Louis McAlexis
Good Life

He is not named Sean Connery and he is not a billionaire. But he is Scottish and, unlike his illustrious compatriot, his fame outside his homeland can be exemplified by the astonished reaction shared by the viewers of the Island of the Famous at the sight of Antonio Zequila ("Who the hell is he?!?" generally speaking, according to a reliable Klaus Davi poll). This alone would be enough motivation to push me, almost in the throes of a philanthropic impulse, to dedicate at least one page to someone who may never be able to narrate about himself through an autobiography or his simple artistic deeds.

Louis McAlexis sang for years about the wonders of his land while respecting the local "folkloric" tradition, a reason for which imagining him as lonely and armed with bagpipes atop a Highland mountain, with his bare privates displayed under a kilt in the mercy of the wind, is but a short step away. In 2003 (very few will remember), according to the saying that luck favors the bold, this modern Celtic bard attempted to venture, media-wise, beyond that region which risked being remembered almost only for the cinematic adventures of the now-missing Christopher Lambert/Connor McLeod, and he did so with a move that, for as much potentially self-destructive, considering the occasion, was decidedly courageous: a double album, with the hopeful title "Good Life" which collected some of the musician's best compositions, rearranged in a pop key and translated from Gaelic to English, and a handful of unreleased tracks. At the time, someone dared to draw a perhaps excessive comparison to the "White Album"; while a minority criticized the work more harshly (better 100 bagpipes than that sappy stuff on the piano, paraphrasing some scathing judgment). It was certainly not a masterpiece, but the attempt to adapt music to a totally different and unfamiliar genre for the artist is at least appreciable in its intentions and, if nothing else, is even different from the overly-abused acoustic renditions that rock musicians have accustomed us to.

In the "conversion", it was inevitable that some old composition would be reconceived according to the standards of the sentimental pop song: thus, in tracks like "Don't Ever Tell Him", "What Remains Of My Love", "Honey", and "The Way My Heart Plays" the influences of Billy Joel and Barry Manilow are evident. While in "Never Let Go", rhythmic and melodic, McAlexis conquers the listener with a heartfelt invitation to always pursue one's dreams and aspirations. With "A New Kiss", one of the most romantic of the collection, the Scottish musician duets with the beautiful Annie Angelnurse (who was his partner in life at the time) almost echoing Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan.

The public reception in Scotland was decent, and the record companies released "Good Life" also in the rest of Europe. In Italy, distribution was blocked by Gigi D'Alessio who accused the Scotsman of repeated musical and image plagiarism. McAlexis was ordered to hand over all discographic and promotional material to the Neapolitan musician’s staff. Faced with his refusal which, according to the proverbial Scottish stinginess, seemed to be motivated by the unmet request for reimbursement of the British artist's publishing and distribution expenses, D'Alessio was forced to take legal action, aided by three renowned inquisitors from the high quarters: Totonno O' Naso 'e cane (Antonio "dog's nose"), Alfonso O' Capa 'e vacca (Alfonso "bovine head"), and Pascal O' Cuzzecaro (Pasquale "the mussel seller").

Reports say the legal action resulted (as expected) successfully: all the incriminated material was dissolved in quicklime, and there is still no certain news about the unlucky composer. Optimistic sources suggest he's in a cabin in the Highlands, alive and well... plant!

Good life to you, dear Louis!

Note: Any reference to actual events or persons living or dead is perhaps not purely coincidental but, for God's sake, is to be interpreted in an exclusively and genuinely playful way!!!