Lucio Dalla

Lucio Dalla (C.E.1943 – 2012), Italian singer-songwriter, musician and actor.

Quotes by Lucio Dalla:

 * I believe that in the category, let's say, "songwriters" he was the most anomalous compared to the rule.
 * The beauty of Totò is the beauty of Naples. Naples, it's easy to say, looks like a city, but it's not, it's a nation, it's a republic. [...] The admiration I have for the Neapolitan people comes precisely from this love for Totò. [...] Naples is the mystery of life, good and evil are confused, however they pulsate. [...] I was influenced by the existence of Totò in all forms, for me he was a myth.
 * Christian faith is my only fixed point, it is the only certainty I have.
 * Things don't just change with the squares, they also start with individuals, for example by reading books. But you have to be intellectually free. Instead, even today, when I said that I consider Julius Evola an artist worthy of interest, I caused scandal in certain left-wing press, in a prejudiced and superficial way.
 * When they talk to me about beauty, Naples comes to mind as the first image.
 * If today you hear the songs broadcast by the first five-six networks, they are always those songs that circulate... The curious thing is that even today, very often you hear the songs of Gaetano.
 * A unique place in the world. [...] How can I not remember when I came to Matera with Francesco De Gregori, in July 2010. The concert was postponed due to rain and I took the opportunity with Francesco to get to know her closely and recover her in her memory. It was an important day because I discovered up close the uniqueness of Matera, a miracle of time, of a happy harmony between history and contemporaneity.

Stories from my house
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1971, produced by Roberto Formentini.
 * He Says he was a handsome man and came, | he came from the sea, | he spoke another language, | but he knew how to love | and that day he took my mother | on a beautiful meadow, | the sweetest hour before being killed. (from 4/3/1943, side B, n. 3)
 * So she was left alone in the room, | the room on the port | with the only dress | shorter every day. | And although she didn't know the name | nor the country | she waited for me like a gift of love | from the first month. (from 4/3/1943, side B, n. 3)
 * She was turning sixteen | that day my mother, | the tavern verses | she sang her the lullaby. | And holding me to her chest that she knew, | she smelled of the sea, | she played at being a woman | with the baby to be swaddled. (from 4/3/1943, side B, n. 3)
 * And maybe it was for fun | or maybe for love | that she wanted to call me | like Our Lord. | The memory of his short life, | the biggest memory | it's all in this name | that I carry with me. (from 4/3/1943, side B, n. 3)
 * And even now I play cards | and I drink wine | for the people of the port | My name is Baby Jesus. (from 4/3/1943, side B, n. 3)

Piazza Grande/Plain Convent:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1972.
 * Saints who pay for my lunch there are none | on the benches in Piazza Grande, | but when I am hungry for merchants like me there are none here. || I sleep on the grass and have many friends around me, | the lovers in Piazza Grande, | I know everything about their troubles, about their loves, whether wrong or not. (from Piazza Grande )
 * I don't have a real family | and my home is Piazza Grande, | to those who believe me I take love and love I give, as much as I have. || With me there are no generous women, | I steal love in Piazza Grande, | and thank goodness there aren't any bandits like me here. (from Piazza Grande )
 * In my own way I would need caresses too, | I need to pray to God, | but I will never change my life, | in my own way, I wanted what I am." (from Piazza Grande'' )
 * I don't have white sheets to cover ourselves | under the stars in Piazza Grande | and if life has no dreams I have them and I give them to you. || And if there are no more people like me | I want to die in Piazza Grande, | among the cats who have no owner like me around me. (from Piazza Grande )

The day had five heads:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1973, produced by Roberto Formentini.
 * A dove marked with blood | flies from the heart and falls to the ground | the girl with hair | shakes the dust of the stone | then carried away by her memory | runs in the fields of Volterra | red sheaves and white sea | while the day blazes and the fire | Evening falls, warriors fight | [...] | People killed, cities burned | dull, forgotten memories | only the blessed days shine | of life that lasts a morning | winter is snow, summer is sun  (from The little girl, n. 8)

Cars:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1976, produced by Renzo Cremonini and Mario Vicari.
 * Nuvolari is short in stature, | Nuvolari is below normal, | Nuvolari has fifty kilos of bones, | Nuvolari has an exceptional body, | Nuvolari has hands like claws, | Nuvolari has a talisman against evils, | his gaze is that of a hawk for his children, | his muscles are exceptional muscles! | The birds in the air lose their wings when Nuvolari passes! | Does Nuvolari scare you when he runs? | Because the engine is ferocious as it roars across the plain. (from Nuvolari, side A, n. 3)
 * When Nuvolari runs, when Nuvolari passes, | people arrive in droves and lie down on the lawns, | when Nuvolari runs, when Nuvolari passes, | people wait for his arrival for hours and hours | and finally when he hears the noise | he jumps up and waves, | shouts words of love to him | and watches it disappear | as a soldier on horseback looks, | on horseback in the April sky! (from Nuvolari, side A, n. 3)
 * Nuvolari is brown in colour, | Nuvolari has the sharp mask, | Nuvolari always keeps his mouth shut, | he doesn't care about dying, | he runs if it rains, he runs in the sun, | three plus three is always seven for him, | with the red Alfa he does what he wants, | inside the fire of a hundred arrows! (from Nuvolari, side A, n. 3)
 * The engine of 2000 will be nice and shiny, | it will be fast and silent, it will be a delicate engine, | it will have a calibrated exhaust and a non-polluting smell... | A boy or girl will be able to breathe it. [...] But following our knowledge | no one yet knows what it will be like, what it will do in reality the boy of 2000, | this is because no one knows. (from Il motori del 2000, side B, n. 2)

How deep the sea is:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1977, produced by Alessandro Colombini and Renzo Cremonini.
 * But the exceptional feat, believe me, is to be normal. (from Desperate erotic stomp, side B, n. 1)
 * Walking around a little further I met | one who was lost, | I told him that in the center of Bologna | not a single child is lost, | he looks at me with a slightly distorted face | and he tells me 'I'm from Berlin. (from Desperate erotic stomp, B-side, no. 1)

Lucio Dalla:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1979, produced by Alessandro Colombini.
 * Anna as many are, touchy Anna, | Anna beautiful look, | look that every day | loses something, | if she closes her eyes she knows it, | suburban star, | Anna with her friends, | Anna who would like to leave. (from Anna and Marco, side B, n. 1)
 * And the moon is a ball | and the sky is a billiard | how many stars in pinball machines | there are more than a billion, | Marco inside a bar | he doesn't know what he will do, | then there is someone who finds a motorbike, | you can go to the city. (from Anna and Marco, side B, n. 1)
 * Anna would have liked to die, | Marco wanted to go far away, | has anyone seen them fly | holding hands. (from Anna and Marco, side B, n. 1)
 * Dear friend, I'm writing to you, so I can distract myself a bit | and since you are very far away, I will write to you more strongly. | There's been some big news since you left, | the old year is over now | but something is still wrong here. (from The Year to Come, side B, n. 5)
 * We don't go out much in the evening, including when it's a holiday | and there are those who have placed sandbags near the window. | And we go without speaking for weeks at a time and to those who have nothing to say | some time remains., side B, n. 5)
 * But the television said that the new year | will bring a transformation | and we are all already waiting | it will be three times Christmas and celebration all day, | every Christ will come down from the cross | even the birds will return. | There will be food and light all year round, | even the mute will be able to speak | while the deaf already do it. (from The Year to Come, side B, n. 5)
 * And we will make love, each as he pleases | even priests will be able to marry | but only at a certain age. | And without major disturbances someone will disappear | perhaps they will be the ones who are too smart | and idiots of all ages. (from The Year to Come, side B, n. 5)
 * See, dear friend, what I write to you and tell you | and how happy I am | to be here right now | see, see, see, see, | you see, dear friend, what must be invented | to be able to laugh about it | to continue to hope. | And if this year passed in an instant, | see my friend, | how it becomes important | that in this moment I too am there. (from The Year to Come, side B, n. 5)
 * The year that is coming | in a year it will pass, | I'm getting ready: | this is the news. (from The Year to Come, side B, n. 5)

Give it:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana, 1980, produced by Alessandro Colombini and Renzo Cremonini.
 * Take the sky with your hands | flies higher than airplanes | do not stop. | The years are few, perhaps they are only days | and they are all finishing in a hurry | there is not one who returns. (from Balla balla ballerina, side A, n. 1)
 * What's in front of me, I can't talk anymore | tell me what you like, I can't understand | where would you like to go | do you want to go to sleep. (from Cara, side B, n. 2)
 * How much hair do you have, | you can't count, | move the bottle, | let yourself be watched | if you can trust so much hair. (from Cara, side B, n. 2)
 * I know a place in my heart | where the wind always blows | for your few years | and for mine who are one hundred | and there is nothing to understand | just sit and listen. | Because I wrote a song for every repentance | and I have to be careful not to fall into the wine | or end up inside your eyes | if you come closer to me... (from Cara, side B, n. 2)
 * The night has its own scent and you can fall into it, | that no one sees you | but for someone like me, poor guy, who wanted to take you by the hand | and fall into a bed | how sad, how nostalgic | Don't look yourself in the eye and tell yourself another lie. | At least I hadn't met you | I'm dying here and you're eating ice cream. (from Cara, side B, n. 2)
 * Who knows, who knows tomorrow | what will we get our hands on, | if we can still count the waves of the sea | and raise your head. | Don't be so serious, | stay. (from Futura, side B, n. 4)
 * He will be born and will not be afraid of our son | and who knows what he will be like tomorrow, | on which roads he will walk, | what will he have in his hands, his hands, | he will move and be able to fly, | he will swim on a star, | how beautiful you are | and if she is a female she will be called | Future. || Her name said this night | it's already scary, | she will be different, beautiful as a star | it will be you in miniature. (from Futura, side B, n. 4)

Lies:
Label: Pressing, 1985.
 * If I were an angel | who knows what I would do | tall, blond, invisible | how beautiful I would be | and what courage would I have. (from If I were an angel, n. 1)
 * I know that angels are millions of millions | and that you do not see them in the heavens but among men | they are the poorest and the loneliest | those caught in the nets. (from If I were an angel, n. 1)

FromAmeriCaruso:
Etichetta: RCA Italiana/Pressing, 1986, produced by Roberto Costa.
 * Here where the sea glitters | and the wind blows strong | on an old terrace | in front of the gulf of Sorrento | a man hugs a girl | after she had cried | then he clears his throat | and the singing begins again. (from Caruso, n. 1)
 * Te I love you assaje | but you know very, very well, | it's a chain now | that dissolves the blood in your veins you know. (from Caruso, n. 1)
 * He saw the lights in the middle of the sea | he thought of the nights there in America | but they were only the lamps | and the white trail of a propeller. | He felt the pain in the music | he got up from the piano | but when he saw the moon come out of a cloud | Even death seemed sweeter to him. | He looked into the girl's eyes, | those green eyes like the sea, | suddenly a tear came out | and he thought he was drowning. (from Caruso, n. 1)
 * Power of lyrical opera where every drama is a fake, | that with a little makeup and | with mimicry you can become someone else, | but two eyes that look at you, so close and true | they make you forget the words, they confuse your thoughts. (from Caruso, n. 1)
 * So everything becomes small | even the nights there in America | you turn around and see your life | like the wake of a propeller. | But yes, it's life that ends, | but he didn't think about it that much, | in fact he already felt happy | and he began his song again. (from Caruso, n. 1)

Change:
Etichetta: Pressing, 1990, produced by Bruno Mariani.


 * There is a small house like this | with many colored windows | and a little woman like this | with two big eyes to look at. | And there's a little man like this | who always comes back late from work | and he has a small hat like this | with a dream to realize inside | and the more he thinks about it | he can't wait anymore.  (from Beware of the Wolf, n. 1)
 * My love you don't have to worry | this life is a chain | sometimes it hurts a little. | Look how calm I am | even if through the woods | with the help of the good Lord | always watching out for the wolf. (from Beware the Wolf, n. 1)
 * There's a small meadow like this over there | with a great noise of cicadas | and a sweet and small perfume like this | my love summer has arrived | my love, summer has arrived. | And the two of us lying here making love | in the midst of this sea of ​​cicadas | this little love like this | but so big that I feel like I'm flying | and the more I think about it, the more I can't wait. (from Beware of the Wolf, n. 1)
 * I would like to get inside the wires of a radio | and fly over the roofs of the cities, | meet dialect expressions, | mix with the smell of coffee, | stop on the noses of old people while they read the newspapers | and with the dust of dreams fly and fly | in the cool of the stars, even further away. (from Le rondini, n. 4)
 * I would like to circle the sky like the swallows | and every now and then I stop here and there, | to have a nest under the roofs in the cool of the porticoes | and like them when it is evening close your eyes with simplicity. (from Le rondini, n. 4)
 * I would like to follow every beat of my heart | to understand what happens inside and what moves it, | where does this strange pain come from every now and then, | I would like to understand, in short, what love, | is where you take, where you give. (from Le rondini, n. 4)

Songs:
Etichetta: BMG, 1996, produced by Mauro Malvasi.


 * My name is Ayrton and I'm a driver | and I run fast on my way | even if it is no longer the same road | even if it is no longer the same. (from Ayrton, n. 1)
 * I don't know how to expect much more, | every minute gives me | the instinct to sew time | and to bring you this way, | I have a mattress of words | written especially for you | and I would tell you turn off the light | that the sky exists. (from Canzone, n. 2)
 * Hard-headed, turnip-headed | I would like to love you here too | in the toilet of a nightclub | or on top of a bar table. | Or being naked in the middle of the field | to feel the wind on you | I don't ask for much more | even if I die I'm happy. (from Canzone, n. 2)
 * Stay away from her | she doesn't live, | stay without her | she kills me. (from Canzone, n. 2)
 * Song, look for it if you can, | tell her that she never loses me | Go through the streets among the people, | really tell him. (from Canzone, n. 2)
 * I my eyes from your eyes | I would never remove them, | now I actually eat them | you don't know anyway. | Eyes of the sea without rocks | the sea crashes on me | that I have always only made mistakes | but what is a mistake? (from Canzone, n. 2)
 * And the rain is like tears | reminds me of her face, | I see it in every drop | that falls on my jacket. (from Canzone, n. 2)
 * I would like to be the dress you will wear | the lipstick you will use | I would like to dream of you like I have never dreamed of you | I meet you on the street and I become sad | because then I think you will leave. (from You are never enough for me, n. 3)
 * I would like to be the water of the shower you take | the sheets of the bed where you will sleep | the burger on Saturday night that you will eat... that you will eat | I would like to be the engine of your car | so suddenly you will turn me on. (from You are never enough for me, n. 3)
 * You, you are never enough for me | it's really never enough for me | you, you my sweet land | where I have never been. (from Tu non mi basti mai, n. 3)
 * I have to talk to you like I never do | I want to dream of you like I never dream of you | be the ring you will wear | the beach where you will walk | the mirror that looks at you if you look at it, you will look. | I would like to be the bird you caress | I would never fly from your hands. (from Tu non mi basti mai, n. 3)
 * I would like to be the grave when you die | and where you will live | the sky under which you will sleep. | So we will never leave each other | not even if I die and you know it. (from Tu non mi basti mai, n. 3)
 * Dancing dancing | I'm never tired | I move instinctively yeah. (from Ballando ballando, n. 5)

Luna Matana:
Etichetta: Pressing, 2001, produced by Roberto Costa.
 * The bow of the boat cuts the sea in two | but the sea comes together and always remains the same | and between a Greek, a Norman, a Byzantine | I still remained Sicilian. (from Siciliano, n. 2)

The opposite of me:
Etichetta: Pressing, 2007.
 * But if the light goes down, my heart stays there, | if there is a thought that lights it up it is looking for Monday. (from Monday, n. 8)

Quotes about Lucio Dalla:

 * It is an inevitable psychic gap, a feeling of embarrassment, a taste of systematic cheating: a homosexual who has not been publicly declared and therefore doesn't give a damn about Catholic sexual morality, who has never expressed anything against the clerical-based homophobia that plagues his country, who never once took an open position for the trampled rights of his fellow citizens of political, civil and racial misfortune, a guy like that who, for example, writes and sings his love for a woman comes first (due to mediocrity of character, deliberate hypocrisy, love of a quiet life at the expense of those who fight for his own rights which he first denied) of the beauty or ugliness of his dedication improperly set to music. You don't see the homage to women, you see the ridiculous falsity and the aesthetic necessity for third parties that underlies it. (Aldo Busi)
 * I'm angry, I'm furious about this matter of Dalla and his funeral. We began and continued with a hypocritical delivery of silence regarding Marco Alemanno. There was talk of a bosom friend, a main collaborator... Marco was simply Dalla's companion, I often met them at the newsstand in Porta San Vitale, they didn't flaunt anything but they didn't hide anything. Lucia is absolutely right. If Dalla had married Marco in New York or Oslo or Madrid, as many Bolognese couples have done, she would never have had a funeral in San Petronio, a symbolic church owned by the Municipality but managed by the Bolognese Curia. (Franco Grillini)
 * It's hard for me to talk about him, every corner of Bologna that I go around, there is a memory of him there. He thinks that the last thing he did was Sanremo, he didn't want it, I almost blackmailed him. And after 15 days he died. (Gianni Morandi)
 * It bothered me to see how many testimonies focused on who he remembered rather than on Lucio. Me, me, me... That me, protagonist at all costs, beyond good taste, beyond shame, basking, in the warmth of the bright spotlight. But there was, more than ever, only one protagonist. Now, I hope, the "memories" will fade away and his music will continue to be powerful, aristocratic and popular. (Mina)
 * If I close my eyes I am reminded of Sanremo 1971. I am reminded of a gentleman with a beard, namely Lucio Dalla, who sings "4 March 1943". That song struck me a lot, also because I was born in March, so the song had a great fascination in me, as a child. A song that gave me a great thrill and it is no coincidence that I wanted it in the promos of the Festival. (Carlo Conti)

Collaborations:

 * Samuele Bersani