Enzo Jannacci
Quando un musicista ride

Hello Enzo.

But why was it that the one who looked like a blueberry and put on airs treated you badly and called you a ragamuffin? Maybe it was because of the Milan scarf that didn’t match your brown face? Oh no, it was because of the strong smell of someone who never had a penny which you carried with you. But basically, what did it matter to you? Because, as you used to say, "when a musician laughs, he puts down his instrument and laughs, and he doesn't look around and doesn't fear, he isn't afraid of his simplicity". And you laughed very often, musician! And when that guy came, who wasn't quite sure what he wanted, remember? Maybe he wanted to talk to someone because he felt alone, or maybe he came for the poor people: but in that case you had reminded him that you had already given, a saxophone to be precise, actually a saxophone, a beautiful big beast, that looked just like the one he carried around: what nerve! But then are you sure that in the '70s you were full of contradictions, with complex consensus and dissents and so even in the '80s and thus practically no one? I have my strongest doubts about that!!

And the one you asked for a cigarette and he answered that it was his last one, and you then repeated to him like a mantra "Ciapp'istess, ciapp'istess, ciapp'istess, ciapp'istess...."? Who knows if he finally gave you that last cigarette of his (assuming it really was the last) or not. Oh yes, he should have understood that you were burst like a dinghy bitten by a Dobermann and shouldn't have made such a fuss: well, you can't trust chain smokers! Then how not to agree with you that today you can no longer sing or play live? On the other hand, it is known that to do certain things you need an ear, and you have always had it; just as you also need to have the parcel immersed in the bucket: oh yes, you must have it all, a lot, even quite a bit! But then do we want to dredge up the story of the ficus? With that guy who kept telling you to leave and wouldn’t bring out that darn ficus, to which you, calling him blondie, answered that you were capricious, had a delicate brain, and needed to stay relaxed; and you finally threatened that if you got really mad, you would go there and move all his knobs: who knows if you really did or if he finally brought out that blessed ficus! But in the end, in all this, according to you, what’s the point? Staying stuck in the elevator? But it’s like staying calm when making love!

But it doesn't end here! They even wanted to accuse you of murder for that Armando story! Yet you had an almost iron-clad alibi, since at the time the poor guy died, you were almost always away. But the commissioner didn't relent and was convinced that it was your crime of passion, and not a simple car accident! And all just because you confided in him that you shared the same woman, one only, yours; and that Armando hit you with a hammer in the eyes just to seem the most handsome and that he threw you off the bridge, but only where it was dry not to soak you all! Yes, it is true, there was also the story of the knife with the six-fingered blade they found in his side which you did not deny was yours, but you reiterated having the alibi that you were almost always away at that time: in short, the car door just opened and you pulled down, uh pardon, Armando fell down! But there was nothing to be done, they had already decided to condemn you, despite the few and even contradictory clues! Well, it’s gone, what can you do? Let's think about more frivolous and happy things, like your love of smuggling in Mexico (and clouds), with time passing across America and the wind playing its harmonica. On the other hand, you knew that you could invent everything, but a wedding no more!

But let's move on and get two ice creams: oh but even here the memory brings you back to a too beautiful story, a life as little dictator to want well to her, to a phone that rings meaning "I forgive you," but it was no longer love! Even the story of heroin addicts wasn't so cheerful indeed: as you used to say in unsuspected times, injecting death is now even out of fashion! And of them and the others this whole crowd doesn't care: and then even today it will be nice when the toilet stays silent, when a child laughs, when Gaber speaks, when you fall in love, when Milan wins, when you look outside, when you've come out of the tunnel and can't believe it yet, when you turn off the boiler, and especially when you feel the sun! And those who... football? Shall we talk about it? Especially about those who, all in all, hate football: yes yes, they hate football! And maybe they are the same ones who were waiting before... well, try to understand them!

And then, excuse the familiarity, you really had some odd friends: there was the one who stood lookout in the Ortiga gang even though he was cross-eyed, who even couldn't see a tanker, but could hear not a thing! How long had he remained as still as a post, scrutinizing the night! People gave him a hundred lire and then left: he, wary, looked around and then put it away. But in the end, he grumbled and decided to go on his own; he was really mad at the Ortiga gang because he thought: "But how, they bring me the loot at a hundred lire, a little at a time, but doing like this we'll never finish!" And from his point of view (of a cross-eyed) he wasn’t entirely wrong! Or the tramp who wore tennis shoes and had been chasing a beautiful dream of love for some time, but they had found him dead under a heap of cardboard: minimal stuff, mind you, tramp stuff!! Or again, the old double bass player: but life doesn't notice anyone, let alone a double bass player! Not to mention that other devil and your great friend, Dario Fo, with whom you had understood that already the moon was in the middle of the sea, aside from a lot of other things.

But, despite your life being so intense and full of friendships, even you knew that "when the curtain falls I will leave, and every light will fade. I will leave: you will cry, she will laugh; certainly, someone will hate me. But the show is over and I’ll go". When the curtain truly fell, who knows if you managed to invite yourself to your funeral to see if people really cry, and discover that for everyone it is a normal thing or that (maybe) only nuns cry. But even if you had seen someone really crying, I'm sure you would have told them to stop because: "always cheerful one must stay"!!!

Thanks for everything Enzo! Or rather, thank you Enzo!