Lucio Dalla
Henna

We are. Or rather: you are. No, that offends the reader. Here: I am. I mean the Italians. They are a radio-friendly, noisy, and aperitivo-game-loving people. Then one becomes bitter, not for nothing. The facts: the predecessor, ‘Cambio’, sold 1,500,000 copies thanks to ‘Attenti al lupo’. The successor, ‘Canzoni’, sold as many thanks to ‘Canzone’.

I love ‘Cambio’ for many reasons: the resignation of ‘Le cicale e le stelle,’ the unavoidable pain of ‘Le rondini,’ the unexpected pandemonium of ‘Denis,’ then the wonderful catharsis of ‘Tempo’ and ‘Comunista’.

‘Canzoni’, neither praise nor infamy, has my vague respect but nothing more.

‘Henna’ did not surpass 300,000 units despite embedding pearls of rare beauty.

It was a period, 1993/94, when the Italian listener was distracted by the first Bersani, by the emerging Ligabue, by Ramazzotti confirmed, by the 883, by the third Masini. ‘Henna’ went almost unnoticed.

I'm not sacrificing Lucio. He put his own into it. He has always considered ‘Henna’ one of the best tracks in the entire repertoire; I disagree, even though the passage ‘...the mysterious love of dogs, and other animal brothers…’ makes me ache, because it reads and turns my guts inside out: today I am this. Only this, nothing else.

But the album doesn't start strong.‘Henna’ and ‘Liberi’ (with negligible unz unz base), have no identity. ‘Non siam liberi no per niente’ is a first sign of fatigue, in the sense: are you kidding, Lucio?

Then, the inconvenience happens. The unexpected, the unforeseen. In terms of elevation, I mean. Solitude, that solitude which in Lucio is like a brand embedded into every fabric’s tear, here it comes, it emerges. ‘Cinema’, ‘Domenica’, ‘Latin Lover’, ‘Erosip’, ‘Treno’. Curtain. I listed them, just like that, in one breath. Like a formation. Solitude, I quote at random: ‘I waited a thousand years for you, I’ll wait another thousand years, to see what face you have’ (Cinema), ‘summer Sunday us, distant like statues us, why…?’ (Domenica) ‘…I imagine you in the dark, calling while standing amidst the mess of the room while talking to me and saying it’s dawn but it’s noon and you are having coffee’ (Erosip) ‘They have the faces and hands of gypsies they are many like the wind they are free they are the thoughts of the night, among the clouds of the night’ (Treno).

There is not only the purely stylistic aspect connected to the lyrics. Musically, the tracks are masterfully structured. They bind, the melodies flow. ‘Erosip’ is ahead, way ahead, forgive me: pure wonder amidst the crap that in those years poured from the radios and the last cassettes.

From ‘Latin Lover’ I cite nothing, I am not worthy. No excerpt of the song, I mean. It’s too much for me. Too poignant, I struggle every time to get to the end. It is a concentration of melancholy too hard and dazzling even for a tough skin like mine.

There are other tracks, placed there to amuse or provoke thought, ‘Merdman’, ‘Don't Touch Me’, ‘Rispondimi’.

I don’t know what was in Lucio's head in those chiaroscuro years. ‘Cambio’ came after the tour with Morandi, the Dalla/Morandi two-year period. ‘Canzoni’ after the revelries with Bersani, the dedication to Ayrton, there was a new wind in the sails.

This ‘Henna’ followed ‘Amen’, the live show with unreleased as a corollary to ‘Cambio’. Lucio might have been tired, I wouldn’t know. He was absent-minded.

It’s painful to see it left there. In an era where remastering is done, projects are revived, botched jobs are rehabilitated, vinyl is relaunched—are we going to bring ‘Henna’ back to life? Don't make me swear, they did it with ‘La fabbrica di plastica’, which will have its cult following, I don't partake, forgive me Grignani, they say it’s a masterpiece like Syd Barrett’s but now you’re taking me off topic and onto unfamiliar ground.

I’ve always wondered who this Teresa was, whom Lucio mentions in ‘Treno’ but also in ‘Domenico Sputo’ (‘Luna Matana’). Tell us, if you're reading me. Who were you? Who are you?