Canzoni: La città vecchia - The Old City

Nei quartieri dove il sole del buon Dio non dà i suoi raggi ha già troppi impegni per scaldar la gente d'altri paraggi, una bimba canta la canzone antica della donnaccia quello che ancor non sai tu lo imparerai solo qui tra le mie braccia. E se alla sua età le difetterà la competenza presto affinerà le capacità con l'esperienza dove sono andati i tempi di una volta per Giunone quando ci voleva per fare il mestiere anche un po' di vocazione. Una gamba qua, una gamba là, gonfi di vino quattro pensionati mezzo avvelenati al tavolino li troverai là, col tempo che fa, estate e inverno a stratracannare a stramaledire le donne, il tempo ed il governo. Loro cercan là, la felicità dentro a un bicchiere per dimenticare d'esser stati presi per il sedere ci sarà allegria anche in agonia col vino forte porteran sul viso l'ombra di un sorriso tra le braccia della morte. Vecchio professore cosa vai cercando in quel portone forse quella che sola ti può dare una lezione quella che di giorno chiami con disprezzo pubblica moglie. Quella che di notte stabilisce il prezzo alle tue voglie. Tu la cercherai, tu la invocherai più di una notte ti alzerai disfatto rimandando tutto al ventisette quando incasserai delapiderai mezza pensione diecimila lire per sentirti dire "micio bello e bamboccione". Se ti inoltrerai lungo le calate dei vecchi moli In quell'aria spessa carica di sale, gonfia di odori lì ci troverai i ladri gli assassini e il tipo strano quello che ha venduto per tremila lire sua madre a un nano. Se tu penserai, se giudicherai da buon borghese li condannerai a cinquemila anni più le spese ma se capirai, se li cercherai fino in fondo se non sono gigli son pur sempre figli vittime di questo mondo. La città vecchia © 1965 Fabrizio De André "La città vecchia" is set in old Genoa where De André spent much time, with its little back alleyways, bars, prostitutes, and the hard lives of the poor people and criminals who lived there on the margins of society, the opposite of what De André experienced with his own upper-middle class upbringing. The song was inspired by a poem of the same name by Umberto Saba set in the port zone of Trieste. And the first two lines were taken almost directly from a poem by Jacques Prévert, "Embrasse moi": "The sun of the good Lord doesn't shine on our parts/It already has too much to do in the rich quarters." Throughout his songwriting career, De André regularly took inspiration from and borrowed from other works of literature and music. (Translation notes: 1. "Giunone" is "Juno," but most people say "By Jove!" not "By Juno!" 2. In Italy, pensioners receive their checks on the 27th of every month.)

In the districts where the sun of the good Lord gives not its rays, it already has too many commitments warming the people of other neighborhoods. A little girl sings the ancient song of the whore: that which you still don’t know, you will learn only here in my arms. And if at her age she might lack in competence, she’ll quickly refine her skills with experience. Where did the good old days go, by Jove, when to practice the craft still required a bit of a calling? A leg here, a leg there, bloated with wine, four pensioners half-poisoned at the table; you’ll find them there, rain or shine, summer and winter, guzzling it down and profusely bad-mouthing women, the weather and the government. They’re searching for bliss there inside a wineglass, to forget having been taken for a fool. There will be joy even in agony with strong wine. They’ll wear on their faces the shadow of a smile in the arms of death. Old professor, what do you go seeking in that street door? Perhaps she who alone can teach you a lesson, she who by day you scornfully call public wife, she who by night sets the price for your desires. You’ll search for her, you’ll invoke her on more than one night. You’ll wake up exhausted postponing everything til the 27th, when you will cash and trash half your pension, 10,000 lira to hear yourself say “sweet pussycat" and "big rag doll.” If you enter along the walkways of the old piers, in that thick air, laden with salt, swollen with odors, there you will find the thieves, the assassins and the strange fellow, that one who sold his mother to a dwarf for 3000 lira. If you will think, if you will judge as a righteous townsman, you'll condemn them to 50,000 years plus expenses; but if you will understand, if you will search them through and through, even if they are not lilies they are always children, victims of this world. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Canzoni, released in 1974, was a "filler" album, like Volume III, desired by De André's label. The only three previously unreleased songs here are covers of Dylan's "Desolation Row" and of two songs by Georges Brassens. Also included are two covers of Leonard Cohen songs.

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Canzoni: Giovanna d'Arco - Joan of Arc (Leonard Cohen)

Attraverso il buio Giovanna d'Arco precedeva le fiamme cavalcando nessuna luna per la sua corazza nessun uomo nella sua fumosa notte al suo fianco. Della guerra sono stanca ormai al lavoro di un tempo tornerei a un vestito da sposa o qualcosa di bianco per nascondere questa mia vocazione al trionfo ed al pianto. lalala lalala lalalalalala lalala lalala lalalalalala Son parole le tue che volevo ascoltare ti ho spiata ogni giorno cavalcare e a sentirti così ora so cosa voglio vincere un'eroina così fredda, abbracciarne l'orgoglio. E chi sei tu lei disse divertendosi al gioco, chi sei tu che mi parli così senza riguardo, veramente stai parlando col fuoco e amo la tua solitudine, amo il tuo sguardo. lalala lalala lalalalalala E se tu sei il fuoco raffreddati un poco, le tue mani ora avranno da tenere qualcosa, e tacendo gli si arrampicò dentro ad offrirgli il suo modo migliore di essere sposa. E nel profondo del suo cuore rovente lui prese ad avvolgere Giovanna d'Arco e là in alto e davanti alla gente lui appese le ceneri inutili del suo abito bianco. lalala lalala lalalalalala E fu dal profondo del suo cuore rovente che lui prese Giovanna e la colpì nel segno e lei capì chiaramente che se lui era il fuoco lei doveva essere il legno. lalalalalala Ho visto la smorfia del suo dolore, ho visto la gloria nel suo sguardo raggiante anche io vorrei luce ed amore ma se arriva deve essere sempre così crudele e accecante. Giovanna d'Arco text © 1974 Fabrizio De André based on Joan of Arc © 1971 Leonard Cohen "Giovanna d'Arco" was released as the B-side of a single featuring "Suzanne" in 1972. As with the latter song, the arrangement was tweaked by Gian Piero Reverberi for its inclusion on Canzoni, but most notably the album version deletes the final verse seen above. Leonard Cohen text for Joan of Arc: Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc as she came riding through the dark; no moon to keep her armour bright, no man to get her through this very smoky night. She said, "I'm tired of the war, I want the kind of work I had before, a wedding dress or something white to wear upon my swollen appetite." Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way, you know I've watched you riding every day and something in me yearns to win such a cold and lonesome heroine. "And who are you?" she sternly spoke to the one beneath the smoke. "Why, I'm fire," he replied, "And I love your solitude, I love your pride." "Then fire, make your body cold, I'm going to give you mine to hold," saying this she climbed inside to be his one, to be his only bride. And deep into his fiery heart he took the dust of Joan of Arc, and high above the wedding guests he hung the ashes of her wedding dress. It was deep into his fiery heart he took the dust of Joan of Arc, and then she clearly understood if he was fire, oh then she must be wood. I saw her wince, I saw her cry, I saw the glory in her eye. Myself I long for love and light, but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?

Through the darkness Joan of Arc rode, keeping ahead of the flames, no moon for her armor, no man by her side in her smoky night. I’m tired of the war now, to the work of another time I would return, to a wedding dress, or something white to hide this vocation of mine from triumph and grief. lalala lalala lalalalalala lalala lalala lalalalalala Yours are words I was wanting to hear. I spied you riding every day, and to hear you this way, now I know what I want - to win over a heroine so cold, to embrace some of that pride. "And who are you?" she said, enjoying the game, "Who are you that speaks to me without regard?" "Truly, you are speaking with fire, and I love your solitude, I love your gaze." lalala lalala lalalalalala "And if you are fire, cool down a little, your hands now will have to hold something." And keeping quiet she clambered up inside him to offer him her best, to be a bride. And in the depths of his red-hot heart he took Joan of Arc to envelop her, and there up high in front of the people he hung up the useless ashes of her white dress. lalala lalala lalalalalala And it was from the depths of his red-hot heart that he took Joan and hit the mark, and she understood clearly that if he was fire she had to be wood. lalalalalala I saw the grimace of her pain, I saw the glory in her radiant gaze. Even I would like light and love, but if it arrives must it always be so cruel and glaring? English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Canzoni, released in 1974, was a "filler" album, like Volume III, desired by De André's label. The only three previously unreleased songs here are covers of Dylan's "Desolation Row" and of two songs by Georges Brassens. Also included are covers of two Leonard Cohen songs previously released as a single. Fabrizio De André text, translated, for Joan of Arc: Through the darkness Joan of Arc rode, keeping ahead of the flames, no moon for her armor, no man by her side in her smoky night. I’m tired of the war now, to the work of another time I would return, to a wedding dress, or something white to hide this vocation of mine from triumph and to grief. Yours are words I was wanting to hear, I spied you riding every day and to hear you this way now I know what I want - to win over a heroine so cold, to embrace some of that pride. "And who are you?" she said, enjoying the game, "Who are you that speaks to me without regard?" "Truly you are speaking with fire, and I love your solitude, I love your gaze." "And if you are fire, cool down a little, your hands now will have to hold something." And keeping quiet she clambered up inside him, to offer him her best, to be a bride. And in the depths of his red-hot heart he took Joan of Arc to envelop her, and there up high in front of the people he hung up the useless ashes of her white dress. And it was from the depths of his red-hot heart that he took Joan and hit the mark, and she understood clearly that if he was fire she had to be wood. I saw the grimace of her pain, I saw the glory in her radiant gaze Even I would like light and love But if it arrives it must always be so cruel and glaring.

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Canzoni: Delitto di paese - Small Town Crime (Brassens)

Non tutti nella capitale sbocciano i fiori del male, qualche assassinio senza pretese lo abbiamo anche noi in paese. Qualche assassinio senza pretese lo abbiamo anche noi qui in paese. Aveva il capo tutto bianco ma il cuore non ancor stanco gli ritornò a battere in fretta per una giovinetta. Gli ritornò a battere in fretta per una giovinetta. Ma la sua voglia troppo viva subito gli esauriva, in quattro baci e una carezza l'ultima giovinezza. In quattro baci e una carezza l'ultima giovinezza. Quando la mano lei gli tese triste lui le rispose, d'essere povero in bolletta lei si rivestì in fretta. D'essere povero in bolletta lei si rivestì in fretta. E andò a cercare il suo compagno partecipe del guadagno e ritornò col protettore dal vecchio truffatore. E ritornò col protettore dal vecchio truffatore. Mentre lui fermo lo teneva sei volte lo accoltellava dicon che quando lui spirò la lingua lei gli mostrò. Dicon che quando lui spirò la lingua lei gli mostrò. Misero tutto sotto sopra senza trovare un soldo ma solo un mucchio di cambiali e di atti giudiziari. Ma solo un mucchio di cambiali e di atti giudiziari. Allora presi dallo sconforto e dal rimpianto del morto, si inginocchiaron sul poveruomo chiedendogli perdono. Si inginocchiaron sul poveruomo chiedendogli perdono. Quando i gendarmi sono entrati piangenti li han trovati fu qualche lacrima sul viso a dargli il paradiso. Fu qualche lacrima sul viso a dargli il paradiso. E quando furono impiccati volarono fra i beati qualche beghino di questo fatto fu poco soddisfatto. Qualche beghino di questo fatto fu poco soddisfatto. Non tutti nella capitale sbocciano i fiori del male, qualche assassinio senza pretese lo abbiamo anche noi in paese. Qualche assassinio senza pretese lo abbiamo anche noi qui in paese. Text of Delitto di paese © 1965 Fabrizio De André based on L'assassinat © 1962 George Brassens "Delitto di paese" is a mostly faithful translation of "L'assassinat" by Georges Brassens, with only a few small changes (notably there's a reference to Baudelaire with De André's change to "flowers of evil," the title of an early volume of poetry by the French writer). This was the first of many translations De André would do of songs by Brassens, who was a major influence on De André both for his music and for his political and philosophical points of view. Both men considered compassion and forgiveness the most powerful human forces for good, reflected in this song by the killers' admittance to Heaven after they genuinely shed tears of remorse for their crime.

Not only in the capital do flowers of evil bloom. Some modest killing even we have in the village. Some modest killing even we have here in the village. His head was all white but his heart, still not tired, returned to him to throb fast for a young girl. It returned to him to throb fast for a young girl. But his desire, too lively, quickly exhausted in four kisses and a caress his final youthfulness. In four kisses and a caress, his final youthfulness. When his hand she held, he responded to her, sad for being poor, flat broke. She got back dressed in a hurry. For being poor, flat broke, she got back dressed in a hurry. And she went in search of her companion, sharer in the earnings, and returned with a protector to the old trickster's place. And she returned with a protector to the old trickster's place. While he, standing, held him, she stabbed him six times. They say when he spent his last breath she showed him the tongue. They say when he spent his last breath she showed her companion the tongue. They turned the place upside down without finding a penny, only but a pile of bills and court judgments. Only but a pile of bills and court judgments. Then, taken by the discomfort and regret of death, they got down on their knees by the poor fellow, asking him for pardon. They got down on their knees by the poor fellow asking him for pardon. When the gendarmes entered they found them crying. Some tears were on their faces to give them heaven. Some tears were on their faces to give them heaven. And when they were hung they flew among the blessed. Of this fact a few bigots were little satisfied. Of this fact a few bigots were little satisfied. Not only in the capital do flowers of evil bloom. Some modest killing even we have in the village. Some modest killing even we have here in the village. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Canzoni, released in 1974, was a "filler" album, like Volume III, desired by De André's label. The only three previously unreleased songs here are covers of Dylan's "Desolation Row" and of two songs by Georges Brassens. Also included are two covers of Leonard Cohen songs.

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Canzoni: Valzer per un amore (o campestre) Waltz for a Lover (or Country Waltz)

Quando carica d'anni e di castità tra i ricordi e le illusioni del bel tempo che non ritornerà, troverai le mie canzoni, nel sentirle ti meraviglierai che qualcuno abbia lodato le bellezze che allor più non avrai e che avesti nel tempo passato ma non ti servirà il ricordo, non ti servirà che per piangere il tuo rifiuto del mio amore che non tornerà. Ma non ti servirà più a niente, non ti servirà che per piangere sui tuoi occhi che nessuno più canterà. Ma non ti servirà più a niente, non ti servirà che per piangere sui tuoi occhi che nessuno più canterà. Vola il tempo lo sai che vola e va, forse non ce ne accorgiamo ma più ancora del tempo che non ha età, siamo noi che ce ne andiamo e per questo ti dico amore, amor io t'attenderò ogni sera, ma tu vieni non aspettare ancor, vieni adesso finché è primavera. Valzer per un amore © 1964 Fabrizio De André/Gino Marinuzzi "Valzer per un amore" was the B side of the sixth 45 released by Karim in 1964. The song was remixed for Canzoni, freed from the haze of reverb that drenches several of the early singles. The music is that of "Valzer campestre" from the Sicilian Suite (1909) by Gino Marinuzzi. De André wanted to set lyrics to this piece of music when he learned that he had been born at home while this song was playing on the record player. He contacted the composer's son and was happily given permission to use the music. De André's lyric approach was influenced by a 16th century French poem, one of Pierre de Ronsard's Sonnets pour Hélène: Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle, Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant: Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j’étais belle. When you are very old, in the evening, by candlelight, Sitting by the fire, winding and spinning, You will say, singing my verses, marveling: Ronsard celebrated me in the time when I was beautiful.

When laden with years and with chastity among the memories and the illusions of the good times that won’t return, you will find my songs. In hearing them you’ll marvel that someone praised the beauties that you’ll now no longer have and that you had in times past. But it won’t do you any good the memory, it won’t do you any good save for lamenting your refusal of my love that won’t return. But it will no longer do you any good at all, it’s pointless for you save for grieving over your eyes that no one will sing of any more. But it won’t do you any good at all, it’s useless for you save for grieving over your eyes that no one will sing of any more. Time flies, you know that it flies and goes. Maybe we don’t notice it, but more still than ageless time it is we who are leaving. And for this I say to you love, love, I’ll wait for you every evening. But you come, don’t keep waiting, come now while it’s springtime. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Canzoni, released in 1974, was a "filler" album like Volume III, desired by De André's label. The only three previously unreleased songs here are covers of Dylan's "Desolation Row" and of two songs by Georges Brassens. Also included are two covers of Leonard Cohen songs.

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Storia di un impiegato: Introduzione - Introduction

Lottavano così come si gioca i cuccioli del maggio era normale loro avevano il tempo anche per la galera ad aspettarli fuori rimaneva la stessa rabbia la stessa primavera... Introduzione © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani We are introduced to the worker as he observes the student rebels of 1968.

They fought the way one plays, the puppies of May, it was normal. They even had time for prison. Waiting for them on the outside remained the same rage, the same springtime . . . English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Canzone del maggio - May Song

Anche se il nostro maggio ha fatto a meno del vostro coraggio se la paura di guardare vi ha fatto chinare il mento se il fuoco ha risparmiato le vostre Millecento anche se voi vi credete assolti siete lo stesso coinvolti. E se vi siete detti non sta succedendo niente, le fabbriche riapriranno, arresteranno qualche studente convinti che fosse un gioco a cui avremmo giocato poco provate pure a credervi assolti siete lo stesso coinvolti. Anche se avete chiuso le vostre porte sul nostro muso la notte che le "pantere" ci mordevano il sedere lasciandoci in buonafede massacrare sui marciapiedi anche se ora ve ne fregate, voi quella notte voi c'eravate. E se nei vostri quartieri tutto è rimasto come ieri, senza le barricate senza feriti, senza granate, se avete preso per buone le "verità" della televisione anche se allora vi siete assolti siete lo stesso coinvolti. E se credete ora che tutto sia come prima perché avete votato ancora la sicurezza, la disciplina, convinti di allontanare la paura di cambiare verremo ancora alle vostre porte e grideremo ancora più forte per quanto voi vi crediate assolti siete per sempre coinvolti, per quanto voi vi crediate assolti siete per sempre coinvolti. Canzone del maggio © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/ Nicola Piovani "Canzone del maggio" is the song listened to by the student rebels and heard by the worker, that sparks his personal reflections. The song is based on a song by Dominique Grange, "Chacun de vous est concerné" about the May 1968 events in France. Grange did not ask for any rights of authorship when De André contacted her about publication. The lyrics of "Canzone del maggio" reflect each of the concepts of the original, verse by verse.

Even if our May did without your courage, if the fear of looking made you bow down your chin, if the fire spared your Fiat 1100’s, even if you believe yourselves absolved, you are, all the same, involved. And if it was said to you all, "Nothing is happening, the factories will reopen, they’ll arrest some students," convinced, you all are, it was a game that we’ll have played little, just try to believe yourselves absolved. You are, all the same, involved. Even if you had closed your doors in our face the night that the “panthers” were biting our bottoms, leaving us in good faith to be massacred on the sidewalks, even if now you don’t give a damn, all of you, that night, you all were there. And if in your neighborhoods everything remained as it was yesterday, without the barricades, without injuries, without grenades, if you all had taken at face value the “truths” of the television, even if in that moment you're absolved, you are, all the same, involved. And if you all believe now that everything is as before, why have you still voted the security, the discipline, convinced of warding off the fear of change? We’ll still come to your doors and we will shout even louder still. As much as you believe yourselves absolved, you’re all, forever, involved, As much as you believe yourselves absolved; you’re all, forever, involved. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: La bomba in testa - The Bomb in the Head

....e io contavo i denti ai francobolli dicevo "grazie a Dio" "buon Natale" mi sentivo normale eppure i miei trent'anni erano pochi più dei loro ma non importa adesso torno al lavoro. Cantavano il disordine dei sogni gli ingrati del benessere francese e non davan l'idea di denunciare uomini al balcone di un solo maggio, di un unico paese, e io ho la faccia usata dal buonsenso ripeto "Non vogliamoci del male" e non mi sento normale e mi sorprendo ancora a misurarmi su di loro e adesso è tardi, adesso torno al lavoro. Rischiavano la strada e per un uomo ci vuole pure un senso a sopportare di poter sanguinare e il senso non dev'essere rischiare ma forse non voler più sopportare. Chissà cosa si prova a liberare la fiducia nelle proprie tentazioni, allontanare gli intrusi dalle nostre emozioni, allontanarli in tempo e prima di trovarti solo con la paura di non tornare al lavoro. Rischiare libertà strada per strada, scordarsi le rotaie verso casa, io ne valgo la pena, per arrivare ad incontrar la gente senza dovermi fingere innocente. Mi sforzo di ripetermi con loro e più l'idea va di là del vetro più mi lasciano indietro, per il coraggio insieme non so le regole del gioco senza la mia paura mi fido poco. Ormai sono in ritardo per gli amici per l'odio potrei farcela da solo illuminando al tritolo chi ha la faccia e mostra solo il viso sempre gradevole, sempre più impreciso. E l'esplosivo spacca, taglia, fruga tra gli ospiti di un ballo mascherato, io mi sono invitato a rilevar l'impronta dietro ogni maschera che salta e a non aver pietà per la mia prima volta. La bomba in testa © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani According to the liner notes, after having listened to "Canzone del Maggio" with new ears, the worker compares his life of good sense, individualism and fears with the lives of the students who had the courage to rebel against the system that oppressed them. His doubts increase and he feels like the students were right. But he realizes he can't really unite with them given his conditioning and situation. He decides to act independently and alone, to throw a bomb into a masked ball where the myths and cultural values of the bourgeois powers are on display, and he imagines the results (hence, "the bomb in the head").

. . . and I was counting the teeth on the postage stamps, I was saying, “Thanks be to God,” “Merry Christmas,” I was feeling normal. And yet my thirty years were few more than theirs. But it doesn’t matter, now I return to work. They were singing the messiness of their dreams, the ingrates of French affluence, and they weren’t giving me the idea of denouncing men at the balcony of one single May, of one single country. And I have a face worn by good sense, I repeat “Let’s not have ill feelings for each other,” and I don’t feel normal. And I surprise myself still to measure myself against them, and now it’s late, and now I return to work. They risked it on the streets, and for a man it just takes one sense to endure, to be able to bleed. And the sense doesn’t have to be risking, but maybe no longer wanting to endure. Who knows what one tries to liberate? The confidence in one’s own attempts, pushing away the intruders from our emotions, warding them off in time and before you find yourself alone with the fear of not returning to work. Risking liberty street by street, forgetting the tracks back to home, I’m worth it, to arrive to encounter people without having to pretend I’m innocent. I force myself to repeat myself with them, and the more the idea goes over there through the glass, the more they leave me behind for their courage together. I don’t know the rules of the game, without my fear I trust myself little. Now I'm late for my friends. For the hatred I could give it a try on my own, illuminating with TNT anyone who has the look and shows only his face, always agreeable, always more vague. And the explosion splits, cuts, ransacks among the guests of a masked ball. I invited myself to note the imprint behind every mask that jumps, and to have no mercy for my first time. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Al ballo mascherato - At the Masked Ball

Cristo drogato da troppe sconfitte cede alla complicità di Nobel che gli espone la praticità di un'eventuale premio della bontà. Maria ignorata da un Edipo ormai scaltro mima una sua nostalgia di natività, io con la mia bomba porto la novità, la bomba che debutta in società, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Dante alla porta di Paolo e Francesca spia chi fa meglio di lui: lì dietro si racconta un amore normale ma lui saprà poi renderlo tanto geniale. E il viaggio all'inferno ora fallo da solo con l'ultima invidia lasciata là sotto un lenzuolo, sorpresa sulla porta d'una felicità la bomba ha risparmiato la normalità, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. La bomba non ha una natura gentile ma spinta da imparzialità sconvolge l'improbabile intimità di un'apparente statua della Pietà. Grimilde di Manhattan, statua della libertà, adesso non ha più rivali la tua vanità e il gioco dello specchio non si ripeterà "Sono più bella io o la statua della Pietà" dopo il ballo mascherato del celebrità. Nelson strappato al suo carnevale rincorre la sua identità e cerca la sua maschera, l'orgoglio, lo stile, impegnati sempre a vincere e mai a morire. Poi dalla feluca ormai a brandelli tenta di estrarre il coniglio della sua Trafalgar e nella sua agonia, sparsa di qua, di là, implora una Sant'Elena anche in comproprietà, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Mio padre pretende aspirina ed affetto e inciampa nella sua autorità, affida a una vestaglia il suo ultimo ruolo ma lui esplode dopo, prima il suo decoro. Mia madre si approva in frantumi di specchio, dovrebbe accettare la bomba con serenità, il martirio è il suo mestiere, la sua vanità, ma ora accetta di morire soltanto a metà la sua parte ancora viva le fa tanta pietà, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Qualcuno ha lasciato la luna nel bagno accesa soltanto a metà quel poco che mi basta per contare i caduti, stupirmi della loro fragilità, e adesso puoi togliermi i piedi dal collo amico che m'hai insegnato il "come si fa" se no ti porto indietro di qualche minuto ti metto a conversare, ti ci metto seduto tra Nelson e la statua della Pietà, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Al ballo mascherato © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani This song is the first of the worker's dreams, where he blows up symbols of power right and left, political, cultural, ideological and religious, with the intent to tear the masks off the hypocrites and deligitimize the powers that be.

Christ, drugged by too many defeats, surrenders to the complicity of Nobel, who explains to him the practicality of a possible prize for kindness. Maria, neglected by an Oedipus now shrewd, mimes one of her nostalgic scenes of the Nativity. I, with my bomb, bring the novelty, the bomb that makes its social debut at the masked celebrity ball. Dante at the door of Paolo and Francesca spies one who is doing better than he: there behind is recounted a normal love, but he'll know then how to render it so brilliant. And the voyage to hell, make it now by yourself, with your last envy left there under a sheet. Surprised at the door of a delight, the bomb saved normality, at the masked celebrity ball. The bomb is not by nature kind, but driven by impartiality it upsets the improbable intimacy of a seeming Statue of the Pietà. Grimilde of Manhattan, Statue of Liberty, now your vanity has no more rivals and the mirror game won’t repeat - “Am I more beautiful, or the Statue of the Pietà?” - after the masked celebrity ball. Nelson, ripped at his carnival, chases after his identity and searches for his mask, his pride, his style, busy always with winning and never with dying. Then from the Felucca hat now in tatters he tries to pull out the rabbit of his Trafalgar, and in his agony, scattered here and there, he implores a Saint Helena still jointly owned, at the masked celebrity ball. My father demands aspirin and affection and runs up against his authority. He entrusts to a dressing gown his final role, but he explodes afterwards, first his decorum. My mother approves herself in shards of mirror. She should accept the bomb with serenity, martyrdom is her job, her vanity. But now she accepts dying only halfway, the part of her still living pities herself so, at the masked celebrity ball. Someone left the moon in the bathroom turned only halfway on, that little amount enough for me to count the fallen, astounding me with their fragility. And now you can remove my feet from the neck, friend who taught me the “How is it done?” If no I’ll carry you back for a few minutes, I’ll set you down to converse, I’ll put you there seated between Nelson and the Statue of the Pietà, at the masked celebrity ball. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Sogno numero due - Dream #2

Imputato ascolta, noi ti abbiamo ascoltato. Tu non sapevi di avere una coscienza al fosforo piantata tra l'aorta e l'intenzione, noi ti abbiamo osservato dal primo battere del cuore fino ai ritmi più brevi dell'ultima emozione quando uccidevi, favorendo il potere i soci vitalizi del potere ammucchiati in discesa a difesa della loro celebrazione. E se tu la credevi vendetta il fosforo di guardia segnalava la tua urgenza di potere mentre ti emozionavi nel ruolo più eccitante della legge quello che non protegge la parte del boia. Imputato, il dito più lungo della tua mano è il medio quello della mia è l'indice, eppure anche tu hai giudicato. Hai assolto e hai condannato al di sopra di me, ma al di sopra di me, per quello che hai fatto, per come lo hai rinnovato il potere ti è grato. Ascolta una volta un giudice come me giudicò chi gli aveva dettato la legge: prima cambiarono il giudice e subito dopo la legge. Oggi, un giudice come me, lo chiede al potere se può giudicare. Tu sei il potere. Vuoi essere giudicato? Vuoi essere assolto o condannato? Sogno numero due © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Roberto Dané The worker continues to dream, but now in court presumably after having been arrested for throwing the bomb. But the judge informs him that the bourgeois powers are in the know of his acts, and accusations of murder are transformed into thanks for having eliminated old remnants that were bothering power itself, which now has found another way of governing. The worker correctly used the instruments of law, and his gesture was nothing other than a search for personal power. He is welcomed, and his own liberty is placed at his disposal.

Defendant listen, we have heard you. You didn’t know about having a consciousness based on phosphorus planted between the aorta and intention. We observed you from the first beat of your heart until the shortest rhythms of the last emotion when you killed, favoring power, the lifelong associates of power, stacked up downwards in defense of their celebration. And if you believed it revenge, the phosphorus on duty marked your urgency for power while you got worked up in the most exciting role of the law, that which doesn’t protect the part of the executioner. Defendant, the longest finger of your hand is the middle one. The one for me is the index, and yet you too have judged. You absolved and you condemned above and beyond me, but above and beyond me, for that which you did, for how you renewed it, the power is grateful to you. Listen, at one time a judge like me judged whoever had the law dictated to him: first they changed the judge and immediately after the law. Today, a judge like me, asks power if it can judge. You are the power. Do you want to be judged? Do you want to be absolved or condemned? English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Canzone del padre - Father's Song

-"Vuoi davvero lasciare ai tuoi occhi solo i sogni che non fanno svegliare". - "Sì, Vostro Onore, ma li voglio più grandi." - "C'è lì un posto, lo ha lasciato tuo padre. Non dovrai che restare sul ponte e guardare le altre navi passare le più piccole dirigile al fiume le più grandi sanno già dove andare." Così son diventato mio padre ucciso in un sogno precedente il tribunale mi ha dato fiducia assoluzione e delitto lo stesso movente. E ora Berto, figlio della Lavandaia, compagno di scuola, preferisce imparare a contare sulle antenne dei grilli non usa mai bolle di sapone per giocare; seppelliva sua madre in un cimitero di lavatrici avvolta in un lenzuolo quasi come gli eroi; si fermò un attimo per suggerire a Dio di continuare a farsi i fatti suoi e scappò via con la paura di arrugginire il giornale di ieri lo dà morto arrugginito, i becchini ne raccolgono spesso fra la gente che si lascia piovere addosso. Ho investito il denaro e gli affetti banca e famiglia danno rendite sicure, con mia moglie si discute l'amore ci sono distanze, non ci sono paure, ma ogni notte lei mi si arrende più tardi vengono uomini, ce n'è uno più magro, ha una valigia e due passaporti, lei ha gli occhi di una donna che pago. Commissario io ti pago per questo, lei ha gli occhi di una donna che è mia, l'uomo magro ha le mani occupate, una valigia di ciondoli, un foglio di via. Non ha più la faccia del suo primo hashish è il mio ultimo figlio, il meno voluto, ha pochi stracci dove inciampare non gli importa d'alzarsi, neppure quando è caduto: e i miei alibi prendono fuoco il Guttuso ancora da autenticare adesso le fiamme mi avvolgono il letto questi i sogni che non fanno svegliare. Vostro Onore, sei un figlio di troia, mi sveglio ancora e mi sveglio sudato, ora aspettami fuori dal sogno ci vedremo davvero, io ricomincio da capo. Canzone del padre © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani Per the album notes, the worker "has understood that he is a finished man with no possibility of recovery, that his acts will always be individualistic, striving for his own personal needs, and that by attaining more power one doesn't escape one's condition of isolation and anxiety. The bomb that was tossed with force, with anger and with a sense of vendetta in the dream, now in reality becomes a moment of exhilaration and, obviously of lucidity."

“Do you really want to leave to your eyes only the dreams that don’t wake them up?” “Yes, Your Honor, but I want them bigger.” “Over there there is a seat, your father left it. You don't have to do anything but stay on the bridge and watch the other boats passing, the smaller ones direct them to the river, the bigger ones already know where to go.” Thus I became my father, killed in a previous dream. The tribunal put their trust in me, acquittal and crime the same motive. And now Berto, son of the laundrywoman, school-mate, he prefers to learn how to count on cricket antennae. He never uses soap bubbles for playing; he buried his mother in a cemetery of washers rolled up in a sheet almost like the heroes; he stopped himself a moment to suggest to God that He continue to attend to His own affairs, and he ran away afraid of rusting. Yesterday’s paper noted his rusty death. The gravediggers collect some often amongst people who let the rain fall on themselves. I invested my money and my affections - bank and family give safe yields. With my wife, love is discussed. There are distances, there are no fears, but every night she surrenders to me later. Men come, there is one of them thinner, he has a suitcase and two passports, she has the eyes of a woman that I pay. Commissioner, I pay you for this, she has the eyes of a woman who is mine. The thin man has busy hands, a suitcase of pendants, an expulsion order. He no longer has the face of his first hashish, he is my last son, the least wanted. He has few rags where to falter, standing up is not important to him, nor when he fell: and my alibis catch fire the Guttuso painting still to be authenticated. Now the flames envelop me in bed, these the dreams that don’t wake you up. Your Honor, you are a son of a sow, I still wake up and I wake up sweaty. Now wait for me outside of the dream. We’ll see each other indeed, I’ll start again from the top. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Il bombarolo - The Bomber

Chi va dicendo in giro che odio il mio lavoro non sa con quanto amore mi dedico al tritolo, è quasi indipendente ancora poche ore poi gli darò la voce il detonatore. Il mio Pinocchio fragile parente artigianale di ordigni costruiti su scala industriale di me non farà mai un cavaliere del lavoro, io son d'un'altra razza, son bombarolo. Nello scendere le scale ci metto più attenzione, sarebbe imperdonabile giustiziarmi sul portone proprio nel giorno in cui la decisione è mia sulla condanna a morte o l'amnistia. Per strada tante facce non hanno un bel colore, qui chi non terrorizza si ammala di terrore, c'è chi aspetta la pioggia per non piangere da solo, io son d'un altro avviso, son bombarolo. Intellettuali d'oggi idioti di domani ridatemi il cervello che basta alle mie mani, profeti molto acrobati della rivoluzione oggi farò da me senza lezione. Vi scoverò i nemici per voi così distanti e dopo averli uccisi sarò fra i latitanti ma finché li cerco io i latitanti sono loro, ho scelto un'altra scuola, son bombarolo. Potere troppe volte delegato ad altre mani, sganciato e restituitoci dai tuoi aeroplani, io vengo a restituirti un po' del tuo terrore del tuo disordine del tuo rumore. Così pensava forte un trentenne disperato se non del tutto giusto quasi niente sbagliato, cercando il luogo idoneo adatto al suo tritolo, insomma il posto degno d'un bombarolo. C'è chi lo vide ridere davanti al Parlamento aspettando l'esplosione che provasse il suo talento, c'è chi lo vide piangere un torrente di vocali vedendo esplodere un chiosco di giornali. Ma ciò che lo ferì profondamente nell'orgoglio fu l'immagine di lei che si sporgeva da ogni foglio lontana dal ridicolo in cui lo lasciò solo, ma in prima pagina col bombarolo. Il bombarolo © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani Upon his return to the dream, the worker has the clear idea of how to vent his rage: make a bomb and launch it against the powers that have disappointed him. According to the liner notes: "The worker knows what to do, where to go, who to hit and why. He goes straight to the Parliament to throw a real bomb and to kill real people, but his ability was only a dream: the bomb rolls down towards a magazine kiosk. His true defeat might be in seeing on all the newspaper covers the face of his fiance, who decided to leave him after his actions. The bomber remains truly alone."

Anyone who goes around saying that I hate my job doesn’t know with how much love I dedicate myself to TNT. It's almost ready to stand on its own, another few hours, then I’ll give it a voice: the detonator. My delicate Pinocchio, artisanal relative of devices made on an industrial scale - it will never make of me a Knight in the Order of Merit for Labor, I am of another race, I'm a bomber. In descending the stairs I pay closer attention - it would be unpardonable to carry out a death penalty on me at the main entrance on the very day in which the decision is mine about condemnation to death or amnesty. Out on the street, so many faces don’t have good color. Here, whoever doesn’t terrorize becomes sick with terror. There are ones who wait for the rain so as not to cry alone. I am of a different opinion, I'm a bomber. Today's intellectuals, tomorrow's idiots, give me back brain enough for my hands. Ever so acrobatic prophets of the revolution, today I’ll make do by myself without instruction. I’ll track down your enemies for all of you so distant, and after having killed them I’ll be among the fugitives. But until I look for them, they are the fugitives, I’ve chosen another school, I’m a bomber. Power too many times delegated to other hands, dropped and returned to us from your airplanes. I come to return to you a bit of your terror, of your disorder, of your noise. Thus thought long and hard a desperate thirty-something, if not right about everything, almost nothing mistaken, searching for the appropriate place suitable for his TNT, in short, the place worthy of a bomber. There is one who saw him laughing in front of the Parliament, waiting for the explosion that demonstrated his talent. There is one who saw him crying a torrent of vowels, seeing explode a kiosk of magazines. But what wounded him deeply in his pride was her image, that jumped out from every paper far from the ridicule in which she left him alone, but on the first page, with the bomber. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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