Well, I don't know what to say, maybe me and the brave
@[Farnaby] could have written it (worse), in fact, maybe we should have, but that thick-headed hospital worker kicks back when it comes to writing reviews...
I can only say bravo, damn, you captured well the idea of what this state of mind can be, would be, could be, should be, this place of the heart which is the historic center of my city.
Then Conte, shall we talk about him? Someone who describes Duke Ellington as a "Great boxer, full of fans and silences" or who writes pieces like "Dancing," a painter borrowed by music, or the other way around, he doesn’t even know, a lawyer by trade but not one of those jobs you do with your heart, with his heart he placed ten fingers on the piano and into the microphone came a voice full of pauses, tones, rasping, coughing, and sighs.
Then, I mean, someone who knows what a lucardina is and is a foreigner... aside from the fact that in Genoa you’re a foreigner even if you’re from Genoa, it’s a city that is yours because you love it, even viscerally, because you were born there, because you live there, but you never truly own it.
And, to put it in De André's words, Genoa is beautiful, but to be remembered.
Bravo, what else, bravo...
