Giuseppe Masia
Buffa

My youth was a cheerful one, filled with memorable games of hide and seek in the Trentino countryside, imaginative playful activities in my home garden, and other pleasant events.

However, there's a period I don't recall all that fondly, perhaps due to the annoying age of believing oneself to be mature when they are – or perhaps it was true then – still a kid, or due to a series of more or less justifiable reasons. This adolescent medieval period lasted three years and is more generally known as the "Middle School Period"; it ended with the Edit of Promotion: at this moment, contemporary historians mark the advent of the High School era and, consequently, the end of prehistory.

There aren't many events (or people) from Middle School that I remember fondly; generally, they are linked to those few people who remained friends over the years or at least maintained a good relationship with me. For example, I still have tender memories that bind me in a decade-long friendship with the good green manalishi, to whom I affectionately dedicate this evocation.

Some people with whom I had a good relationship back then have become, over the years, acquaintances who are always gladly greeted but whom fate has directed along other paths. Among these is a boy of Sardinian origin: one day (which I don't deny might even date back to the last period of the archaic Elementary School) he decided to play a cassette tape of a guy who apparently has and had a large following in the island land, through walkmans or car radios during football trips (where I unworthily participated) in the joyful municipal entities of the Como area.

What is certain is that it's during Middle School that this cassette tape experienced its peak of splendor in our imperfect school world, culminating in performances to the rest of the class, us pimple-laden lining up, the teacher's desk by our side.
The cassette was titled "Buffa"; I say "was" because both it and its numerous copies of rather ridiculous quality will now be worn out. The cheerful person is instead Giuseppe Masia.

"Buffa", dating back to the distant nineteen ninety-three, is a delightful collection of stories, characters, situations, and hilarious absurdities narrated with unmistakable Sardinian diction and style. Certainly classifiable in the assortment of various objects referred to by the epithet "demented" for which I'm sincerely not crazy about, "Buffa" instead presents a ridiculous underlying seriality, manifested for instance in melodies that remain etched even years later. In some ways, this is what can happen, for example, with a band that's indeed demented but technically proficient like "Elio e le Storie Tese".

There are two particularly memorable moments, in my opinion; they hold the first two spots of the varied lineup (which I obviously won't present as such, limiting myself to a few hints). The first lasts barely a minute and is an irresistible remake (I'm only now reading, you know...) of a Bruce Springsteen track: "Corre boy" is an ironic and engaging country tune that exudes Gallura.

"I walk the Corre boy with the cows and the oxen, then I stop a bit in Gavoi, Corre Boy.”
Hooray, hooray for the Corre boy; Christmas with your family and Easter with whomever you want, Corre boy."

The second is a brilliant homage by Masia to the women of his land. In "Donne Di Sardegna", to each town or inhabited cluster mentioned, an improbable physical or character quality of its inhabitants is associated; the sarcastic effect is further heightened by good musicality and a polished and effective arrangement (made vain by rough recordings, but nevertheless). I don’t include any quotes to avoid geographical errors, but I refer to the freeze-frame video linked in the friendly panel at the bottom right.

What follows, between serious and laughable, is as said, a parade of characters and stories. Among the first are Giuliana (whose ancient profession is indicated by a truly obvious rhyme), the war veteran of "Quando c'ero io" (whose refrain – "When I was there, when I was there, in the trench doing the war, my son" – was the leitmotif of an entire evening at the pizzeria. No, I mean, an entire evening, if you get what I mean...) and the unfortunate Mr. Bobbotti, mostly the target of surreal insults ("Bobbotti, Bobbotti go to hell" indeed went on for a long time).

Among the stories, instead, I vaguely remember ("Buffa" is obviously untraceable online, while my copy – worn out – has been overwritten a long time ago. Sure, it's possible to buy it online, but I live without it, I must say) the conquests of "Chiara" – "a demure girl" – and the consequences of an improbable sexual act ("C'ho l'addis" "Screw you...") narrated in "Addis". To spice things up, among others, "La Canzone Dell'Ano" (truly enjoyable to listen to) and "Mano Libera" ("Free hand to dream," Masia said...) appear joyfully, which I don't deem vitally important to dwell on.

Giuseppe Masia – whose face, incidentally, I discovered only today for this review – came to my mind a short time ago, after almost ten years of not listening to his "productions" anymore (the sample of examples able to merit the title of "song" is too small). "Buffa" was actually followed by a second cassette ("Cau e Boi"?), which indeed impressed me less, also due to more insertions that nowadays would be called "regressive advertising" and perhaps less carefree spirit.

This writing, and with this I conclude, is in a way necessary: "Buffa" in its own way was a historical memory of a period that, despite everything, was, but I prefer to know it as remote in time.

Three stars: it doesn’t deserve more.
Three stars: less would not be fair.
Let's say it was a pleasant memory – although sprinkled with innumerable and unreadable parentheses and/or incidental phrases – and we are all happy.