Named after an Harley Davidson motorcycle model, 883 was a duo from my hometown, made by Max Pezzali and Mauro Repetto. Actually none of the two guys really play instruments, they were only writing and (as a somewhat unintended outcome) Pezzali was singing. Their debut album was a huge hit, but treated by critics as simple pop music. Some years later their songs were (at least partially deservedly) considered as great songwriters works, for lyrics that were accurately depicting reality in italian small towns in the ’90s. Nothing to do, not many opportunities but just hopes, mainly fueled by contemporary american culture (comics, motorbikes, pop songs, top models). Lines like “we talked a lot, many years ago / about how paranoic is this city / about its people and their manias / two discos and hundred and six pharmacies” in Con un deca perfectly describe a place i know very well.
Hanno ucciso l’uomo ragno was the 1992 breakthrough first song by 883 and gives title to the same album. Focused on the famous comics character, as the authors were both addicted to comics.
“Hanno ucciso l’uomo ragno”
Solita notte da lupi nel Bronx
Nel locale stan suonando un blues degli Stones
Loschi individui al bancone del bar
Pieni di whisky e margaritas
Tutto ad un tratto la porta fa slam
Il guercio entra di corsa con una novità
Dritta sicura: si mormora che i cannoni hanno fatto bang!
Hanno ucciso l’Uomo Ragno, chi sia stato non si sa
Forse quelli della mala, forse la pubblicità
Hanno ucciso l’Uomo Ragno, non si sa neanche perché
Avrà fatto qualche sgarro a qualche industria di caffè
Alla centrale della polizia
Il commissario dice: ‘Che volete che sia’
Quel che è successo non ci fermerà, il crimine non vincerà
Ma nelle strade c’è panico ormai
Nessuno esce di casa, nessuno vuole guai
Ed agli appelli alla calma in TV adesso chi ci crede più
Hanno ucciso l’Uomo Ragno, chi sia stato non si sa
Forse quelli della mala, forse la pubblicità
Hanno ucciso l’Uomo Ragno, non si sa neanche perché
Avrà fatto qualche sgarro a qualche industria di caffè
Giù nelle strade si vedono gangs di ragionieri in doppiopetto pieni di stress
Se non ti vendo mi venderai tu, per cento lire o poco più
e-e-e Le facce di Vogue sono miti per noi, attori troppo belli sono gli unici eroi
Invece lui, sì lui era una star, ma tanto non ritornerà
“They killed Spiderman”
Usual wolves night in the Bronx,
in the bar they are playing a [Rolling] Stones blues.
Shady guys at the bar counter,
filled of whiskey and margaritas.
Then abruptly the door slams
The squinter comes in running with news.
Trustable tip: cannons made a bang!
They killed Spiderman, who did it no one knows,
maybe mob guys or someone who works in advertising.
They killed Spiderman, no one even knows why,
he must have upset a coffee industry.
At the police central station
the captain says: “it’s doesn’t matter so much”.
What happened won’t stop us, crime won’t win.
But in the streets it’s panic by now,
no one goes out, no one wants troubles
and no one believes pleas for calm on tv anymore.
They killed Spiderman, who did it no one knows,
maybe mob guys or someone who works in advertising.
They killed Spiderman, no one even knows why,
he must have messed up with a coffee industry.
Down in the streets you can see gangs of accountants in blazers [double breasted], totally stressed.
If i don’t sell you, you’ll sell me, for one hundred liras or little more.
Faces on Vogue are myths for us,
too handsome actors are the only heroes,
while he, yes he was a star, but anyway he won’t come back.