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Rating: There were fears of fog, but the fog was not present. And that was already a good thing. However, the closure of the Castelnuovo Scrivia toll booth threw us (me, friends, and the packed minivan) onto the country roads in search of the next pitiful toll booth. No problem: being the lazy slowpokes we are, we were way ahead of schedule, and not only was the start of the concert not at risk, but neither was the mandatory tribute of a porchetta sandwich outside the entrance of the massive Forum (or whatever the hell it's called now). Driving up, I made an easy prophecy: I said that Guccio has no albums to promote, and that usually, this is a very good sign for a concert. Of course, there was the fear of tiredness, disillusionment, or a distracted mind that could have been incited by Guccio’s statements and life attitudes of recent times...: more a writer than a singer-songwriter – it seemed – not devoid of musically declining expressions, where, disconsolately (for us), it was noted that he practically doesn’t play the guitar anymore, and that now he records the same album regularly, with the jolly and perfectly aware attitude with which the immense Federico declared he always made the same movie. So, it was a gamble, to cut it short. We arrive at the Forum (or whatever the hell it's called now) and are already amazed at the immense crowd lined up before the overpass (about 3 km), those getting out of cars, those queuing up, those looking for last-minute tickets, and those among whom we would soon be, sniffing onions, porchetta, and peppers. Inside the Forum (or whatever the hell it's called now), we decided to cover the porchetta (good) with a plastic hot dog. Amen. At least the beer to wash it down was good.
More than half an hour academic delay, easily forgivable, and they get on stage. It's always them, Biondini, Tempera, Marangolo, and already this is an emotion, even if leaving Tavolazzi completely devoted to jazz is a bit of a pity. But he has been replaced very well, and that’s enough. Guccio is splendidly enormous, wearing a red shirt outside his jeans, and possessing a wonderful belly like an old parish priest. He greets, makes his initial speech, as always entertaining and anything but superficial, then, with a bit of not hidden, indeed charmingly highlighted effort, he slings the guitar over his shoulder and begins, as always with "Song For A Friend". And you can immediately feel that things are going well. “The Island Not Found”, “Eskimo”, “Letter”, “Stars,” “God Is Dead,” “We Won’t Be There,” “What Not,” “Mrs. Bovary” and many others, skipping over the last two albums, though beautiful, but admittedly repetitive and not too inspired, with the only exception being "A Song", an anthem-confession about the song and the art of it, performed with explanatory care. Then an unpublished song, I don't know what it hints at (a new album, another live... who knows...), but it seemed very beautiful, austere, with music by Biondini and lyrics translated from a dialect letter of a partisan. A useful song, given also the profound banality of certain revisionisms so fashionable. The concert closes after more than two hours with the classic performance of “The Locomotive” and the usual refusal to perform the much-requested “L’Avvelenata” (“guys... I don't remember it anymore... then you just want to hear swear words... come on...”). Among the many spoken/recited interludes, those about Bondi's poems and the untranslatable banality of some love songs are hilariously funny (the reference to “I Love You...” by Tozzi was caught by a real chorus from the crowd, which generated the fake indignant reaction of Guccio: "Ah... but then you know it all.... !"). Guccio leaves the stage after greeting and stating, convinced, that he had a great time and defining the evening as "truly exciting". Indeed, the audience was wonderful and very enthusiastic. He’s one of the very few really great ones still around and unexpectedly in great shape. We hope to see him again, on some other autumn evening, between one porchetta and another. This afternoon I'm going with a friend to get some wine in the Asti area. And what's that got to do with it, you'll say? Nothing, but Guccio, on the radio, will keep us company quite a bit.
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