Donatella Rettore - The lioness of Italian pop

We catch up with Donatella Rettore ahead of the theatre tour that will see her in concert in Milan and Varese, on April 27 and 29 respectively. A return to the stage kicked off with her sparkling appearance at Sanremo alongside Ditonellapiaga, and now continuing full steam ahead in the theatres she has always held so dear. A long, wide-ranging conversation about her career, the present and the future. Among memorable recollections, such as “an immaculately elegant David Bowie” she often ran into around the London neighbourhood where Rettore lived in the early '80s, a startled Lucio Battisti backstage at a German festival, and the unpredictable Lucio Dalla, a friend and mentor from the very start. And then there's the unbreakable bond with Claudio Rego, the true guiding light of her life. That's not all. The enterprising singer-songwriter, ahead of her time then as she still is now and always will be, tells us about the spirit behind her songs, the misunderstood records and the ones worth rediscovering. Albums that will soon be revisited in new form. An outpouring of words for a truly special encounter.

A glorious comeback we've all been waiting for.

Thank you so much. Yes, I try to do my best. But the record industry today wants you to churn out little pop ditties. And I struggle a bit with that, because I always chase musical content with more depth, less easy stuff. Of course, even doing the easy stuff is hard...

Paul McCartney used to say that too.

Unfortunately Paul McCartney has never written a dud in his whole life. Lucky him! Here's the thing: I'd love to have a stroke of inspiration like Paul and write “Ebony And Ivory”. I'd really love that.

Never say never...

Definitely. But if I brought “Ebony And Ivory” to Warner, they'd tell me: “But it doesn't stream!” (laughs, ed.). It drives me crazy!

But a lot of streams aren't real.

A lot of them are fake, that's true. Plenty of people will have found ways around the system. Then there are all the blogs that distort everything. So the question is: how do you keep the quality of the music good in a situation like that? I don't like to say acceptable. But at least let it be good.

So, lots of sideshow freaks, basically.

Ten years ago I discovered a guy, a talented musician, who later got turned down by me. His name is Nottini Lemon, the stage name of Giancarlo Caccavale. Back then I suggested he call himself Gian Caccavale, or even just Caccavale. In my opinion the second option works better. I brought him on for the Christmas song, "Natale Sottovoce". But on TV they always cut him out. They'd even trim his rap part. And so, after three years of trying, he decided to turn to cooking instead. Now he's a well-known chef. I'd still like to bring him back, at least as a songwriter. He's brilliant. Much better than a lot of famous rappers. He's a perfect example of how, in Italy, people who deserve recognition often get pushed aside for the most incomprehensible reasons.

I had a pretty face, but I was built like a wardrobe. And I looked taller than I actually am. But the Germans didn't pay any attention to that. They'd tell me: 'Donatella, you're a beautiful, big girl'

Everyone thinks of you as a typical product of the '80s, but actually — aside from "Splendido splendente", which was a disco track from 1979 — in the '70s you did a lot of other important things. With "Lailolà" you had a lot of success abroad too, with "Carmela" you brought the theme of the Spanish revolution to Sanremo, with "Il patriarca" you dismantled the model of the traditional patriarchal family, and with "Caro preside" you tackled the taboo subject of pedophilia and sexual harassment in the workplace, and finally there was also "Eroe", another hit. What was the Rettore of the '70s like, and what tied those songs of that period together?

Actually, I've never stopped being the same person. When people told me "this song won't work anymore", I kept going and produced myself. Or I gave my songs to independent labels, who would then press a very limited number of copies, something like three thousand records, which I'd still manage to sell. "Lailolà" gave me a lot of satisfaction, but the record label went bankrupt without paying me everything I was owed, there was a lawsuit and I got my money back. We're talking about five million albums. The Rettore of the '70s who went to Germany, Austria, France, Holland was very young. And after adolescence, also "curvy". I had a pretty face, but I was built like a wardrobe. And I looked taller than I actually am. But the Germans didn't pay any attention to that. They'd tell me: "Donatella, you're a beautiful, big girl. You don't need to wear big baggy shirts. Dress however you want. Like all the other girls. Sizes exist for a reason". Back then I was a size fifty. In Germany, people didn't care at all about looks, about extra pounds. They weren't interested in my size. They were interested in my music. In 1977, and again in 1978, I was on TV all the time. And on those TV shows there were Abba, Elton John, Bonnie Tyler, the Pretenders. It was a real joy. Then when I'd come back to Italy and nobody knew who I was, I'd get depressed.

How did you meet your friend Elton John? Is it true that he's the one who got you into Peter Brook's mime school?

He told me: "If you want to grow, not just be successful, you also need to learn to speak, to act, to do mime. You need to be more free and easy. The stage has to feel like home". It helped me enormously. Then I found out I wasn't the only one at Brook's school. For instance, Annie Lennox was there too.

David Bowie lived in a building near mine. Tall, grey hat, glasses, an incredibly elegant leather trench coat. I'd run into him often, he always said hello.

Is it also true that in London in the '80s you were David Bowie's neighbor, and that you'd shop at the same drugstore?

He lived in a building in London near mine, the top three floors were his. It was 1981, I'd run into him often. He'd go out casually, you could just bump into him. He'd be right there, having a coffee, buying bread. Tall, grey hat, glasses, an incredibly elegant leather trench coat. The first time I met him he said to me: "Good morning, how are you? Do you like London?". And he says it while taking off his nice orange hat, like a true gentleman. I answered shyly, almost in disbelief: "Yes, I love London". And he was completely shy too. I'd run into him often, he always said hello.

Few people also know that, when you were very young, you did a tour opening for Lucio Dalla, in 1973. Can you tell us about that experience?

Lucio always showed up in a black convertible Beetle driven by his producer. And he was there with Rosalino (Ron, ed.). And he'd always tell me: "Come on, come sing, Rosalino will accompany you, sing whatever you like". It was a very important stage to be on. Usually big theatres, packed with people. The first time I got up on stage, I didn't know what to do. Rosalino encouraged me.

Sayonara is an anti-war song, but its lyrics are often misunderstood

"I've got a powder keg in my belly," you sang in "Sayonara." How much gunpowder is left? And where does it explode now?

It's an anti-war song, and even today many people still misread its words. In Japan, the abdomen is hugely important. They locate the mind in the belly. And nowadays, thankfully, a lot of doctors and psychologists have caught on to that too. If your stomach hurts, there's nothing you can do about it. The stomach and intestines feel emotions more than other parts of the body do.

You're very attached to Japanese culture...

The Japanese are in some ways similar to the British. I love them partly for that reason too. There's also total respect for hierarchy. When Hirohito was around, the emperor was still a demigod; it was his son who became more of a businessman and less of a deity. It's a fascinating culture.

I'm a lioness, but forced to live in a zoo

In 1980, "Magnifico delirio" came out. In "Leonessa" you sing "Non c'è uno sbadiglio di curiosità." You're a lioness in captivity. "Senza padroni e collari d'oro." Do you still feel that way?

If there's one thing I hate, it's being bored. I'm a lioness, but forced to live in a zoo. Lionesses, like all animals, are part of an ecosystem. They should be left where they are. Free.

"Danceteria" came out in 1985. In "Finché si è giovani" you sing "Finché c'è incanto con frasi frivole." And then "Fa l'amore sulle spiagge al mare e lo sa fare meglio se lo fa senza il cuore." And again, "Finché io canto solo per voi." What memories do you have of the '80s? The merits and flaws of that era.

It's another misunderstood record. But I do intend to bring it back out, like I did with "Far West," "Stickers" and several others. I've signed with Warner and there are plans to reissue some records from the past that, at the time, A&R people like Caterina Caselli just didn't get. Some of these records even sound current today. They don't need much reworking. The arrangements are contemporary. All they need is a bit of oversight. Sure, if a Brian Eno stepped in it wouldn't hurt at all (laughs, ed.).

Loredana Bertè and I have never insulted each other. We even danced together, she used to come pick me up at home. Then some gossip must have gotten around...

OndaRock isn't fond of controversy, but there's one question we'd like to ask you: there's often been talk of your supposed rivalry with Loredana Bertè. But perhaps your real rival was Gianna Nannini: in Italy, you two were among the first women to write your own songs, to sing about taboo subjects, to come across as provocative both on stage and off, to be more "international." And I recall you weren't exactly kind about her, saying: "She's a romantic singer, not a rock singer, she belongs in a dance hall." Do you still think that?

Loredana and I have never insulted each other. We never said anything to each other. We even danced together, she used to come pick me up at home. Then some gossip must have gotten around, and after that she stopped speaking to me altogether. I tried to clear things up and she didn't want to talk about it, and that was that. But I never said anything, let's be clear. Also, Bertè and I are completely different. Nannini, on the other hand, started having success right when I went on strike against Caselli, who wouldn't let me do what I wanted. Nannini wasn't making rock music. She was produced by Michelangelo Romano, who had been a boyfriend of mine. He was from Naples, and he also produced Alan Sorrenti, who's a very close friend of mine.

How did the collaboration with Ditonellapiaga come about? "Chimica" recalls in its title a bit of "Adrenalina," the 1987 single you duetted on with Giuni Russo.

Yes, it's a song written to be sung as a duet. I was lucky to find Margherita. I think I'm really good with young artists, I pay a lot of attention to them. Last year I discovered La rappresentante di lista, and this year Ditonellapiaga. I played her first-ever date in Milan. It was a huge success. I even got a Mexican wave when I walked on stage. How wonderful.

Your theater tour will bring you to Milan and Varese, on April 27 and 29 respectively.

These are two dates that are part of three theater concerts. They're very important to me. Coming back to perform live is significant, after a very dark period in my life. I didn't have Covid, but another awful illness, breast cancer, which made me very ill.

Claudio Rego and I got together in '77. We'd met three years earlier in Sanremo, he was doing the auditions

You and Claudio Rego have an incredibly solid relationship, both in music and in life. What's the secret to your harmony and your way of working together?

Claudio and I got together in '77. But we met in '74, in the recording studio. He was doing the auditions for Sanremo. I was the "young hopeful" at Sanremo '74. Then I went back to studying, got my diploma, and specialized as a simultaneous parliamentary interpreter. Then I went back to Milan, signed a contract with Produttori Associati and immediately found success in Germany. In practically all the Nordic countries too. From German-speaking Switzerland I moved to French-speaking Switzerland and finally to Italian-speaking Switzerland. That's where I finally settled down in Milan for good. It was a strange journey. In Hamburg in 1978, it was me and Lucio Battisti representing Italy. And he says to me: "Who are you? I don't know you." And I said: "Well, I know you, and how. Actually, I don't even know who I am yet myself." And he said: "You sing well, you're a beautiful girl, why haven't I seen you in Italy yet?" And I answered: "Because they don't want me." Then I asked him: "Why don't I see you in Italy anymore, why aren't you on TV?" And he said: "For the same reason you're here in Germany. In Italy they're always looking at whether you've put on weight, whether you've lost weight. Here they only notice what you sing. Not how you look."

I adore Elisa, she's an exceptional singer. I'd love to sing a song written by her, or by Mahmood too

And then, at the start of the Eighties, came that wave of creativity and transgression. On OndaRock we called you "an artist in color", one of the first to build an image and a look that would have meant nothing without the beauty of color and the freedom of private TV. Then came Alberto Camerini, Ivan Cattaneo, Jo Squillo. A gust of fresh air for that somewhat straitlaced Italy that was waking up... what memories do you have of those years?

Ivan was another one ruined by Caselli, so to speak. He was creative. He sang "Polisex". Let him do what he wants, right? Instead of graffiti. Ivan could do both. But I don't think they let him. Like so many others.

Who are the Italian female singers you appreciate most, the ones you feel closest to?

I adore Elisa. She's an exceptional singer. I'm very attached to good, historic female singers. Backstage at Sanremo she saw me and Margherita laughing and couldn't believe it, so she decided to hang out with us to lighten up. Then she wrote on her Instagram profile: "Rettore, the legend". She's adorable. If she wrote me a song, I'd be thrilled. But also if Mahmood wrote me one. And I like Ultimo too. He's someone who's studied, and it shows.

To young people today I'd say: go out, go get laid, touch each other, kiss each other. Turn off these computers

An alien lands on Earth, meets you and says: I have to go home, I can't stay, leave me one of your songs so I can get to know you when I'm light years away from you. Which song would you leave him and why.

"Oblio". It's a song sung by an alien. It would be his leitmotif. On the subject of aliens I also remember one by Eugenio Finardi, "Extraterrestre". But above all I adore "Musica ribelle". Which I find very important for young people today. Who are always distracted, glued to their smartphones. I too urge them to "drop the nonsense", like Finardi. Enough. Go out, go get laid, touch each other, kiss each other. Turn off these computers. Someone needs to tell them. But especially now, after the difficult years of the pandemic which hit them particularly hard, because they were forced to stay home during the best years of their lives. And now the war too. We need to help young people because they're the ones living through this difficult moment the most.

Ride the wave of great music

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