Amor Fou – De Pedis

Amor Fou

A name in between italian and french, as “amour fou” would mean insane love (in such a meaningful way that really belongs to french language), while “amor fu” is a poetic way to say “it was love” in italian. So it’s something on the edge, passion and loss, as opposed dimensions but maybe just complementary stages of love stories. Alessandro Raina, leader and singer, comes from my town Pavia and moved to Milan to start this band, that unfortunately never had real success. Nowadays he works in the staff of a tv talent show, a common story of youth dreams gone and real life kicking in.

De Pedis is probably the best song in Amor Fou second album “I moralisti”, published in 2010, and one of the best recorded by the band together with Filemone e Bauci and Il periodo ipotetico. The title is the surname of an infamous gangster, Enrico de Pedis (nickname “Renatino” and also known as “Dandy” in the books/movies/serie “Romanzo Criminale” based on the story of his gang, “La banda della Magliana”). What was hitting the imagination of Alessandro Raina when writing this song was probably the contradictory figure of a man who killed or ordered to kill hundreds of persons, but is buried in Vatican (in Sant’Apollinare alle Terme). The author throws a vision of him, who just before dying turns to God, and to his city Rome (in a mother-like dimension that seems to complete the first invocation to the Father), to ask for mercy.

“De Pedis”

Arrivederci primo amore mio
chi si violenta gode
Arrivederci Padre
scusi se
non ho saputo ritrovare Dio
cercando solo in me.

Anche se ho visto certe cose che
offendono la sua bellezza,
se le sue mani mi volessero
le sposerei con le mie mani
mi direi che questa vita no
non è finita.

Arrivederci Roma scusa se
ti ho ricordato che si muore
arrivederci giovinezza mia
Trastevere di brutte cose
ricordati di me.

Anche se ho fatto certe cose che
amplificano la mia vanità
se le tue mani mi volessero
le sposerei tra le mie mani
ti direi che questa vita no
non è possibile, non è possibile.

“De Pedis” 

Goodbye my first love,
who rapes himself, pleases himself.
Goodbye Father,
forgive me if
i wasn’t able to rediscover God,
looking for him only inside me.

Even if i saw some things that
insult his beauty,
if his hands would want me
i’d marry them with my hands.
I would tell myself that this life, no,
is not over.

Goodbye Rome, sorry if
i remembered you that people die.
Goodbye my youth,
Trastevere of bad things,
remember me.

Even if i did some things
that amplify my vanity,
if your hands would want me
i’d marry them in my hands.
I’d tell you that this life no,
is not possible, is not possible.


Baustelle – Amanda Lear


The german name was chosen only because it sounded good to Francesco Bianconi, talented author (maybe less as a singer) that works for his Baustelle but also for other pop singers in Italy and as a novelist. Baustelle often try to stay in a “pop environment” musically, but the lyrics are somewhat complicated and usually taking care of social issues or broken relationships. First amazing album “Sussidiario illustrato della giovinezza” was published in 2000, unfortunately the best one in my opinion (“La moda del lento”) is not available on Spotify.

Amanda Lear is the first single from 2017 album “L’amore e la violenza”. The whole record doesn’t seem to be top level, but this disenchanted song titled after the singer (and Salvador Dalì muse) sums in an effective way some themes that Bianconi always liked. Relationships gone wrong and how this is the normal flow of life, as people suffer but keep on partying to get a distraction (like he does, “kissing a slut in an alley”).

“Amanda Lear”

Amore antico, amica mia.
Amore, radio, nostalgia.
Io non ti penso quasi mai
ti ho dato in pasto agli avvoltoi
all’olocausto e ai marinai
Amore atomico, Enola Gay.

Orrore amico, errore mio
che non ti ho detto neanche addio
che non ti ho detto come mai
una domenica buttai nel cesso la fotografia
in cui ci stringevamo forte,
colpa mia
se quest’anno ti hanno visto, mi dicono,
vomitare gli occhi e l’anima a un concerto rock
abbracciata ad una testa di cazzo
un regista un coreografo, che ne so.
Un lavoro come un altro, una droga
per illuderci e credere di essere uomini.

I wanna be Amanda Lear.
Il tempo di un LP,
il lato A, il lato B
non siamo mica immortali, bruciamo ed è meglio così.
Amanda Lear, soltanto per un LP
il lato A, il lato B
che niente dura per sempre nemmeno la musica.

Perduto amore, anima mia.
Amore, Nona Sinfonia
vorrei sapere come stai
se come scrivi è tutto ok
e se davvero ora lo sai
che sono diventato un mostro,
colpa tua
se mi videro nel buio di un vicolo
all’uscita posteriore di un concerto rock
pomiciare una troietta qualunque,
una tizia, una pittrice, ma che ne so.
Il tuo pessimismo da quattro soldi
chiaramente aveva fatto proseliti

I wanna be Amanda Lear
il tempo di un LP
il lato A, il lato B
che niente dura per sempre, finisce ed è melgio così
Amanda Lear, soltanto per un LP
il lato A, il lato B
che niente dura per sempre figurati io e te

“Amanda Lear” 

Old love, my friend.
Love, radio, nostalgia.
I don’t think about you, almost never,
i gave you to the vultures
to the Holocaust, to the sailors.
Atomic love, Enola Gay. [name of the plane that dropped the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima]

Friendly horror, my error
as i even haven’t said goodbye
as i haven’t told you why
a Sunday i threw in the toilet the picture
in which we hugged close,
my fault
if they tell me they saw you this year
puking eyes and soul at a rock concert,
hugging an asshole,
a director, a choreographer, i don’t know.
A job like any other, a drug
to deceive ourselves and believe we are men

(You used to say)
I wanna be Amanda Lear.
The time of an LP [a vinyl Long Playing]
side A, side B
we are not immortal, we burn and it’s better this way.
Amanda Lear, only for an LP,
side A, side B
as nothing lasts forever, not even the music.

Lost love, my soul.
Love, Ninth Symphony, [Beethoven’s]
i’d like to know how you are,
if it’s all fine as you write
and if now you really know
that i became a monster,
your fault
if they saw me in the dark of an alley
at the back exit of a rock concert
kissing a slut like any other,
someone, a painter, i don’t know.
Your cheap pessimism
clearly made proselytes.

(You used to say)
I wanna be Amanda Lear.
The time of an LP,
side A, side B
as nothing lasts forever, it ends and it’s better this way.
Amanda Lear, only for an LP,
side A, side B
as nothing lasts forever, how could me and you.