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Rating: Arriving at the Manzoni theater early, I immediately notice something: among the diverse audience (as it had to be, given the stature of the character), there are more thirty-somethings than fifty-somethings, which I think is better. My seat in the gallery is uncomfortable, and I also find out that photos are prohibited (as you can see, it didn't help).
The room goes dark, the liturgical intro of "Privilege" starts, and here comes the sparse figure of Patti advancing on stage. She grabs the microphone and throws her hat as if to prove who is still the punk priestess who set fire to audiences in the seventies. From that period, her faithful guardian angels emerge: Lenny Kaye on guitar and Jay Dee Daugherty on drums. The lineup is completed by Oliver Ray on rhythm guitar and Tony Shanahan on bass.
They pass before our eyes like frescoes untouched by time: the reggae dance of "Redondo Beach," the lament of "Pissing in a River," the hypnotic "Ghostdance"; among the new pieces, the robust "Cash" and "Mother Rose" stand out, which Patti dedicated to her mother Beverly, and it is precisely her ghost that appears on the screen behind the band, the first in a series that also includes Gandhi and Sitting Bull.
As I let myself be swept away by the increasingly heated atmosphere, the poetess begins to speak; she reminds us that she came here to this city exactly 25 years ago in 1979, just before her retirement from the scene, and that we must not lose hope in change. This seems to have the opposite effect on me; it's as if some sort of illusion had slipped away from Patti's ripped jeans, reminding me that this is the Manzoni, not the CBGB, that this is Bologna, not New York (even though it's now more polluted than the Big Apple), and that singing "People Have The Power" in a world where most people are losing their rights is an irony.
A theater staff member comes to break this mental state, informing us in the gallery that we can occupy the free seats in the stalls.
I'm still not convinced to go down, but right at that moment, Patti is literally dancing barefoot to the tune of "Dancing Barefoot," while some people have left their seats to move closer to the edge of the stage. I timidly approach as well, and something in me awakens. I see it reflected in the bright eyes of the twenty-somethings who decided to be here tonight rather than follow the empty characters on MTV.
The finale is like fireworks; from "Because the Night," it ends with "Gloria," six letters pronounced with all the possible pride and dignity, making me believe that tonight, the magic of 1979 is still here, hoping that the future doesn't hold 1984 for us.
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