Cccp play in Bologna in front of 10 thousand people, in Piazza Maggiore there is nostalgia
It was full of "Americans who vote for the PCI" last night in Piazza Maggiore, Giovanni Lindo Ferretti would say and write. Placid, resolved, with some phones turned on, but for themselves. Without that anxiety of social media, of letting those who matter know everything immediately that is consuming us
BOLOGNA – It was full of “Americans who vote for the PCI” last night in Piazza Maggiore in Bologna at the CCCP, Giovanni Lindo Ferretti would say and write. Placid, resolved, with some phones turned on, but for themselves. Without that anxiety of social media, of letting those who matter know everything immediately that is consuming us. And in short, that was the way when we were young and thought about changing the world. Last night, how many finally learned (from the barbaric Bolognese, it means “known”, “came to knowledge”, not learned after studying) that “Amandoti” was written by Ferretti and not by Nannini? There is always something to learn from the CCCP, last night in front of 10,000 paying spectators and a few young men, CUA or not (the first news reports of the morning are not definitive) who, late in the concert, passed behind the benevolent back of some security guard.
After this due and melancholy date for a large part of paranoid Emilia (paranoid to the point of opening a debate on the freeness of a show that was supposed to repeat that of the Clash in 1980) today the tour takes off at the Carroponte in Sesto San Giovanni. And rest assured that the former Stalingrad to the north of Milan, but still a bit of Milan, will cause fewer debates. The first thing learned from an extraordinary love song is that you must know how to love, even if it is often “something that resembles laughing while crying”. The exhibition in Reggio goes well; it’s okay that we had lost sight of them for a while; it’s okay that for two and a half hours of concert and 27 songs (Danilo Masotti counted them) we don’t exaggerate with the cardio in the rhythm otherwise we’ll all explode. But it was nice.
It was nice because getting old not only makes you sad, but sometimes softens. Fatur was sweet in his thousand disguises as a “people’s artist”, subversive with those sorts of pinned wooden dolls (seen and perhaps misrepresented with glasses from afar); very sweet Annarella with that accent of a weed seller (native but very popular) on a beauty that remains intact thanks to her immense charisma.
The mosh pit? ‘Reformist’, respectful of creaking joints and the office that awaits the next day. Prepared, induced by the Filuzzi-style ballad of “Battagliero”, and then, in no particular order while the calves that hurt when stationary still need to be massaged: Punk Islam, Radio Kabul, a bit of quiet with “Libera me domine de morte aeterna”. That verse so forward on the sad current times: “I stand alert like a Russian in Donbass, like an Armenian in Nagorno Karabakh”. Bang Bang which introduces “Spara Jurij”, “For me I know” (“Conforms to who? Conforms to what? Conforms to which strange pose?”) and finallythe electric and corrosive “Heal me.” One who empties his head, empties his anger, to make those who decide for us feel, often badly.