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By chance, I watch the video of “Una chitarra e un’armonica” and I get hit by the classic punch of the nostalgic fool.
"It was all a dream, how melancholic," says Nada.
Ah, I know, dear girl, you always end up with nothing. But that's not the point.
Then comes the new sweet illusion of the boy with the guitar under the house, and you almost think of Bonnie Parker when she sees Clyde for the first time from the window. But that's not the point either.
The point is that certain images truly have an imprinting quality. And how faces, gestures, hairstyles, makeup, clothes, and atmosphere instantly take you back to the person you were then.
Nada seems like your sister, your cousin, your neighbor, and the black and white captures you in an old photo that, somehow, managed to steal a smile from you.
And then there's that song that still today insists on sticking to you. Never mind if it's nothing special, never mind if it's a bit crude. After all, I'm a bit crude too.
Sure, back then I wasn't touched by those little shadows of the lyrics, and today I am. Perhaps it's that, over time, melancholy and illusion have become my only form of professionalism, to the point that a veil of sadness surfaces even when listening to a song that isn't sad.
But it's also true that thanks to the "varavan blen blen" of the chorus, that same sadness softens and becomes almost something beautiful.
So the kid and the adult meet halfway, and in the end, all that matters is the freshness of little Nada in her funny evening dress.
And then, sweet wonderful naivety, how can you not sing "lui vagabondo come me" "il cuore è uno zingaro e va" or "cos'è la vita senza l'amore"? How?
Ah dearest Nada, today you're an old girl with a cigar and almost a novel PJ. But to me, you're always the same as back then. It was perfectly clear that you were different and that you would soon break free from the pop scene.
But you know how it is, sometimes the moment just before being free is better than when you are truly free.
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