Ornella Vanoni
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"Dad, dad, the other day a song you used to play when I was a child came to mind, I think it was by Vanoni, and I almost started crying, how did it go? "Arrivederci, give me your hand and smile, let's say goodbye, this will be a farewell but let's not think about it." God, how sad it was. Do you have the vinyl, right? Would you make me a cassette? Thanks, dad." And a few days later I receive a double CD as a gift. Dad found it in one of those bins of discount stuff, immediately thought of me, and bought it. He was the one who taught me, as a child, the ambiguous value of Vanoni's songs.

She is an excellent performer, much celebrated and highly decorated, with a deep and somewhat nasal, vibrant, and warm voice. She has around fifty works behind her, thousands of concerts, and she sings pieces by excellent authors, at the height of their creativity if we may say so. And the double CD that dad delivers into my hands has 24 tracks, I'd like to say each one more beautiful than the other, but it's not so. I adore this double CD. I've been listening to jazz for years, but I cannot deny my musical origins, the Sanremo festivals of my childhood and adolescence, the light melodies that flowed through my veins as a child. I wasn't musically autonomous, and everything I heard came from the old man's car radio. Perhaps I liked it, perhaps not, perhaps I ignored everything else (musically speaking), but twenty years later, on a beautiful sunny day, walking leisurely, ancient musical memories reemerged in my head, I'm talking about those tunes that stay inside you, that mysteriously resurface, you associate them with some episode from your past, you wonder where they come from, and you can't quite recall.

The CD immerses me in the past and I get lost in the dreamy atmosphere of "Innamorati a Milano" by Memo Remigi. And to say that when I think of Milan, only disgust, chaos, and violence come to mind, and about Remigi, I've only heard jokes by DJ Angelo on radio deejay. Yet the author found the romantic key to a city to which I would never attribute this value: (Meeting in the gallery, what madness). "Che Cosa C'è" (c'è che mi sono innamorato di te), wrote Gino Paoli, perhaps in the most inspired phase of his career. "Arrivederci" is by Umberto Bindi. My father told me that at the time, the piece was scandalous because it seemed to conceal a homosexual relationship. You listen to the piece and it doesn't show, I trust him; you might even identify with it, if you've ever had the fortune of a romantic seaside fling, one of those adolescent crushes that haunt you even when you think back to those joyful carefree moments of your past. "C'eri Anche Tu" by a still young Mogol (inevitable) is also fun, cheerful, and sweet.

"Che Barba Amore Mio" (one day or another goodbye) by Pallavicini I like a lot. The interpretation is majestic. The melody full-bodied and gentle. No less, for emotional value, the all too cloying "Come Si Fa" (how not to sell one's soul, when it's you who would like to buy it from me) by Paoli. Shocking and penetrating "L'appuntamento" by Brunone Lauzi. I mention for honor Calabrese with "Domani è Un Altro Giorno" (we'll see), and the famous "Senza fine" again by Paoli. Touching by Remigi, "Io ti Darò di Più". A great Franco Califano, about whom the old man always spoke quite negatively as a public figure (even granny referred to him as the handsome mysterious one), but extremely well as an author. In fact, only a great artistic sensitivity, I recognize, could give life to "La Musica è Finita" (the friends leave, what a useless evening). I close with the piece by Domenico Modugno, "Tu si 'na cosa grande", to mention another beloved deceased author-performer. I really couldn't break down all the songs, I preferred to mention just a few (and some authors) to convey my respect for past composers whom I believe have given us so much.

When I was little and featherless, these songs were already classics. They are all written and performed between 1961 and 1974. Despite this, they have a charge of sharp and original Italian romanticism and they still engage me today, making me think about how much good (light) music there was once and how much today is mostly a useless mimicry. Thanks dad.