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Rating: "So Elisa, do you want to come with me tonight to the Pink Floyd tribute concert?" It's my last laconic request to my daughter.
"Are you kidding? Hahaha!" That's her sad response, now completely lost in what I like to call "musical trash."
Well, it doesn't matter; I'll go by myself. Villadossola is only about ten kilometers from home, and I won't have trouble getting there, keeping my anxieties and fears of facing overly crowded places at bay. Moreover, I don't think it will be a sold-out event, and that's much better for me.
In the last week, with few exceptions, I've completely immersed myself in the beloved sound of Pink Floyd; a review of many records I've worn out in my distant youth. In the car, at home, every free moment has been used by me for listening, to relive so many of those chills that are difficult to quantify. Emotions never dormant, ready to take center stage again.
I'm one of the first to enter the bar and ticket office area of the Theater; I meet and greet many people I know. When the doors open, some people stop halfway through the hall.
"It sounds better; images and lights have a better effect at a certain distance from the stage." This phrase echoes.
There's no way for me; stopping early is not an option. Tonight I have a solemn appointment and I need to be at the front, in the first row. And that's what I do; surrounding me is emptiness. I want to remain alone, I don't want distractions; I'm already in a sort of competitive trance. Alone, as often happens in my excursions through trails and mountains. Mountains and Music, part of my life.
With about ten minutes of delay, the lights go out; four dark figures position themselves behind their respective instruments. Images are projected on the large screen behind the stage: the Pink Floyd in the prime of their youth.
It's the psychedelic manifesto of Astronomy Domine that honors the opening of the concert; colorful and dazzling lights invade the hall and my soul. A hallucinogenic See Emily Play follows, while a smiling Syd seems to watch the artists committing to his songs. And the sound of the drums hits me (!!): warm, full, strong. A constant throughout the show.
Another three members of the band join: now there are seven on stage. Their cohesion is perfect, the sound becomes enveloping, growing more powerful as the songs progress. Aside from Ummagumma, all Floydian albums up to The Division Bell are honored.
Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun, Fat Old Sun, a sublime and interminable Echoes: I take off, entering my world made of emotions, repeatedly having to remove my glasses to wipe away tears of vivid and intense joy. Lights, sounds, images, smoke create a magical atmosphere; and my mind can't help but wander back to Monza 1989 when I saw one of the concerts of my life. But the guys from Lucca really know what they're doing, interacting among themselves and seeming to genuinely enjoy themselves while transitioning near the Dark Side of the Moon.
Breathe, Time, Money: I don't think my commentary is necessary on these immortal gems.
I connect with the lead guitarist Giacomo, the one who handles all of David Gilmour’s guitar loops; I urge him, I encourage him to give more, to push, to dive into those memorable solos that everyone should know by heart. He smiles at me several times, pleased, and dives in with a cascade of infinite notes.
It’s time for the necessary and heartfelt tribute to Barrett with Shine on You Crazy Diamond and Wish You Were Here: no comment in this case either. I have no words; these emotions are so intense that it's truly impossible for me to put them into writing. Surely you'll understand, I have no doubt.
The forceful Synth-Rock of Welcome to the Machine is one of the iconic images of the evening that I'll have to hold onto and remember.
A completely unexpected yet no less effective Sheep, and the band takes a ten-minute break after almost an hour and a half of fire.
Suddenly a wall appears on the screen, that wall, and it’s the apotheosis, the personal delirium. You know, dear friends, it's my Floyd album!!!
Another Brick in the Wall annihilates and stuns me even more; an emotional Mother...and my thoughts go to my dear mother, who passed away a year ago. One piece is missing, that piece... but the band moves on, continues with their journey through history.
The for me unfairly underrated The Final Cut is remembered with its title track. We unfortunately approach the end; two hours have already passed. It doesn't seem true, but unfortunately, it is.
"The bells of division" precede a devastating, always emotionally, High Hopes; and in quick succession comes the moment I was waiting for, that I dreamed of, that... but what else do I have to say...
Comfortably Numb, and for the imposing grandeur of the concluding solo, I take up my phone for once to record it all. My hand is trembling; I have to hold it with both. I am overwhelmed, devastated, shocked... simply happy.
So they finish, after giving us Run Like Hell once more.
I leave the hall; I meet the band, and I’m the first to thank them for what they've made me experience.
"Call them what you will, emotions" Lucio would say.
I return home; I'm accompanied by the notes of The Dark Side of the Moon; but tonight there's no moon in the sky. It starts raining again... but it can't rain forever.
Before resting, a quick and silent visit to Elisa's room; the usual caress accompanies my whispered words "What you missed, my love!!"
And I dedicate it to Gian Luca, who was with me in Monza and who left me, in pain, many years ago.
Ad Maiora.
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