Memo Remigi
Solo amore

Hello guys, in my quest to recover nuggets from the past, today I intend to focus on Memo Remigi.

Few remember Memo, for example, that in 1984-85 he was an integral part of the Saturday night show "Loretta Goggi in Quiz," or that, I believe at the end of the 70s, he was a long-time partner of the actress-show girl-presenter Barbara D'Urso, before she left the good Memo for other subjects, and, in particular, Vasco Rossi. On second thought, there is a whole musical universe in the sentimental choices of our national "Dottoressa Giò"!

But it's not about this trite gossip that I want to speak to you, rather, it's about Memo, unfortunately obliterated by many of you. Which, ça va sans dire - to be fancy - is not good at all.

The Lombard singer-songwriter wrote his best pages in the 70s, with atmospheric pieces where the Milanese mists are spiced with saffron, in which the melancholy of the Lombard mists and the thoughts of men lost in the northern metropolis take on domestic tones and flavors; pain, loneliness, are almost internalized in Memo's lyrics until they become part of existence, with no possibility of rebellion, but with a quiet acceptance of one's destiny.

Thus, even feelings of love and the positive sides of life are experienced with timid modesty, omitting the banalities that, very often, are instead the hallmark of many Italian singers and songwriters.

Among the tracks on this album, which collects Memo's successes, I recommend the initial "Io ti darò di più," with sustained rhythms and a very open refrain where a man asserts himself before the beauty of the moment; "Innamorati a Milano," perhaps Remigi's greatest success, which well represents any love in the cold of Milan, each individual’s life that almost becomes a novel; the concluding "Emme come Milano," a declaration of love, tinged with melancholy, for the Lombard capital and what can be glimpsed behind this symbolic city, at least in the mythology created by many from the first half of the 60s onwards.

We come, of course, to Remigi's limitations, questioning the reasons why Memo is not counted among the musts of Italian light music but seems to have slipped away, like water off a trench coat from the memories of many, especially the insiders and part of the criticism: on one hand, I believe that our artist lacks, as a performer, a personal mark of recognition, often having those confidential traits that, at different and perhaps better levels, have made the fortune of a Bongusto or a Di Capri, not to mention the best Dorelli.

Probably, it also harms Remigi the fact of identifying himself too distinctly with certain Lombard poetry, perhaps lacking appeal in other parts of the peninsula, although, after all, this limit could be overcome by considering the universal character of Memo's lyrics, without confining him to a cliché.

Last but not least, perhaps Remigi, with his polite tones and manners, was already in the 80s, too retro to make his way in a world, such as that of Italian light music, increasingly aimed at spectacularization and the abuse of characters, events, and scandals: as Sergio Endrigo suggested in the good novel "Quanto mi dai se mi ammazzo?", it is a world that rewards the striking, the new, without too much regard for modest but precise craftsmanship of d'antàn.

Too bad, and obviously too bad for Remigi: who however was together with Barbara D'Urso, and, on these terms, as well as sufficiently lucky, can, with good reason, define himself as a precursor of Vasco Rossi.

Always cordially yours

Il_Paolo