Volume 8: La cattiva strada - The Errant Way

Alla parata militare sputò negli occhi a un innocente e quando lui chiese "Perché " lui gli rispose "Questo è niente e adesso è ora che io vada" e l'innocente lo seguì, senza le armi lo seguì sulla sua cattiva strada. Sui viali dietro la stazione rubò l'incasso a una regina e quando lei gli disse "Come" lui le rispose "Forse è meglio è come prima forse è ora che io vada" e la regina lo seguì col suo dolore lo seguì sulla sua cattiva strada. E in una notte senza luna truccò le stelle ad un pilota quando l'aeroplano cadde lui disse "È colpa di chi muore comunque è meglio che io vada" ed il pilota lo seguì senza le stelle lo seguì sulla sua cattiva strada. A un diciottenne alcolizzato versò da bere ancora un poco e mentre quello lo guardava lui disse "Amico ci scommetto stai per dirmi adesso è ora che io vada" l'alcolizzato lo capì non disse niente e lo seguì sulla sua cattiva strada. Ad un processo per amore baciò le bocche dei giurati e ai loro sguardi imbarazzati rispose "Adesso è più normale adesso è meglio, adesso è giusto, giusto, è giusto che io vada" ed i giurati lo seguirono a bocca aperta lo seguirono sulla sua cattiva strada, sulla sua cattiva strada. E quando poi sparì del tutto a chi diceva "È stato un male" a chi diceva "È stato un bene" raccomandò "Non vi conviene venir con me dovunque vada, ma c'è amore un po' per tutti e tutti quanti hanno un amore sulla cattiva strada sulla cattiva strada. La cattiva strada © 1975 Fabrizio De André/Francesco De Gregori Literally, "cattiva strada" means "bad road." But in a moral sense, if you're straying down the wrong path, going down a slippery slope or leading someone astray, you're on a "cattiva strada" and more than a paving crew will be needed. Author and De André expert Cesare Romana observed the following about "La cattiva strada": "The song is among the most illustrative of the philosophy of a great moralist disguised as an 'immoralist.' The bad road represents a pirate ethic, and also the free port where the powers-that-be don't come. Thus it comes to be defined as bad, yet holding these mainstream powers at a distance endows a force most subversive and revolutionary that can be placed at our disposition: love. The fact is that De André never moved far from the bad road. He continued to think that the humanity, love and dignity of man resided there, and he went there to pursue those qualities." So the "bad road" of this song is more like a backroad or one on the wrong side of the tracks, one of life's possible roadways that is looked down upon by the social mainstream, which counsels to avoid such an "errant way."

At the military procession he spat in the eyes of an innocent, and when asked why, he answered him, “This is nothing and now it’s time that I go.” And the innocent man followed him, unarmed he followed him on his errant way. On the boulevards behind the station he stole the earnings of a street queen, and when she said to him “How come?”, he answered her, “Maybe it’s better, it’s like before, maybe it’s time that I go.” And the queen followed him, with her sadness she followed him on his errant way. And one moonless night he tampered with the stars on a pilot. When the airplane fell, he said, “It’s the fault of the one who dies, thus it’s better that I go.” And the pilot followed him, without the stars he followed him on his errant way. For an 18-year-old alcoholic he poured a little more to drink, and while that one was watching him he said, “Friend I bet you were about to tell me now it’s time that I go.” The alcoholic understood him, he said nothing and followed him on his errant way. At a trial for love he kissed the mouths of the jurors, and to their embarrassed looks he answered, “Now it’s more normal, now it’s better, now it’s right, right, it’s right that I go.” And the jurors followed him, with mouths agape they followed him on his errant way, on his errant way. And then when he disappeared completely, to whoever said, “It was a bad thing,” to whoever said, “It was a good thing,” he advised, “It doesn’t pay for you to come with me wherever I go, but there is love, a little for everyone, and everyone has a love on the errant way, on the errant way." English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned!

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Volume 8: Oceano - Ocean

Quanti cavalli hai tu seduto alla porta Tu che sfiori il cielo col tuo dito più corto La notte non ha bisogno La notte fa benissimo a meno del tuo concerto Ti offenderesti se qualcuno ti chiamasse un tentativo. Ed arrivò un bambino con le mani in tasca Ed un oceano verde dietro le spalle Disse "Vorrei sapere, quanto è grande il verde Come è bello il mare, quanto dura una stanza È troppo tempo che guardo il sole, mi ha fatto male" Prova a lasciare le campane al loro cerchio di rondini E non ficcare il naso negli affari miei E non venirmi a dire "Preferisco un poeta, Preferisco un poeta ad un poeta sconfitto" Ma se ci tieni tanto puoi baciarmi ogni volta che vuoi. Oceano © 1975 Fabrizio De André/Francesco De Gregori De Andrè's young son Cristiano had taken a liking to a De Gregori song "Alice" which starts with Alice watching the cats while the cats were looking about in the sun. At the time of hearing the song Cristiano wondered why Alice was watching the cats and not something else, like a streetlamp or a bush or a tree. A year later Cristiano got his chance to ask the question when Cristiano visited Sardinia while De Gregori was there writing with the elder De Andrè. De Gregori had no answer, but within days he and De Andrè had written "Oceano" as a response, dedicated to Cristiano.

How many horses have you, you there seated at the door, you who touch the sky lightly with your shortest finger? The night doesn’t need anything, the night gets along most fine without your concert. You would take offense if someone called you an attempt. And a young lad arrived with his hands in his pockets, and a green ocean behind his shoulders. He said, “I would like to know, how big is green? How beautiful is the sea? How long does a verse last? It’s too long that I’ve looked at the sun, it’s made me ill.” Try to leave the bells for their circle of swallows, and don’t stick your nose in my affairs, and don’t come to me to say, “I prefer a poet, I prefer a poet to a poet defeated.” But if it’s so important to you, you can kiss me every time you want. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned!

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Volume 8: Nancy (Leonard Cohen)

Un po' di tempo fa Nancy era senza compagnia all'ultimo spettacolo con la sua bigiotteria. Nel palazzo di giustizia suo padre era innocente nel palazzo del mistero Non c'era proprio niente non c'era quasi niente. Un po' di tempo fa eravamo distratti lei portava calze Verdi Dormiva con tutti. Ma cosa fai domani Non lo chiese mai a nessuno s'innamorò di tutti noi non proprio di qualcuno non solo di qualcuno. E un po' di tempo fa col telefono rotto cercò dal terzo piano la sua serenità. Dicevamo che era libera e nessuno era sincero non l'avremmo corteggiata mai nel palazzo del mistero nel palazzo del mistero. E dove mandi i tuoi pensieri adesso trovi Nancy a fermarli molti hanno usato il suo corpo molti hanno pettinato i suoi capelli. E nel vuoto della notte quando hai freddo e sei perduto È ancora Nancy che ti dice – Amore sono contenta che sei venuto. Sono contenta che sei venuto. Text of Nancy © 1975 Fabrizio De André translation of Seems So Long Ago, Nancy © 1969 Leonard Cohen Cohen wrote "Seems So Long Ago, Nancy" based on a young girl who committed suicide when she was forced to give her baby, born out of wedlock, up for adoption. She came from an important family that included members of Parliament and a Supreme Court judge, so the social and family pressures on her were intense. Seems So Long Ago, Nancy – Leonard Cohen It seems so long ago, Nancy was alone, Looking at the late late show Through a semi-precious stone. In the house of honesty Her father was on trial, In the house of mystery There was no one at all, There was no one at all. It seems so long ago, None of us were strong; Nancy wore green stockings And she slept with everyone. She never said she'd wait for us Although she was alone, I think she fell in love for us In nineteen sixty one, In nineteen sixty one. It seems so long ago, Nancy was alone, A forty five beside her head, An open telephone. We told her she was beautiful, We told her she was free But none of us would meet her in The house of mystery, The house of mystery. And now you look around you, See her everywhere, Many use her body, Many comb her hair. In the hollow of the night When you are cold and numb You hear her talking freely then, She's happy that you've come, She's happy that you've come.

A little while ago Nancy was without company, at the last show with her costume jewelry. In the palace of justice her father was innocent, in the palace of mystery there was no one at all, there was almost no one. A little while ago we were distracted, she wore green stockings and she slept with everyone. But what will you do tomorrow? She never asked anyone, she fell in love with all of us, not just with someone, not only with someone. And a little while ago with a broken telephone she searched from the fourth floor for her serenity. We used to say she was free and no one was sincere. We never courted her in the palace of mystery, in the palace of mystery. And where do you send your thoughts now? You go see Nancy to stop them many have used her body, many have combed her hair. And in the emptiness of the night when you are cold and lost it is still Nancy who tells you, “Love, I’m happy you’ve come.” “I’m happy that you have come.” English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned! Nancy - Fabrizio De André A while ago Nancy was without company At the last show With her costume jewelry In the palace of justice Her father was innocent In the palace of mystery There was no one at all There was almost no one. A while ago We were distracted She wore green stockings And she slept with everyone. But what do you do tomorrow She never asked anyone She fell in love with all of us Not just with someone Not only with someone. And a while ago With a broken telephone She searched from the fourth floor For her serenity. They used to say she was free And no one was sincere We never courted her In the palace of mystery In the palace of mystery. And where do you send your thoughts now You visit Nancy to stop them Many have used her body Many have combed her hair. And in the emptiness of the night When you are cold and lost It is still Nancy who tells you “Love, I’m happy you’ve come.” “I’m happy that you have come.”

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Volume 8: Le storie di ieri The Stories of Yesterday (Francesco De Gregori)

Mio padre aveva un sogno comune, condiviso dalla sua generazione, la mascella al cortile parlava, troppi morti lo hanno tradito, tutta gente che aveva capito. E il bambino nel cortile sta giocando, tira sassi nel cielo e nel mare, ogni volta che colpisce una stella chiude gli occhi e si mette a sognare, chiude gli occhi e si mette a volare. E i cavalli a Salò sono morti di noia, a giocare col nero perdi sempre, Mussolini ha scritto anche poesie, i poeti che strane creature, ogni volta che parlano è una truffa. Ma mio padre è un ragazzo tranquillo, la mattina legge molti giornali, è convinto di avere delle idee. E suo figlio è una nave pirata, e suo figlio è una nave pirata. E anche adesso è rimasta una scritta nera, sopra il muro davanti a casa mia. Dice che il movimento vincerà; il gran capo ha la faccia serena, la cravatta intonata alla camicia. Ma il bambino nel cortile si è fermato, si è stancato di seguire gli aquiloni, si è seduto tra i ricordi vicini, i rumori lontani, guarda il muro e si guarda le mani, guarda il muro e si guarda le mani, guarda il muro e si guarda le mani. Le storie di ieri © 1975 Francesco De Gregori "Le storie di ieri" is the only song De André ever recorded in studio that he did not have a hand in writing or translating. The images in the song reference both fascism and neo-fascism, the political currents from both the older generation and the younger generation of Italy in the 1970s. Translation notes. 1. Salò was the capital of Mussolini's Italian Social Republic from 1943-1945. 2. The great leader referenced in the 5th verse is Giorgio Almirante, the first leader of the Italian Social Movement, a political party founded in 1946 that absorbed many wartime fascists into its ranks. The jaw on his balcony . . . . . . speaking to the courtyard.

My father had a common dream shared by his generation. The jaw spoke to the courtyard. Too many dead ones betrayed it, all the people who had understood. And the child in the courtyard is playing, he throws stones into the sky and into the sea. Every time he hits a star, he closes his eyes and starts to dream, he closes his eyes and starts to fly. And the horses at Salò are bored to death. Playing with black you always lose. Mussolini wrote poems too - poets, what strange creatures. Every time they speak it’s a con. But my father is a calm guy. Mornings he reads many papers, he’s persuaded to have some ideas. And his son is a pirate ship, and his son is a pirate ship. And even now there remains some black graffiti on the wall in front of my house. It says the movement will win; the great leader has a serene face, his tie matching his shirt. But the boy in the courtyard stopped, he tired of chasing kites. He sat down between the close memories, the distant sounds, he looks at the wall and looks at his hands, he looks at the wall and looks at his hands, he looks at the wall and looks at his hands. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned!

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Volume 8: Giugno '73 - June of '73

Tua madre ce l'ha molto con me perché sono sposato e in più canto però canto bene e non so se tua madre sia altrettanto capace a vergognarsi di me. La gazza che ti ho regalato è morta, tua sorella ne ha pianto, quel giorno non avevano fiori, peccato, quel giorno vendevano gazze parlanti. E speravo che avrebbe insegnato a tua madre A dirmi "Ciao come stai", insomma non proprio a cantare per quello ci sono già io come sai. I miei amici sono tutti educati con te però vestono in modo un po' strano mi consigli di mandarli da un sarto e mi chiedi "Sono loro stasera i migliori che abbiamo ". E adesso ridi e ti versi un cucchiaio di mimosa Nell'imbuto di un polsino slacciato. I miei amici ti hanno dato la mano, li accompagno, il loro viaggio porta un po' più lontano. E tu aspetta un amore più fidato il tuo accendino sai io l'ho già regalato e lo stesso quei due peli d'elefante mi fermavano il sangue li ho dati a un passante. Poi il resto viene sempre da sé i tuoi "Aiuto" saranno ancora salvati io mi dico è stato meglio lasciarci che non esserci mai incontrati. Giugno '73 © 1975 Fabrizio De André "Giugno '73" is an autobiographical song about a relationship De André had with a woman in between his first and second wives. While the relationship was broken off by the woman, De André looks back on everything with no regrets. He managed to maintain good relations with the women he had loved, even after intimate relationships were over.

Your mother has it in for me because I am married, and what’s more I sing. But I sing well, and I don’t know if your mother can be as much ashamed of me as I am good at singing. The magpie I gave you as a gift is dead. Your sister cried for it. That day they didn’t have flowers. Too bad, that day they were selling talking magpies. And I was hoping it would have taught your mother to tell me “Hi how are you?” In other words, not just to sing. That’s why I’m already there, as you know. My friends are all well-mannered with you, but they dress in a style a little strange. You advise me to send them to a tailor and you ask me, “Are they the best that we have tonight?” And now you laugh and pour yourself a spoonful of mimosa in the funnel of an unbuttoned cuff. My friends gave you a hand. I accompany them, their voyage carries on a bit further. And you wait for a more reliable love. Your cigarette lighter, you know I already gave it away, same as those two elephant hairs. They stopped my blood. You gave them to a passerby. Then the rest always unfolds on its own, your “Help”s will still be rescued. I tell myself it was better to leave each other than never to have met. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned!

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Volume 8: Dolce Luna - Sweet Moon

Cammina come un vecchio marinaio non ha più un posto dove andare la terra sotto i piedi non lo aspetta strano modo di ballare sua moglie ha un altro uomo e un'altra donna, è proprio un uomo da buttare e nelle tasche gli è rimasta solo un po' di polvere di mare e non può testimoniare. Si muove sopra i sassi come un leone invernale ti può parlare ore ed ore della sua quarta guerra mondiale conserva la sua cena dentro a un foglio di giornale la sua ragazza "esca dalle lunghe gambe" fa all'amore niente male e non può testimoniare. Lui vide il marinaio indiano alzarsi in piedi e barcollare con un coltello nella schiena tra la schiuma e la stella polare e il timoniere di Shanghai tornò tranquillo a pilotare e lui lo vide con l'anello al dito e un altro anello da rubare ma non può testimoniare. Dal buio delle tango notti "Balla Linda" alla paralisi di un porto, la luce delle stelle chiare come un rifugio capovolto, la sua balena "Dolce Luna" che lo aspetta in alto mare, gli ha detto molte volte "Amore, con chi mi vuoi dimenticare" e non può testimoniare e non può testimoniare. E tu mi vieni a dire voglio un figlio su cui potermi regolare con due occhi qualunque e il terzo occhio inconfondibile e speciale che non ti importa niente se non riuscirà a nuotare l'importante è che abbia sulla guancia destra quella mia voglia di mare e mi dici ancora che il mio nome glielo devo proprio dare ma non so testimoniare io non so testimoniare. Dolce Luna © 1975 Fabrizio De André/Francesco De Gregori De André and De Gregori had worked together on the translation of Bob Dylan's Desolation Row that appeared on De Andrè's previous album. Perhaps "Dolce Luna" was crafted out of an admiration for Dylan's often cryptic and image-rich lyric style. The line about "long-legged bait" refers to a Dylan Thomas poem "Ballad of the Long-legged Bait" from his 1946 collection Deaths and Entrances.

He walks like an old sailor, he no longer has any place to go. The ground under his feet doesn't wait for him - strange way of dancing. His wife has another man and another woman, it’s just a man to throw out, and in his pockets there remains only a bit of dust from the sea, and he cannot testify. He moves over the stones like a winter lion, he can talk to you for hours and hours about his fourth world war. He saves his dinner wrapped in newspaper His girl “long-legged bait” makes love not bad, and he cannot testify. He saw the Indian sailor getting up on his feet and staggering with a knife in his back between the foam and the North Star, and the coxswain of Shanghai returned, calm, to pilot and he saw him with a ring on his finger and another ring to steal, but he cannot testify. From the darkness of the tango nights “Pretty Dance” to the paralysis of a harbor, the bright starlight like a refuge overturned. His whale “Sweet Moon” that waited for him in high seas, told him many times “Love, with whom do you want to forget me?” And he cannot testify and he cannot testify. And you come to me to say I want a son on whom I can model myself, with any old two eyes and a third eye, unmistakable and special, that you don’t give a damn about if he doesn’t manage to swim. The important thing is that he has on the right cheek that mark of mine for the sea. And you still tell me that my name I just have to give to him, but I don’t know how to testify I don’t know how to testify. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned!

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Volume 8: Canzone per l'estate - Song for the Summer

Con tua moglie che lavava i piatti in cucina e non capiva Con tua figlia che provava il suo vestito nuovo e sorrideva Con la radio che ronzava per il mondo cose strane E il respiro del tuo cane che dormiva Coi tuoi santi sempre pronti a benedire i tuoi sforzi per il pane Con il tuo bambino biondo a cui hai donato una pistola per Natale, che sembra vera Con il letto in cui tua moglie non ti ha mai saputo dare e gli occhiali che fra un po' dovrai cambiare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Con le tue finestre aperte sulla strada e gli occhi chiusi sulla gente Con la tua tranquillità, lucidità, soddisfazione permanente La tua coda di ricambio, le tue nuvole in affitto e le tue rondini di guardia sopra il tetto Con il tuo francescanesimo a puntate e la tua dolce consistenza Col tuo ossigeno purgato e le tue onde regolate in una stanza Col permesso di trasmettere e il divieto di parlare e ogni giorno un altro giorno da contare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Con i tuoi entusiasmi lenti precisati da ricordi stagionali E una bella addormentata che si sveglia a tutto quel che le regali Con il tuo collezionismo di parole complicate La tua ultima canzone per l'estate Con le tue mani di carta per avvolgere altre mani normali Con l'idiota in giardino ad isolare le tue rose migliori Col tuo freddo di montagna e il divieto di sudare E più niente per poterti vergognare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Com'è che non riesci più a volare Canzone per l'estate © 1975 Fabrizio De André/Francesco De Gregori The music of "Canzone per l'estate" is entirely De Gregori's, while the lyrics were co-written. De André described the song as somewhat autobiographical, describing the tension between the bourgeois life he grew up in and lived much of his life in, and his attraction to anarchism and to society's outcasts who seemed more genuine and alive than the upper classes. Indeed the song describes well the soul-sapping nature of a comfortable, prosperous life that takes one away from vitality and even political engagement ("your eyes closed to the people").

With your wife who washed dishes in the kitchen and didn’t understand, with your daughter who tried on her new outfit and smiled, with the radio that droned strange things for the world, and the breathing of your dog that slept. With your saints ever ready to bless your efforts to bring home the bread, with your little blonde boy to whom for Christmas you gave a pistol that seemed real, with the bed in which your wife never knew how to give to you, and the glasses you’ll have to change in a bit. How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? With your windows open onto the street and your eyes closed to the people with your calmness, lucidity, permanent satisfaction your tail of change, your rented clouds and your swallows on guard on the roof With your Franciscanism in installments and your sweet substance, with your purified oxygen and the dialed-in waves in your room, with permission to broadcast and speaking prohibited and every day another day to count. How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? With your slow enthusiasms defined by seasonal memories and a sleeping beauty who wakes up to every gift that you give to her, with your collecting of complicated words, your final song for the summer. With your hands of paper for wrapping other normal hands, with the idiot in the garden to isolate your best roses, with your mountain coldness and the ban on sweating and nothing more that can embarrass you. How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? How is it that you can’t manage to fly anymore? English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André, though, you will find plenty to like here, critics be damned!

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Volume 8: Amico fragile - Fragile Friend

Evaporato in una nuvola rossa in una delle molte feritoie della notte con un bisogno d'attenzione e d'amore troppo, "Se mi vuoi bene piangi " per essere corrisposti, valeva la pena divertirvi le serate estive con un semplicissimo "Mi ricordo": per osservarvi affittare un chilo d'erba ai contadini in pensione e alle loro donne e regalare a piene mani oceani ed altre ed altre onde ai marinai in servizio, fino a scoprire ad uno ad uno i vostri nascondigli senza rimpiangere la mia credulità: perché già dalla prima trincea ero più curioso di voi, ero molto più curioso di voi. E poi sospeso tra i vostri "Come sta" meravigliato da luoghi meno comuni e più feroci, tipo "Come ti senti amico, amico fragile, se vuoi potrò occuparmi un'ora al mese di te" "Lo sa che io ho perduto due figli" "Signora lei è una donna piuttosto distratta." E ancora ucciso dalla vostra cortesia nell'ora in cui un mio sogno ballerina di seconda fila, agitava per chissà quale avvenire il suo presente di seni enormi e il suo cesareo fresco, pensavo è bello che dove finiscono le mie dita debba in qualche modo incominciare una chitarra. E poi seduto in mezzo ai vostri arrivederci, mi sentivo meno stanco di voi ero molto meno stanco di voi. Potevo stuzzicare i pantaloni della sconosciuta fino a vederle spalancarsi la bocca. Potevo chiedere ad uno qualunque dei miei figli di parlare ancora male e ad alta voce di me. Potevo barattare la mia chitarra e il suo elmo con una scatola di legno che dicesse perderemo. Potevo chiedervi come si chiama il vostro cane Il mio è un po' di tempo che si chiama Libero. Potevo assumere un cannibale al giorno per farmi insegnare la mia distanza dalle stelle. Potevo attraversare litri e litri di corallo per raggiungere un posto che si chiamasse arrivederci. E mai che mi sia venuto in mente, di essere più ubriaco di voi di essere molto più ubriaco di voi. Amico fragile © 1975 Fabrizio De André/Francesco De Gregori De André wrote "Amico fragile" in a drunken rage after attending a party of rich Italians vacationing on Sardinia. They were only interested in having him play guitar and sing his songs, whereas De André wanted to engage people in discussions about events unfolding in Italy. He became ever more frustrated and inebriated with the shallowness of the evening, returning home to stay up all night and produce this "stream of semi-consciousness" rant. The song was a staple in his live shows and was one of De André's favorites.

Evaporated into a red cloud in one of the many hole-in-the-walls of the night, with a need for attention and for love, too much “If you care for me, cry” to be requited. It was good enough for you, to enjoy the summer evenings with the simplest “I remember”: to observe yourself renting a chunk of grass to the retired countrymen and to their wives, and giving handfuls of ocean and waves and more waves to the hired deckhands until discovering one by one your hideaways, never missing my naiveté. Because already, from the very first trench, I was more curious than you, I was much more curious than you. And then left hanging between your "How-are-you?"s, astonished by places not so common and oh so cruel, like “How are you feeling, friend, fragile friend? If you want I can devote an hour a month to you.” “You know I lost two children.” “Madam, you are one absent-minded woman.” And still slayed by your courtesy in the hour when one of my dreams, a ballerina in the second row, was agitating for who knows what to happen, her here-and-now of enormous breasts and her fresh C-section. I was thinking it’s beautiful that where my fingers end there would have to begin, in some way or other, a guitar. And then seated in the midst of your goodbyes, I felt less tired than you, I was much less tired than you. I could tease at the pants of the stranger until I saw her mouth open wide. I could ask someone or other from my kids’ circles to talk loud and trashy about me. I could barter my guitar and its protective helmet for a wooden box that said on it "We Will Lose." I could ask you the name of your dog, mine is a little bit of time by the name of Free. I could hire a cannibal a day to make them teach me how far I am from the stars. I could go through liter after liter of rotgut coral to reach a place that was called Goodbye. And never did it enter my mind that I was drunker than you were, that I was so much more wasted than you. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Volume 8, released in 1975, was largely the fruit of three months of hanging out and writing with Francesco De Gregori at De André's Sardinia home, after De André had traveled to Rome to hear the young songwriter perform live. De André was inspired by the possibilities and extended an invitation to De Gregori to visit. Five of the songs have De Gregori's mark on them, and there are two new De André songs and another Leonard Cohen cover. Critics weren't too kind to this album, thinking it was too influenced by De Gregori and rather obscure in some of the lyrics. If you like De André you will find plenty to like here.

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