Jovanotti
Jovanotti For President (30th anniversary edition)

THE REVIEW

I don't exactly know what was on my mind when I was 11 years old. If only I could, I would go back to dissect myself.

Passionate about women for as long as I can remember, musically, however, I had predominantly female tastes. My 1988 was crowned with Bros, Duran Duran, Nick Kamen (R.I.P.).

I loved soccer, played quite well, roller-skated, and played the piano by ear.

To most, Jovanotti, a happy-go-lucky guy of proletarian extraction with a lisping "s," came from radio DJ. I found him funny, but silly. Yes: funny. But silly. Who gets the reference? Celentano, Pozzetto, a vintage car dealership. Come on.

I remember a friend, now off the radar, a year older. Jovanotti was the Rosetta Stone for him. I adored this friend, intelligent, ironic, and quick-tongued, so I followed him. Jovanotti? So be it.

Back then, there was no internet, and with the allowance my parents gave me, I could afford three original cassettes a year. The rest you recorded from the radio or had duplicated.

In 1988, I invested my money in ‘Push’ by Bros, ‘Big Thing’ by Duran, and obviously ‘Us’ by Nick Kamen.

But it must be said: I loved those three on my own, no influence, no input. Consumed by music from birth, I grew a New Romantic streak suffused, I said, with a spasmodic feminine root.

“Jovanotti For President” I saw it as a token to acquire to please my friend. Look at me: I'm a maranza too. Go Jovanotti Go.

For me, music has never been companionship or background. Rather, sacredness. I permeate myself, in that moment only it exists. I delve, empathize, study with brain, heart, and soul.

This applies to Handel as well as to Jovanotti.

So I tried to understand. Spontaneously, to grasp.

I adapted. It was a first sense of belonging, because if I said ‘Bros’ or ‘Duran,’ at 11 years old, my peers would say: “Huh?”

The fact is, after “Jovanotti For President,” the friend flew to other shores, good for him. I did not, I continued: “La mia moto,” “Giovani Giovanotti,” “Una Tribù che Balla,” “Lorenzo 92,” then 94, then 97.

Then I distanced myself. He became ethnic, instrumental, devoted to causes. I grew somber, electrified, and preferred mere electronics over Jovanotti’s lutes and harps, like Enigma, for example.

In 1988, the offerings were Sanremo, Dee Jay Television, Discoring. Introverted and selective, I would never have ventured further to sniff, discover, search.

What reached me, I made into objects and returned to myself as I saw fit.

This album was the baptism by fire for my sense of belonging. I wanted to be part of the ‘movement,’ as Lorenzo called it, this is where the party is, right? Wait for me, I'm coming.

But I never arrived. I was a child, or a teenager if you prefer. Jovanotti didn’t ask for permission, entered with those 10 tracks of samples, bases, rough guitars, shouts, verses, in a broken English that in retrospect makes you smile.

He took his path, I took mine. We never crossed paths again. But I consider him a good soul, so to speak, at least, with him I think I would have been well.