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!

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

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!

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

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!

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

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.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: Via della Povertà - Desolation Row (Bob Dylan)

Il Salone di bellezza in fondo al vicolo è affollatissimo di marinai prova a chiedere a uno che ore sono e ti risponderà "non l'ho saputo mai". Le cartoline dell'impiccagione sono in vendita a cento lire l'una il commissario cieco dietro la stazione per un indizio ti legge la sfortuna e le forze dell'ordine irrequiete cercano qualcosa che non va mentre io e la mia signora ci affacciamo stasera su Via della povertà. Cenerentola sembra così facile ogni volta che sorride ti cattura ricorda proprio Bette Davis con le mani appoggiate alla cintura. Arriva Romeo trafelato e le grida "il mio amore sei tu" ma qualcuno gli dice di andar via e di non riprovarci più e l'unico suono che rimane quando l'ambulanza se ne va è Cenerentola che spazza la strada in via della Povertà. Mentre l'alba sta uccidendo la luna e le stelle si son quasi nascoste la signora che legge la fortuna se n'è andata in compagnia dell'oste. Ad eccezione di Abele e di Caino tutti quanti sono andati a far l'amore aspettando che venga la pioggia ad annacquare la gioia ed il dolore e il Buon Samaritano sta affilando la sua pietà se ne andrà al Carnevale stasera in via della Povertà. I tre Re Magi sono disperati Gesù Bambino è diventato vecchio e Mister Hyde piange sconcertato vedendo Jeckyll che ride nello specchio. Ofelia è dietro la finestra mai nessuno le ha detto che è bella a soli ventidue anni è già una vecchia zitella la sua morte sarà molto romantica trasformandosi in oro se ne andrà per adesso cammina avanti e indietro in via della Povertà. Einstein travestito da ubriacone ha nascosto i suoi appunti in un baule è passato di qui un'ora fa diretto verso l'ultima Thule, sembrava così timido e impaurito quando ha chiesto di fermarsi un po' qui ma poi ha cominciato a fumare e a recitare l'A B C ed a vederlo tu non lo diresti mai ma era famoso qualche tempo fa per suonare il violino elettrico in via della Povertà. Ci si prepara per la grande festa c'è qualcuno che comincia ad aver sete il fantasma dell'opera si è vestito in abiti da prete sta ingozzando a viva forza Casanova per punirlo della sua sensualità lo ucciderà parlandogli d'amore dopo averlo avvelenato di pietà e mentre il fantasma grida tre ragazze si son spogliate già Casanova sta per essere violentato in via della Povertà. E bravo Nettuno mattacchione il Titanic sta affondando nell'aurora nelle scialuppe i posti letto sono tutti occupati e il capitano grida "ce ne stanno ancora", e Ezra Pound e Thomas Eliot fanno a pugni nella torre di comando i suonatori di calipso ridono di loro mentre il cielo si sta allontanando e affacciati alle loro finestre nel mare tutti pescano mimose e lillà e nessuno deve più preoccuparsi di via della Povertà. A mezzanotte in punto i poliziotti fanno il loro solito lavoro metton le manette intorno ai polsi a quelli che ne sanno più di loro, i prigionieri vengon trascinati su un calvario improvvisato lì vicino e il caporale Adolfo li ha avvisati che passeranno tutti dal camino e il vento ride forte e nessuno riuscirà a ingannare il suo destino in via della Povertà. La tua lettera l'ho avuta proprio ieri mi racconti tutto quel che fai ma non essere ridicola non chiedermi "come stai", questa gente di cui mi vai parlando è gente come tutti noi non mi sembra che siano mostri non mi sembra che siano eroi e non mandarmi ancora tue notizie nessuno ti risponderà se insisti a spedirmi le tue lettere da via della Povertà. Via della Povertà text © 1974 Fabrizio De André-Francesco De Gregori based on Desolation Row © 1965 Warner Bros Inc.; renewed 1993 by Special Rider Music De André regarded highly the work of Bob Dylan, both for its literary quality and for the many Biblical references found therein. De André considered Dylan part poet and part prophet. This translation was one of the first collaborations between De André and Francesco De Gregori, and it led to the creation of the subsequent album Volume 8. Bob Dylan text for Desolation Row: They’re selling postcards of the hanging They’re painting the passports brown The beauty parlor is filled with sailors The circus is in town Here comes the blind commissioner They’ve got him in a trance One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker The other is in his pants And the riot squad they’re restless They need somewhere to go As Lady and I look out tonight From Desolation Row Cinderella, she seems so easy “It takes one to know one,” she smiles And puts her hands in her back pockets Bette Davis style And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning “You Belong to Me I Believe” And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend You better leave” And the only sound that’s left After the ambulances go Is Cinderella sweeping up On Desolation Row Now the moon is almost hidden The stars are beginning to hide The fortune-telling lady Has even taken all her things inside All except for Cain and Abel And the hunchback of Notre Dame Everybody is making love Or else expecting rain And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing He’s getting ready for the show He’s going to the carnival tonight On Desolation Row Now Ophelia, she’s ’neath the window For her I feel so afraid On her twenty-second birthday She already is an old maid To her, death is quite romantic She wears an iron vest Her profession’s her religion Her sin is her lifelessness And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah’s great rainbow She spends her time peeking Into Desolation Row Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood With his memories in a trunk Passed this way an hour ago With his friend, a jealous monk He looked so immaculately frightful As he bummed a cigarette Then he went off sniffing drainpipes And reciting the alphabet Now you would not think to look at him But he was famous long ago For playing the electric violin On Desolation Row Dr. Filth, he keeps his world Inside of a leather cup But all his sexless patients They’re trying to blow it up Now his nurse, some local loser She’s in charge of the cyanide hole And she also keeps the cards that read “Have Mercy on His Soul” They all play on pennywhistles You can hear them blow If you lean your head out far enough From Desolation Row Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains They’re getting ready for the feast The Phantom of the Opera A perfect image of a priest They’re spoonfeeding Casanova To get him to feel more assured Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence After poisoning him with words And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls “Get Outa Here If You Don’t Know Casanova is just being punished for going To Desolation Row” Now at midnight all the agents And the superhuman crew Come out and round up everyone That knows more than they do Then they bring them to the factory Where the heart-attack machine Is strapped across their shoulders And then the kerosene Is brought down from the castles By insurance men who go Check to see that nobody is escaping To Desolation Row Praise be to Nero’s Neptune The Titanic sails at dawn And everybody’s shouting “Which Side Are You On?” And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot Fighting in the captain’s tower While calypso singers laugh at them And fishermen hold flowers Between the windows of the sea Where lovely mermaids flow And nobody has to think too much About Desolation Row Yes, I received your letter yesterday (About the time the doorknob broke) When you asked how I was doing Was that some kind of joke? All these people that you mention Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame I had to rearrange their faces And give them all another name Right now I can’t read too good Don’t send me no more letters, no Not unless you mail them From Desolation Row

The beauty parlor at the back of the alley is packed with sailors. Try to ask one what time it is and he’ll tell you “I never knew it.” The postcards of the hanging are for sale, a hundred lira apiece. The blind commissioner behind the station reads your misfortune for a clue and the restless forces of order search for something that doesn’t work while my lady and I look out the window tonight onto Poverty Way. Cinderella seems so easy, every time she smiles she catches you, reminiscent of Bette Davis with her hands resting against her belt. Romeo arrives panting and shouts to her “My love, it’s you.” But someone tells him to go away and not to try it again, and the only sound that remains when the ambulance goes is Cinderella sweeping the street on Poverty Way. While the dawn is killing the moon and the stars are almost hidden, the fortune telling lady went away in the company of the innkeeper. Except for Cain and Abel everyone went to make love, expecting that the rain might come to water down the joy and the sorrow. And the Good Samaritan is honing his mercy, he’ll go to the Carnival tonight on Poverty Way. The three Wise Men are desperate, Baby Jesus became old and Mister Hyde is crying disconcerted watching Jeckyll who is laughing in the mirror. Ofelia is behind the window, no one ever told her that she’s beautiful. At only twenty two years of age she’s already an old maid. Her death will be very romantic, transforming herself into gold she’ll go away. For now she walks back and forth on Poverty Way. Einstein, dressed as a drunkard, hid his notes in a trunk. He passed this way an hour ago straight towards the final Thule. He seemed so shy and scared when he asked to stop a bit here, but then he started to smoke and to recite the A B C's, and to see him you would never say it, but he was famous some time ago for playing the electric violin on Poverty Way. In preparing for the big party there’s someone who’s starting to be thirsty The phantom of the opera is dressed in the clothes of a priest, he is force feeding Casanova to punish him for his sensuality. He'll kill him, speaking to him of love after having poisoned him with pity, and while the phantom shouts three girls are already stripped naked - Casanova is about to be raped on Poverty Way. And way to go Neptune, joker! The Titanic is sinking in the dawn. In the lifeboat the beds are all taken and the captain shouts, “There still are some.” And Ezra Pound and Thomas Eliot are fighting in the captain’s tower. The calypso players laugh at them while the sky is becoming distant, and leaning from their windows to the sea everyone fishes for mimosas and lilacs and no one has to be too worried about Poverty Way. At midnight on the dot the police do their usual work putting handcuffs around the wrists of the ones who know more than they do. The prisoners come to be dragged to an improvised Calvary nearby, and lance corporal Adolf informed them that they will all pass from the chimney, and the wind laughs strongly, and no one will manage to trick his destiny on Poverty Way. Your letter I had just yesterday, you recount everything you’re doing. But don’t be ridiculous, don’t ask me “How are you?” These people of whom you're speaking are people like all of us, it doesn’t seem to me that they’re monsters, it doesn’t seem to me that they’re heroes. And don’t send me still your news, no one will respond to you if you insist on sending your letters from Poverty Way. 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. De André/De Gregori text, translated, for Desolation Row: The beauty parlor at the back of the alley is packed with sailors. Try to ask one what time it is and he’ll tell you “I never knew it.” The postcards of the hanging are for sale, a hundred lira apiece. The blind commissioner behind the station reads your misfortune for a clue and the restless forces of order search for something that doesn’t work while my lady and I look out the window tonight onto Poverty Way. Cinderella seems so easy, every time she smiles she catches you, reminiscent of Bette Davis with her hands resting against her belt. Romeo arrives panting and shouts to her “My love, it’s you.” But someone tells him to go away and not to try it again, and the only sound that remains when the ambulance goes is Cinderella sweeping the street on Poverty Way. While the dawn is killing the moon and the stars are almost hidden, the fortune telling lady went away in the company of the innkeeper. Except for Cain and Abel everyone went to make love, expecting that the rain might come to water down the joy and the sorrow. And the Good Samaritan is honing his mercy, he’ll go to the Carnival tonight on Poverty Way. The three Wise Men are desperate, Baby Jesus became old and Mister Hyde is crying disconcerted watching Jeckyll who is laughing in the mirror. Ofelia is behind the window, no one ever told her that she’s beautiful. At only twenty two years of age she’s already an old maid. Her death will be very romantic, transforming herself into gold she’ll go away. For now she walks back and forth on Poverty Way. Einstein, dressed as a drunkard, hid his notes in a trunk. He passed this way an hour ago straight towards the final Thule. He seemed so shy and scared when he asked to stop a bit here, but then he started to smoke and to recite the A B C's, and to see him you would never say it, but he was famous some time ago for playing the electric violin on Poverty Way. In preparing for the big party there’s someone who’s starting to be thirsty The phantom of the opera is dressed in the clothes of a priest, he is force feeding Casanova to punish him for his sensuality. He'll kill him, speaking to him of love after having poisoned him with pity, and while the phantom shouts three girls are already stripped naked - Casanova is about to be raped on Poverty Way. And way to go Neptune, joker! The Titanic is sinking in the dawn. In the lifeboat the beds are all taken and the captain shouts, “There still are some.” And Ezra Pound and Thomas Eliot are fighting in the captain’s tower. The calypso players laugh at them while the sky is becoming distant, and leaning from their windows to the sea everyone fishes for mimosas and lilacs and no one has to be too worried about Poverty Way. At midnight on the dot the police do their usual work putting handcuffs around the wrists of the ones who know more than they do. The prisoners come to be dragged to an improvised Calvary nearby, and lance corporal Adolf informed them that they will all pass from the chimney, and the wind laughs strongly, and no one will manage to trick his destiny on Poverty Way. Your letter I had just yesterday, you recount everything you’re doing. But don’t be ridiculous, don’t ask me “How are you?” These people of whom you're speaking are people like all of us, it doesn’t seem to me that they’re monsters, it doesn’t seem to me that they’re heroes. And don’t send me still your news, no one will respond to you if you insist on sending your letters from Poverty Way.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: Le passanti - The Passersby (Georges Brassens)

Io dedico questa canzone ad ogni donna pensata come amore in un attimo di libertà a quella conosciuta appena non c'era tempo e valeva la pena di perderci un secolo in più. A quella quasi da immaginare tanto di fretta l'hai vista passare dal balcone a un segreto più in là e ti piace ricordarne il sorriso che non ti ha fatto e che tu le hai deciso in un vuoto di felicità. Alla compagna di viaggio i suoi occhi il più bel paesaggio fan sembrare più corto il cammino e magari sei l'unico a capirla e la fai scendere senza seguirla senza averle sfiorato la mano. A quelle che sono già prese e che vivendo delle ore deluse con un uomo ormai troppo cambiato ti hanno lasciato, inutile pazzia, vedere il fondo della malinconia di un avvenire disperato. Immagini care per qualche istante sarete presto una folla distante scavalcate da un ricordo più vicino per poco che la felicità ritorni è molto raro che ci si ricordi degli episodi del cammino. Ma se la vita smette di aiutarti è più difficile dimenticarti di quelle felicità intraviste dei baci che non si è osato dare delle occasioni lasciate ad aspettare degli occhi mai più rivisti. Allora nei momenti di solitudine quando il rimpianto diventa abitudine, una maniera di viversi insieme, si piangono le labbra assenti di tutte le belle passanti che non siamo riusciti a trattenere. Le passanti © 1974 Fabrizio De André based on Les Passantes © 1972 Georges Brassens based on a poem by Antoine Pol "Le passanti" is a translation/adaptation of Georges Brassens's "Les passantes" that was released in 1972. The text of the song is a poem by Antoine Pol from his first collection Émotions poétiques (1918).

I dedicate this song to every woman thought of as a lover in an instant of freedom, to that one only just met - there was no time and it was worth it to lose ourselves for another century. To that one almost imagined, in such a hurry you saw her pass from the balcony to a secret further on, and you like to remember the smile she didn’t make for you and that you decided for her in an absence of happiness. To the fellow traveler, her eyes, the most beautiful scenery, make the way seem shorter, and hopefully you’re the only one to understand her, and you drop her off without following her, without having brushed against her hand. To those who are already taken and who, living in the disillusioned hours with a man by now too changed, left you, wasted folly, to see the depths of the melancholy of a desperate future. Dear images for a few instants, you'll all soon be a distant jumble, climbed over by a memory more near. However little happiness returns, it is very rare that one remembers the events along the way. But if life stops helping you, it is harder for you to forget those happy glimpses of kisses one dared not give, of the occasions left waiting, of the eyes never again seen. Then in the moments of solitude when regret becomes a habit, a way of living together, mourned are the absent lips of all the beautiful passersby we didn’t manage to not let go. 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.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: Fila la lana - Spin the Wool

Nella guerra di Valois il Signor di Vly è morto, se sia stato un prode eroe non si sa, non è ancor certo. Ma la dama abbandonata lamentando la sua morte per mill'anni e forse ancora piangerà la triste sorte. Fila la lana, fila i tuoi giorni illuditi ancora che lui ritorni, libro di dolci sogni d'amore apri le pagine sul suo dolore. Son tornati a cento e a mille i guerrieri di Valois, son tornati alle famiglie, ai palazzi alle città. Ma la dama abbandonata non ritroverà il suo amore e il gran ceppo nel camino non varrà a scaldarle il cuore. Fila la lana, fila i tuoi giorni illuditi ancora che lui ritorni, libro di dolci sogni d'amore apri le pagine al suo dolore. Cavalieri che in battaglia ignorate la paura stretta sia la vostra maglia, ben temprata l'armatura. Al nemico che vi assalta siate presti a dar risposta perché dietro a quelle mura vi s'attende senza sosta. Fila la lana, fila i tuoi giorni illuditi ancora che lui ritorni, libro di dolci sogni d'amore chiudi le pagine sul suo dolore. Fila la lana © 1965 Fabrizio De André "Fila la lana" was presented as a translation of a popular medieval French song from the 15th century. In fact the French source song was "File la laine" composed by Robert Marcy in 1948, popularized by Jacque Douai in 1955. The War of Valois in De André's version is better known as the War of the Breton Succession (1341-1364). The original French version speaks of the "Monsieur of Malbrough" which refers to a 1709 battle in the War of the Spanish Succession depicted in one of the most famous of French folk songs, "Marlbrough s'en va-t-en guerre."

In the War of Valois the Seignior of Vly died. Whether he was a valiant hero is unknown, it’s still not certain. But the woman left abandoned lamenting his death, for a thousand years, maybe more, will mourn his sad destiny. Spin the wool, spin your days, keep fooling yourself that he might return. Book of sweet dreams of love - open the pages to its sorrow. They returned by the hundreds and by the thousands, the warriors of Valois. They returned to their families, to their palaces, to their cities. But the abandoned woman won’t find her love again, and the big log in the fireplace will be worthless for warming her heart. Spin the wool, spin your days, keep fooling yourself that he might return. Book of sweet dreams of love - open the pages to its sorrow. Knights who in battle ignore the fear, may your chain mail be tight, your armor well-tempered. To the enemy who assaults you be ready to give riposte, because behind those walls you’re awaited without cease. Spin the wool, spin your days, keep fooling yourself that he might return. Book of sweet dreams of love - close the pages on its sorrow. 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.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: La ballata dell'amore cieco (o della vanità) The Ballad of Blind Love (or of Vanity)

Un uomo onesto, un uomo probo, tralalalalla tralallaleru s'innamorò perdutamente d'una che non lo amava niente. Gli disse portami domani, tralalalalla tralallaleru gli disse portami domani il cuore di tua madre per i miei cani. Lui dalla madre andò e l'uccise, tralalalalla tralallaleru dal petto il cuore le strappò e dal suo amore ritornò. Non era il cuore, non era il cuore, tralalalalla tralallaleru non le bastava quell'orrore, voleva un'altra prova del suo cieco amore. Gli disse amor se mi vuoi bene, tralalalalla tralallaleru gli disse amor se mi vuoi bene, tagliati dei polsi le quattro vene. Le vene ai polsi lui si tagliò, tralalalalla tralallaleru e come il sangue ne sgorgò, correndo come un pazzo da lei tornò. Gli disse lei ridendo forte, tralalalalla tralallaleru gli disse lei ridendo forte, l'ultima tua prova sarà la morte. E mentre il sangue lento usciva, e ormai cambiava il suo colore, la vanità fredda gioiva, un uomo s'era ucciso per il suo amore. Fuori soffiava dolce il vento, tralalalalla tralallaleru ma lei fu presa da sgomento, quando lo vide morir contento. Morir contento e innamorato, quando a lei niente era restato, non il suo amore, non il suo bene, ma solo il sangue secco delle sue vene. La ballata dell'amore cieco (o della vanità) © 1966 Fabrizio De André "La ballata dell'amore cieco (o della vanità)" was the B-side of the next to last 45 released on the Karim label. The lyrics of this song are closely related to a French poem "La Chanson de Marie-des-Anges" by Jean Richepin. De André's father had studied French literature at university, and in the years following WWII De André grew up surrounded with books and music. One of his attractions was to the dark sensibilities of Baudelaire. The macabre lyrics of this song coupled with the lively music (Dixieland interludes!) show the influence also of George Brassens.

An honest man, a man of probity tralalalalla tralallaleru Fell deeply in love With a woman who loved him not at all. She told him bring me, tomorrow tralalalalla tralallaleru She told him bring me tomorrow The heart of your mother for my dogs. He went to his mother’s house and killed her, tralalalalla tralallaleru From her chest he tore out her heart And to his love he returned. It wasn’t the heart, it wasn’t the heart tralalalalla tralallaleru It wasn’t enough for her, that horror, She wanted another proof of his blind love. She said darling, if you love me tralalalalla tralallaleru She said darling, if you love me Cut the four veins of your wrist. He cut the veins in his wrist tralalalalla tralallaleru And as the blood gushed out, Running like a madman he returned to her. She said to him, laughing hard tralalalalla tralallaleru She said to him, laughing loud Your final proof will be death. And while his blood slowly drained out And then his color changed, The cold vanity rejoiced, A man had been killed for his love. Outside, the wind blew gently tralalalalla tralallaleru But she fell into a state of consternation When she saw him dying, contented. Dying content and in love, When for her nothing remained, Not his love, not his well-being, Just the dried blood of his veins. 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.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: Suzanne (Leonard Cohen)

Nel suo posto in riva al fiume Suzanne ti ha voluto accanto e ora ascolti andar le barche ora puoi dormirle a fianco sì lo sai che lei è pazza ma per questo sei con lei e ti offre il the e le arance che ha portato dalla Cina e proprio mentre stai per dirle che non hai amore da offrirle lei è già sulla tua onda e fa che il fiume ti risponda che da sempre siete amanti. E tu vuoi viaggiarle insieme vuoi viaggiarle insieme ciecamente perchè sai che le hai toccato il corpo il suo corpo perfetto con la mente. E Gesù fu marinaio finchè camminò sull'acqua e restò per molto tempo a guardare solitario dalla sua torre di legno e poi quando fu sicuro che soltanto agli annegati fosse dato di vederlo disse: Siate marinai finchè il mare vi libererà. E lui stesso fu spezzato ma più umano abbandonato nella nostra mente lui non naufragò. E tu vuoi viaggiarle insieme vuoi viaggiarle insieme ciecamente forse avrai fiducia in lui perchè ti ha toccato il corpo con la mente. E Suzanne ti da la mano, ti accompagna lungo il fiume, porta addosso stracci e piume presi in qualche dormitorio il sole scende come miele su di lei donna del porto che ti indica i colori tra la spazzatura e i fiori scopri eroi tra le alghe marce e bambini nel mattino che si sporgono all'amore e così faranno sempre e Suzanne regge lo specchio. E tu vuoi viaggiarle insieme vuoi viaggiarle insieme ciecamente perchè sai che ti ha toccato il corpo il suo corpo perfetto con la mente. Suzanne text © 1972 Fabrizio De André based on Suzanne © 1971 Leonard Cohen De André's adaptation of "Suzanne" was released as a 45 in 1972 (b/w "Joan of Arc") with arrangements by Nicola Piovani. For inclusion on Canzoni the music was rearranged by Piero Reverberi. Leonard Cohen text for Joan of Arc: Suzanne takes you down To her place near the river You can hear the boats go by You can spend the night beside her And you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there And she feeds you tea and oranges That come all the way from China And just when you mean to tell her That you have no love to give her Then she gets you on her wavelength And she lets the river answer That you've always been her lover And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that she will trust you For you've touched her perfect body with your mind. And Jesus was a sailor When he walked upon the water And he spent a long time watching From his lonely wooden tower And when he knew for certain Only drowning men could see him He said "All men will be sailors then Until the sea shall free them" But he himself was broken Long before the sky would open Forsaken, almost human He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone And you want to travel with him And you want to travel blind And you think maybe you'll trust him For he's touched your perfect body with his mind. Now Suzanne takes your hand And she leads you to the river She is wearing rags and feathers From Salvation Army counters And the sun pours down like honey On our lady of the harbour And she shows you where to look Among the garbage and the flowers There are heroes in the seaweed There are children in the morning They are leaning out for love And they will lean that way forever While Suzanne holds the mirror And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that you can trust her For she's touched your perfect body with her mind

In her place on the river bank Suzanne wanted you next to her, and now you listen to the boats going by, now you can sleep by her side. Yes you know that she’s crazy, but that’s why you’re with her. And she offers you tea and oranges that she brought from China. And just while you’re about to tell her that you have no love to offer, she is already on your wave and she makes the river answer you that you’ve always been lovers. And you want to travel together with her, you want to travel with her blindly, because you know you’ve touched her body, her perfect body with your mind. And Jesus was a sailor until he walked upon the water, and he stayed a long time watching alone from his wooden tower. And then when he was certain that only the drowned would be able to see him, he said, "Be you all sailors until the sea will free you." And he himself was broken, but more human, abandoned; in our mind he wasn’t shipwrecked. And you want to travel together with her, you want to travel with her blindly, maybe you’ll trust him because he’s touched your body with his mind. And Suzanne gives you her hand, she accompanies you along the river, she’s dressed in rags and feathers picked up in some dormitories, the sun comes down like honey on her, lady of the harbor who shows you the colors among the rubbish and the flowers, you discover heroes in the rotten seaweed and children in the morning who lean out towards love, and they’ll do like this forever, and Suzanne holds the mirror. And you want to travel together with her, you want to travel with her blindly, because you know her body has touched you, her perfect body with the mind. 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. An unreleased alternate take of Suzanne is to the left. Fabrizio De André text, translated, for Suzanne: In her place on the river bank Suzanne wanted you next to her And now you listen to the boats going by Now you want to sleep next to her Yes you know that she’s crazy But that’s why you’re with her And she offers you tea and oranges That she brought from China And just while you’re about to tell her That you have nothing to offer her She is already on your wave And she makes the river answer you That you’ve always been lovers. And you want to travel together with her You want to travel with her blindly Because you know you’ve touched her body Her perfect body with the mind. And Jesus was a sailor Until he walked upon the water And he stayed a long time watching alone From his wooden tower And then when he was certain That only the drowned Would be able to see him He said: Be you all sailors until the sea will free you. And he himself was broken But more human, abandoned In our mind He wasn’t shipwrecked. And you want to travel together with her And you want to travel with her blindly Maybe you’ll trust him Because he’s touched your body with the mind. And Suzanne gives you her hand, She accompanies you along the river, She’s dressed in rags and feathers Picked up in some dormitories The sun comes down like honey On her, lady of the harbor And she shows you the colors Among the rubbish and the flowers You discover heroes amongst the rotten seaweed And children in the morning Who lean out towards love And they’ll lean out forever And Suzanne holds the mirror. And you want to travel together with her You want to travel with her blindly Because you know she’s touched your body Her perfect body with the mind.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: Morire per delle idee Dying for Some Ideas (Georges Brassens)

Morire per delle idee, l'idea è affascinante per poco io morivo senza averla mai avuta, perchè chi ce l'aveva, una folla di gente, gridando "viva la morte" proprio addosso mi è caduta. Mi avevano convinto e la mia musa insolente abiurando i suoi errori, aderì alla loro fede dicendomi peraltro in separata sede moriamo per delle idee, va bè, ma di morte lenta, va bè ma di morte lenta. Approfittando di non essere fragilissimi di cuore andiamo all'altro mondo bighellonando un poco perchè forzando il passo succede che si muore per delle idee che non han più corso il giorno dopo. Ora se c'è una cosa amara, desolante è quella di capire all'ultimo momento che l'idea giusta era un'altra, un altro movimento moriamo per delle idee, va bè, ma di morte lenta ma di morte lenta. Gli apostoli di turno che apprezzano il martirio lo predicano spesso per novant'anni almeno. Morire per delle idee sarà il caso di dirlo è il loro scopo di vivere, non sanno farne a meno. E sotto ogni bandiera li vediamo superare il buon matusalemme nella longevità per conto mio si dicono in tutta intimità moriamo per delle idee, va bè, ma di morte lenta, va bè, ma di morte lenta. A chi va poi cercando verità meno fittizie ogni tipo di setta offre moventi originali e la scelta è imbarazzante per le vittime novizie morire per delle idee è molto bello ma per quali. E il vecchio che si porta già i fiori sulla tomba vedendole venire dietro il grande stendardo pensa "speriamo bene che arrivino in ritardo" moriamo per delle idee, va bè, ma di morte lenta, va bè, ma di morte lenta E voi gli sputafuoco, e voi i nuovi santi crepate pure per primi noi vi cediamo il passo però per gentilezza lasciate vivere gli altri la vita è grosso modo il loro unico lusso tanto più che la carogna è già abbastanza attenta non c'è nessun bisogno di reggerle la falce basta con le garrote in nome della pace moriamo per delle idee, va bè, ma di morte lenta, va bè, ma di morte lenta. Text of Morire per delle idee © 1974 Fabrizio De André based on Mourir pour des idées © 1972 Georges Brassens "Morire per delle idee" is a translation/adaptation of Georges Brassens's "Mourir pour des idées" which was written in response to strong criticism for another of his songs "Les deux oncles," an anti-war song that was controversial because it treated two French brothers equally - one a British sympathizer and the other a collaborationist.

Dying for some ideas - the idea is fascinating. I almost died without ever having had it, because whoever had it, a crowd of people, yelling “Long live death” it just fell on me. They convinced me, and my insolent muse, renouncing her mistakes, adhered to their faith, telling me on the other hand in private we are dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death; well okay, but a slow death. Taking advantage of not having a super delicate heart, we’re going to the other world loafing around a bit, because forcing the pace, it happens that one dies for some ideas they no longer have the following day. Now if there’s something bitter, distressing, it is that of understanding in the final moment that the right idea was a different one, a different movement. We’re dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death, but a slow death. The apostles on duty who appreciate the martyrdom have been predicting it often for ninety years at least. Dying for some ideas will be the occasion for saying it, it's their purpose in life, they don’t know how to do without it. And under every flag we see them exceeding good Methuselah in longevity. On my behalf they tell themselves in complete privacy we are dying for some ideas, well, okay, but a slow death; well, okay, but a slow death. To whoever goes then seeking a less spurious truth, every type of sect offers original motives, and the choice is awkward for the novice victims. Dying for some ideas is very beautiful, but for which ones? And the old man who brings already the flowers for the tomb, seeing them come behind the huge banner, thinks, “Let’s hope sincerely that they’ll arrive late.” We’re dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death; well okay, but a slow death. And you spitfires, you new saints, be the first to kick the bucket, we give way to you. But please let the others live, life is, roughly speaking, their only luxury. Even more so that the carcass is already rather alert. there's no need to hold the scythe, it’s enough with the garrotes in the name of peace. We are dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death; well okay, but a slow death. 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.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List

Canzoni: La canzone dell'amore perduto - The Song of Love Lost

Ricordi, sbocciavan le viole con le nostre parole “Non ci lasceremo mai, mai e poi mai” Vorrei dirti ora le stesse cose ma come fan presto, amore ad appassire le rose così per noi. L'amore che strappa i capelli è perduto ormai, non resta che qualche svogliata carezza e un po' di tenerezza. E quando ti troverai in mano quei fiori appassiti al sole di un aprile ormai lontano, li rimpiangerai. Ma sarà la prima che incontri per strada, che tu coprirai d'oro per un bacio mai dato, per un amore nuovo. E sarà la prima che incontri per strada, che tu coprirai d'oro per un bacio mai dato, per un amore nuovo. La canzone dell'amore perduto © 1966 Fabrizio De André "La canzone dell'amore perduto" was written when things were no longer going well between De André and his first wife "Puny" Rignon, though they continued to live together for a while. It's interesting that De Andrè wrote this break-up song from the woman's point of view. The song was extremely popular and was covered by many other Italian artists. The music is from Georg Philipp Telemann (Adagio from "Concerto in D Major for trumpet, strings and basso continuo").

Remember? The violets used to bloom along with our words “We’ll never, ever leave each other, never” I’d like to say the same things to you now, but how quickly, love, the roses fade, just like the two of us. The love that drove us to our wits’ ends is now lost, nothing remains but some limp caresses and a tiny bit of tenderness. And when you find yourself with those wilted flowers in hand, withered in the sun of a now-distant April, you’ll be filled with regret. But there will surely be that first woman you meet out on the street whom you’ll cover in gold, for a kiss never given, for a new love. And yes, there will be that first woman you meet on the streets whom you’ll cover in gold, for a kiss never given, for a new love. 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.

Back to Album List         Back to Song List