammed a performer by writing: "Perché no, le parole non sono più interessanti dell'opera che recensiscono e non si può far girare un disco attorno a un punto qualsiasi ma va messo proprio lì, il pirulicchio nel foro altrimenti non suona. My 5 cents." You even tossed a five-cent coin at him disdainfully! You’re THAT Stregazzurra?
Then your egocentric narcissism, amusing in other cases, is disturbing in this one.
But why should Miss Blood sing without underwear? With the cold in New York. Just thinking about it makes me want to sneeze.

Ah, Karen Dalton, a beautiful album by a singer who evades any categorization. Those who have tried to associate her with other singers, in my opinion, have gone off track (like those who likened her to Billie Holiday because of a similarity in vocal timbre).
Still, I struggle to accept the end she met. How can one end up that way, with all the connections and friendships she had? Yet she died in solitude, evidently in a desolate place. In New York.

a good review of an album I don't know well, I’ll have to refresh my memory. I know the performer, a formidable psychotic, but also a great artist with an outstanding voice. Like Luludia, I admire your expressive freedom and originality. Just a tiny, modest critique: I don’t think it’s a good idea to include the lyrics of the songs in a review, except for quotes of no more than a couple of lines. Those unfamiliar with the music find themselves reading these excerpts, perhaps in English or French, which, isolated like that, make the reading cumbersome. They are song lyrics, not poetry. Without the music, they often come off as mere nonsense. Now I’m going to look for this album online.

this is a fantastic album. Well reviewed.

if only I had a touch of your freedom in writing. Yours are almost poems, mine are almost articles from the local news of "L'Eco Della Valchiusella."