Lucio Battisti
Una donna per amico

THE REVIEW

"But why are they two friends? They are a man and a woman, usually when a man and a woman are together, they love each other." "My dear Lorenzo, it's not said that a man and a woman must necessarily love each other. Sometimes love is a small and mistrustful thief that acts inconveniently and unpredictably. Maybe one day they could fall in love with each other... maybe they could get married... they could even have a child. What do you think, will they fall in love eventually?"

Brief seconds of silence, a keyboard starts, a drum follows, a bass sketches out the whole, a magical sensation takes me far from that little house. From above, a street full of people and buses, with that curly-haired man and that tall woman walking away from that bar without even a hello, both intent on reaching their workplace. A chocolate of dark hue, harmless in the wrapper and bitter on the tongue, like that little song. At the end, a sax, a moka left on the stove while both are seated on the couch without exchanging a single word, stupefied in front of the TV. I turn around, my nephew keeps looking at the disc spinning like a carousel and has a smile on his face like he had during his first swim in the sea. Then, turmoil, a keyboard like a spring breeze, in the city that man dressed as a knight tries to win back his woman with a medieval-style poem. Sensations pass by like slow and noisy tractors and as the seconds go by, I am overwhelmed by the music. In the seconds of silence, another small keyboard suddenly appears, accompanied by sounds similar to when you wind up a toy. And there they are, together in that bar, embittered, frightened by such a clamorous love that could disappoint them both. Meanwhile, choruses are made behind their backs, as if it were an act of pure mockery in front of two adults with the fears of two kids. But then everything is flipped, they live their life of love in complete ordinariness, cautiously and less vigorously, to the rhythm of a sweet and light ballad that caresses the flow of these feelings. Before turning the disc, I make a coffee for myself and an orange juice for Lorenzo. As soon as the needle is placed, a violent piano starts, with keyboards and bass lines framing a deserted path, where that curly-haired man remains to recall the end of the relationship with his woman, thinking it was the right thing to do and thus feeling no pain for the action taken. The apple is gone, there's nothing left to do but to throw it away. An unexpected event, everything fades: you hear the noise of plates and children playing, reminding me of Sunday dinners with the family. Then suddenly, joy springs, a burst of happiness, a pure surge of brightness. The woman is found and the relationship continues in mutual friendship, with his tragicomic thoughts, choosing a woman as a friend. Even my little nephew has joy in his eyes, as if he had just eaten a candy. And in total joy, a roaring laughter starts, harmonic loops on which Lorenzo happily claps his hands and in which an intruder appears between the man and the woman: a cat, trying to rummage everything it can snatch, with the man distrustful and the woman happily welcoming the cat between them. And in the blink of an eye, we're already at the final beats: festive atmosphere, the curly-haired man and the tall woman go to the movies together. In all this chaos, she decides to run away with another man, almost as if she were bored with the one she was with. A sly smile appeared before me when Lorenzo asked me what a Rolls Royce was and I jokingly told him that Rolls Royce is a brand of ice creams*. In the end, silence remained in the room for a couple of seconds, immediately interrupted by the horn of my daughter’s car, coming to take Lorenzo home. I accompany him to the door and leave him in his mother’s arms, who asks if he enjoyed spending time with his grandmother.

*-at 15, he still believes that Rolls Royce is a brand of ice creams

This is what grandma wrote when she listened to this album for the first time in my presence, on an old notebook where she noted everything she did in her days. It was so wonderful to find in this old house an old dusty record that even today brings back beautiful memories about music, about Battisti who with the white albums shaped my adolescence, about this old room where I spent summer afternoons and especially about grandma, who has now been gone for 5 years and to whom I still owe a lot for being the adult I am now. Wherever you are, take it as it is and don't make a drama out of it. And to you, reader of this page, I hope you enjoyed the company of this sudden nostalgic moment.