Pupo
Gelato al cioccolato

Happy Ferragosto, my dear debaerians!!

Yes, I know I could have reviewed the latest Coldplay album, or all those fake multiplatinum records that reward invented sales—in reality, nothing is sold, yet they continue these pretenses... Anyway, I was taking a bath with some seaweed salts from Salba, a company now on the verge of extinction. The same salts, in '79, were given to me by my doctor to treat a very severe case of chickenpox. Today they have faded to green because the dyes have been banned, while back then they turned the water an oceanic blue with an intoxicating fragrance.

You might wonder what this has to do with anything? Well, it does, because the sitzbath is conducive to meditation, to small enlightenments while looking at the black holes inside the soap bubbles—always being careful not to end up like Marat of Jim Morrison. And so my mind unfortunately wandered to the good old days, and from my inner jukebox, today's selection stopped at Pupo, "Gelato al cioccolato". As soon as I’m home, I call you, answer me quickly, answer I love you, love, love...Ah, what rhymes those Malgioglian ones: "hidden by long hair, you dance but the gestures are the same..." The title track is a little masterpiece and this author will one day be rediscovered, unlike the annoying intellectualisms of a Battiato or a Dalla.

The sweet and slightly salty ice cream is a double entendre with something else to put in your mouth, and this was understood even then.
But, after Malgioglio's revelations, debates have opened, exegeses of sources, parliamentary inquiries, high speculations, even a Facebook site The whole truth about chocolate ice cream!; but we like to think that the theme is centered on a heterosexual cunnilingus. But be careful, the entire album is worth a listen. There are gems like "Forse", and many other pleasantries that I won’t delve into here.

The disco-style 45 single became a hit all over the Latin world and even in Eastern Europe. Pupo's voice is something you either love or hate: setting aside prejudices, it recalls an upgraded mix between Bowie, Lennon, and Marc Bolan, but without gargles and Dylan-like Anglo nasalness; bear in mind that we are in the beautiful country, homeland of bel canto. Another small memory goes to Antonella with whom I savored the last ice cream of 1980: it was evening, after dinner, the car lights went piff poff, like at Christmas. But it was August, as we two looked into each other's sparkling eyes under the watchful eye of our parents, stealing a kiss while eating ice cream. Surely, there was chocolate.

Another flash: do you remember those monstrous bowl cuts our Man used to have, how fashionable they were until the early eighties...