"Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of you.
You Were Trying to break into another world
A World I Never Knew. " (Bob Dylan)
Summer, what a strange summer. Summer is a bad football from plots still immature, and dead - at least this year - as you become exhausted from the heat. I recently posted in this blog fatigue of short memories of Michael Jackson and Willy De Ville, two different types, and several more that you can not. But in each, so as to all'indecifrabile Jacko that he was greedy for life De Ville, is tied a piece of my life, a personal recollection, a moment that - like them - will not return. I have not had time to take note of the death of that great guitar that was Les Paul (which today would be Jimmy Page and many others without the instrument, the Gibson Les Paul that he has shaped giving it its name?), Which another piece of music history and literature leaves. Two old men, they will say, "had given" - his 94 years, 92 her - but that huge losses! Notes and words that in spite of death still cling to this life.
I met Fernanda. It 'was one of those beautiful things, and suddenly a bright star who has crossed my sky when I had the impression that there were only clouds. In the grayness of years in which I put at the service of record (it was a major, those who still resist) my overflowing passion for music and an enthusiasm often useless, it could happen to spend some time with Fernanda Pivano, the one who translated Hemingway and made more understandable in our part of the early songs of Bob Dylan.
Never mind that I was burdened with awkward phone calls to ask newspapers and space for unlikely Chirping star. Nothing that I thought and said that Morgan was a misunderstood talent (we were in a few, but we thought) and the other side - which in reality was or should have known "my" part of it - were shrugged. Never mind if you do not answer the phone more to artists whose individual did not like the radio. One day in your life Fernanda Pivano arrived (or was, or Dylan, or someone else) and the sky changes color. happens - past and present, to feel again a little 'there with her - I call types in the Minimum Fax Pivano They hired some editorial work, plus you have to write for a newspaper something about Dylan, which is performed in Rome, including the white marble of the Palace of Civilization and Labour. Ten years ago or so. Trust me, almost. She is punctual, the escort down the stairs, slow down for a salute to Frank Sinatra, then straight to the dressing room of Bob Dylan, "his" Bob, who had not seen for years. During the show she is sitting, and still, to travel with the memories. In the end I said shreds of life, exceptional views of a world that no longer see, and asks me if the next day to ask some details may disturb the concert and to dictate, then the piece that will send the paper. When I called
is tired but friendly, says the music keeps her alive, and that every ten books try to buy a record, but he never knows where to go. Do not see her again, indeed will see a video of Ligabue "I think so," where she will be the most precious cameo, wedged between clever words ("I think the noise of those who can be silent") and some quotes Sixties (the legendary Volkswagen van and those signs to make us read the text, as in "Subterranean Homesick Blues" by Bob Dylan).
Among forty-eight hours I'll be in Cleveland, where the Rock'n'Roll Museum is about to start a long weekend of celebrations for the fortieth anniversary of Woodstock. It will be the party that America that has arrived and has been understood in Italy thanks to the wise and passionate translations Fernanda Pivano. Now that his eyes, eyes that have met with those of Cesare Pavese, Jack Kerouac and Fabrizio De Andrè, were closed forever I like to remember her with a clear and hopeful commentary on the mid sixties seized after a concert Bob Dylan, "his" Bob Dylan: "What a feeling, that pride, that happiness that night in San Francisco, waiting for the concert Bob, when Allen (Ginsberg) had taken me to a bar, before a small jukebox to listen to 'Mr. Tambourine Man '. Ginsberg explained that I was finally theirs, our message, was exposed without being able to elicit action of the complaint, and our dreams would come jukebox in the world. Our hopes were suddenly known to all, and our proposals to all illusions. "
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