Polisex is truly a unique and unrepeatable experiment, a layering of eighteen voices, mostly in falsetto, harmonized in semitone thirds and fourths. And then, the naive and pioneering intention of the lyrics. I wanted to describe the fluidity and poly-structure of sexuality as a whole, that is, what today, as an acronym, is called LGBTQ and various letters after it. Well, I encapsulated it in a single word: Polisex!
Polisex was released in 1980, included on Urlo, Ivan Cattaneo's fourth album. It is a revolutionary piece, in its own way. Not only for a rather complicated vocal structure but for that message, or rather, that hope expressed with candor in an incendiary text for the time: that sexuality can expand in a free, unconventional way, outside the box.
_________________ Things end, but memories last forever. Huck Finn
What's wrong with you, my aesthetic friend? It's not worth it to be stupid.
You don't even read La Repubblica.
Milan Kundera, Milan Kundera, Milan Kundera, doesn't cheer you up.
A long beard is symptomatic of a serious post-atomic virus.
They didn't see you at the Foro Italico.
You only enjoy anonymity.
Because you're no longer here.
You don't feel your friends thinking about you.
You're falling in love.
You're falling in love.
The friend who symbolizes the '80s loves that period, that moment, and obviously someone else too.
(This unbearable lightness of being)
At least tell me, is it rich and noble?
Or is it a peripheral fruit? Just think for a moment, otherwise, what are friends for? Let's talk about it, let's talk about it.
Because you're no longer here, you don't hear your friends thinking about you. You're falling in love you're falling in love you're falling in love
Out of Africa, 9 1/2 weeks with the same woman, on the same night!
You're falling in love you're falling in love you're falling in love you're falling in love (This Unbearable Lightness of Being)
Fantastic title by Milan Kundera, unbearable lightness, a metaphor for the entire '80s. Even if the book was about something completely different.
Protected by an enigmatic title, which imprints itself on the memory like a musical phrase, this novel faithfully obeys Hermann Broch's precept: "Discover what only a novel allows you to discover." This novelistic discovery is not limited to the evocation of certain characters and their complicated love stories, even if here Tomáš, Teresa, Sabina, and Franz exist for us immediately, after a few touches, with an irreducible and almost painful concreteness. Bringing a character to life, for Kundera, means "getting to the bottom of certain situations, certain motifs, perhaps certain words, which are the very material of which he is made." Then another character enters the scene: the author. His face is in shadow, at the center of the amorous quadrilateral formed by the novel's protagonists: and those four vertices continually shift their positions around him, separated and reunited by chance and the persecutions of history, oscillating between a cold libertinism and that kind of compassion that is "the maximum capacity of affective imagination, the art of telepathy, of emotions." Within that quadrilateral, a multiplicity of threads is interwoven: one thread is a physiological detail, another is a metaphysical question, one thread is a terrible historical anecdote, another is an image. Everything is variation, a ceaseless exploration of the possible. With Diderot-like lightness, Kundera manages to uncover, behind each individual fact, just as many penetrating questions and then composes them like polyphonic voices, until he gives us a vertigo that brings us back to our constant and silent experience. Thus we rediscover certain things that have invaded our lives and tend to pass unnamed in literature, crushed by their weight: the transformation of the entire world into an immense "trap," the erasure of existence as in those retouched photographs where the Soviets erase the faces of characters fallen from grace. Long trained to perceive in the "Great March" toward the future the most mocking of illusions, Kundera has managed to preserve intact the pathos of that which, woven from countless returns like any torturous love, is nevertheless ready to appear only once and disappear, as if it had never existed.
_________________ Things end, but memories last forever. Huck Finn
The lyrics of the songs featured on the concept album are inspired by Carlo Collodi's The Adventures of Pinocchio. "It Was Your Fault" is the album's opening track and provides the Neapolitan artist's interpretation of Collodi's work.
The song criticizes Pinocchio for abandoning the carefree, responsibilities-free world of his childhood as a puppet. Now, as a flesh-and-blood person, he is no longer free. He must submit to the standardization of behavior, thus to the conditioning of the majority's normality, and is therefore destined to become just another normal person.
Edoardo Bennato "It Was Your Fault" 1977
It Was Your Fault, So What Do You Want Now? You wanted to be like one of us And how you miss those days when you were A puppet, but without strings And instead now you have the strings Now you don't take a step if there isn't someone from above who commands and pulls the strings for you Now people won't laugh at you anymore You're no longer a performer But look how many strings you have It was your choice, so what do you want now? You've become just like one of us From all the fox and cat ambushes, you You always escaped But now you're at greater risk Now you don't take a step unless there's someone from above who commands and pulls the strings for you And now that you think like one of us You won't sell your schoolbooks Like you did that day To buy the ticket and get in To Mangiafuoco's theater Now you'll read those books Go, go and read them all And learn those books by heart It's written that the wise and honest Are the ones who make history They make war, war is a serious thing Buffoons and puppets, no, they'll never do it It was your choice, so what do you want now? You've become just like one of us. Before, you were a clown, a wooden puppet, but But now that you're normal, How absurd is the game you play. Mmh, ah Mmh-mmh Mmmh-mmh Mmmh-mmh Mmmh Mmmh-mmh-mmh Ah, oh, na-na-na, oh
_________________ Things end, but memories last forever. Huck Finn
Michel Fugain - Un'estate fa (Une belle histoire) paroles - 1972
Une Belle Histoire
C'est un beau roman, c'est une belle histoire C'est une romance d'aujourd'hui Il rentrait chez lui, là-haut vers le brouillard Elle descendait dans le midi, le midi Ils se sont trouvés au bord du chemin Sur l'autoroute des vacances C'était sans doute un jour de chance Ils avaient le ciel à portée de main Un cadeau de la providence Alors pourquoi penser au lendemain?
Ils se sont cachés dans un grand champ de blé Se laissant porter par les courants Se sont racontés leur vies qui commençaient Ils n'étaient encore que des enfants, des enfants Qui s'étaient trouvés au bord du chemin Sur l'autoroute des vacances C'était sans doute un jour de chance Qui cueillir le ciel au creux de leurs mains Comme on cueille la providence Refusant de penser au lendemain
_________________ Things end, but memories last forever. Huck Finn
12 Oct 2025, 10:03 pm
