CCCP - CSI - Pro-Soviet Punk

CCCP were formed in 1982 in Berlin, when Giovanni Lindo Ferretti (vocals) and Massimo Zamboni (guitars) met. The two armed themselves with a drum machine and played around Germany, drawing above all on the expressionist punk of Einsturzende Neubauten. Their return to Italy brought an epiphany: the popular culture of Emilia-Romagna could be filtered through punk ethics and aesthetics. This wasn't about erudite research, but about the region's touristy, pleasure-seeking, communist cultural surface. After all, even the name CCCP wasn't a tribute to Soviet communism, but a celebration of the way the acronym was mangled by some hypothetical small-town militant. Almost like the 1950s. Almost like Guareschi. The two put together some shows, but the impact on the audience wasn't the best: the complexity and detachment of the lyrics and the lack of melodic lines didn't help. So the idea was to enrich the show with situations and characters. That's how Danilo Fatur and Antonella "Annarella" Giudici joined the band. Now the lineup was complete: this is the true birth of CCCP.

In 1984 came their first EP, Ortodossia. It's all punk and elementary nursery rhymes screamed over jagged, frantically paced guitars: "Spara Yuri spara, spera Yuri spera" and "Islam punk, Islam punk, punk Islam e Islam punk" are the first cries of this thoroughly Italian creature, which in its necessary violence recalls MC5 or the Stooges more than any British band of '77.

Ortodossia was followed by Ortodossia II, which added to "Spara Yuri spara", "Islam punk" and "Live in Punkow" — all already present on the first EP — the track "Mi ami", which would remain one of the band's signature songs, with its slow opening pace accompanying the "indifferent sperm" of the lyrics before lunging forward into breathtaking musical hardcore and Ferretti's first depressive-existential soliloquy. It's an Italian punk song, one that every kid of '85 could recognize themselves in. It was something that had (perhaps) never been seen before in Italy: a band that wasn't a copy of English or American models. Their ideological framework was dressed in a bizarre Eastern European kitsch and took shape in theoretical manifestos, in which CCCP declared themselves "pro-Soviet punks".

The most obvious reference points are Central European echoes (above all the German new wave scene, from Kraftwerk to Einsturzende Neubauten), American punk and proto-punk (MC5, Stooges, Ramones), Italian singer-songwriter tradition (Battiato above all) and British post-punk darkness (from PIL to Bauhaus). But CCCP are no provincial clone of some English or American band: they're an Italian provincial band that mangled everything that could pass for a pop tune or ballroom dance and shredded it in a punk blender turned up to the max.

Also in 1984 came the album Compagni, cittadini, fratelli, partigiani, which collected the tracks already featured on the EPs along with a handful of other songs. The sound is homemade, rough and threadbare, but inside there's energy to spare, and its exact opposite: songs as numb and numbing as the long "Emilia paranoica", one of the band's masterpieces, in which a heavy, bloated stasis (a very slow four-beat electronic drum machine, paired with guitar chords in sync with Ferretti's syllable-by-syllable declamation) suddenly stumbles to pick up speed, like a fall down the stairs, before grinding to a halt and returning to the obsessive slowness of the start. There's "Morire", with its emotional, nostalgic-veteran lyrics, and there's "Militanz" going a thousand miles an hour. All in all, it's still an immature record, not everything is in focus yet: aside from "Emilia paranoica" and "Mi ami", it's openly a coming-of-age record — the lyrics are not yet the proclamations of despair and rebellion that would come later, the musical framework is still too linear, and the folk influences are still too faint.

A year later came 1964-1985. Affinità-Divergenze fra il compagno Togliatti e noi. Del conseguimento della maggiore età. The record opens with a declaration of identity, a shouted "CCCP" and off it goes, in a sea of feedback, an electronic drum machine that's one continuous pulse, and words you won't hear anywhere else: "faithful to the line, even when there is no line, when the emperor is sick, when he dies or is in doubt." The album brings back "Morire" with its suspended arpeggio and the far-off voice declaiming "Esiste una sconfitta pari al venire corroso che non è mia ma dell'epoca in cui vivo", and "Emilia paranoica" and "Mi ami" are still there too. Among the new tracks, "Curami" stands out, with its typical punk riff that breaks off to leave only the mechanical beat of the drum machine and the line "Solo una terapia" hanging in a pause that seems to last forever, plus an unsettling use of xylophone.

But there's also "Trafitto", with its proclamation of apathy ("Trafitto sono, trapassato dal futuro, cerco una persona. Fragili desideri, a volte indispensabili, a volte no"); "Noia", as gloomy and depressed as its title suggests; "Allarme", a restless, improbable tango shot through with forcefully rock-driven jolts; "Fedeli alla linea", with its disjointed rhythm; "Valium, Tavor, Serenase", an explosive, unprecedentedly violent whirlwind that suddenly snaps to make way for genuine liscio ("Romagna mia, Romagna in fiore" in pure three-four ballroom-dance style!). But above all there's "Io sto bene". This is the song that would come to define them, because in its gentle four-four acceleration lies the whole of provincial Italy and the entire sense of emptiness of the 1980s ("Non studio, non lavoro, non guardo la TV, non vado al cinema, non faccio sport"...).

What also stands out is the detached, alienating vocal delivery of Giovanni Lindo Ferretti, a sort of Po Valley John Lydon, who would prove to be perhaps the first Italian singer capable of adapting his own language to the rhythmic and harmonic demands of rock.

Live, the band presented itself as a dazzling, decadent circus, a temple of kitsch complete with stilt-walkers and fire-eaters, with Fatur (the "People's Artist") stripping naked and Annarella (the "Decorated Soubrette") officiating these agnostic rites. But behind this theatrical image, a shadow of mysticism was already starting to show through.

Two years passed, and the single "Oh battagliero" (1987) came out, with its tango-like gait, and then, in the same year, the first album for a major label, Virgin. This was Socialismo e barbarie. The record opens with the first cover of their career: "A Ja Ljublju SSSR", namely the Soviet anthem fitted with an original epic text by Ferretti, a thunderous, echoing electronic drum machine, and Zamboni's cutting guitar carrying the melody. On the record, the punk violence softens against the appearance of a facade Orient, straight out of motorway-service-station cassette tapes. Hence "Hong Kong", with its dripping guitars set in a vacuum; "Inch'allah ça va", sung in French; and "Radio Kabul", which borrows the tempos and gestures of Sufi dance. The distorted guitars and fast tempos are still there, with "Per me lo so" and "Tu menti", the organ-and-voice religious hymn "Libera Me Domine", and above all "Rozzemilia", a desperate, devastated anthem full of love-hate for their own land, marked by those "piles of sacrificed pigs". It's the transitional record, a work in which the energy, anger and depression of the early days begin to dissolve into an uneasy introspection and an "elsewhere" straight out of a Salvatores film. All things considered, the record still sounds good, managing to stay balanced between native impulses and new fascinations.

The next step was disorienting: a single with Amanda Lear, a cover of "Tomorrow". Then came 1989 with the new album Canzoni, preghiere e danze del II millennio – sezione Europa. More electronics, less distortion: a techno-pop record. All the band's force dilutes into little keyboards and Arabic-sounding scales, even though the opening is entrusted to Ferretti's none-too-flexible voice singing solo a traditional Alpine soldiers' song, "Il testamento del capitano". The record itself isn't actually bad, but it almost feels like a joke, as with the macaronic pseudo-Italian of "Uligani dangereux", the genuinely unpleasant "Vota Fatur", rambled by Fatur himself, or the pointless "Reclame", where over an ambient-style bed of keyboards Annarella introduces the band's musicians and technicians. The Middle East dominates on tracks like "E' vero", "Madre", "Le qualità della danza" and "And the radio plays" — though truth be told, only the latter actually sounds like something not entirely synthetic and mannered. For anyone looking for traces of the older records, there remain "Fedele alla lira?" and "Conviene", which in their electronic arrangements lose meaning and urgency, ending up as mere nursery rhymes. The most successful episodes are precisely the songs that attempt a techno-pop epic: "B.b.b.", "Svegliami" and "Roco roco rosso".

The band seemed to be heading toward its end, at least as we had known it. The turning point came during a tour of the Soviet Union, undertaken that same year, 1989, together with Litfiba, the reference band for Italian dark-wave. Out of this tour came the last CCCP record, the one marking both the turning point and the end. Epica, Etica, Etnica, Pathos was born from the meeting of Ferretti and Zamboni with Francesco Magnelli, Ringo De Palma and Gianni Maroccolo — keyboards, drums and bass respectively of the then dying Litfiba — and from a new approach to recording: heading off together to the countryside to live communally and record everything live.

The record is something entirely new for CCCP. There's a different level of instrumental skill, and the plastic flavors of the previous record are gone. The violence and roughness of the early albums seem to have softened, but also condensed into a sound that's less wild and tortured, and instead austere and solid. The sound quality has decidedly improved. With this record a new entity is born: it's the last CCCP work, but in reality it's the first record of a new band. Accordions make their appearance, and the lyrics tilt decisively toward mysticism; Zamboni's guitars grow gentler, and to satisfy the craving for distortion, Giorgio Canali has to join the band. There are some of the most fascinating things the band ever played. "Aghia Sophia" is an unsettling musical collage, ranging from an ecclesiastical invocation ("Tedio domenicale, quanta droga consuma. Tedio domenicale, quanti amori frantuma") to Brechtian intuitions worthy of Kurt Weill, through to flashes of folk. "Paxo de Jerusalem" and "Sofia" round off the chapter with constant nods to mysticism and folklore. "Depressione Caspica", with its vast, cutting guitars, could almost be an "Io sto bene" played at half speed; "Amandoti" is a popular 3/4 liscio with Ferretti's terrible, narrating voice; "Campestre" is an improbable bucolic ballad; and on top of that there's the endless gallop of "Maciste Against Everyone" and the canon "Annarella" as the band's testament — "Lasciami qui lasciami stare lasciami così, non dire una parola che non sia d'amore" — which, coming from the most devastating and devastated Italian punk band, is sincerely moving.

So in 1990 the band — to which anyone who plays music in Italy today owes at least a small debt of gratitude — brought its existence to a close. What remains is certainly Ferretti's words, aware that they would not be tied forever to the singer-songwriter dimension in order to express in Italian something that goes beyond banality, and a sound that's simple but damn effective, one that turns its own poverty into its greatest asset, laying bare the very strong personalities of those who created it. There would be a long pause, and then the very people behind this last record would meet again and set off together with the CSI project.

CCCP transformed into CSI (Consorzio Suonatori Indipendenti) in 1992, at a concert in Prato. What might almost seem like an ironic reflection of international politics on a politicized band took concrete shape in a collective record, Maciste Against Everyone (with Ustmamò and Disciplinatha). All the tracks are drawn from CCCP's Epica Etica Etnica Pathos, and there's nothing new on it: it could be mistaken for a nostalgic-veteran reunion, but that's not the case.

The following year (1993) came Ko' De Mondo. This is the true debut record under the new name. Gianni Maroccolo, Giorgio Canali, Francesco Magnelli and Ginevra di Marco (backing vocals) joined the lineup permanently, while Fatur and Annarella left the group.

From the last CCCP records it borrows a certain severe austerity and the same working method: all together in the countryside, letting sounds and ideas grow. The record sounds very dry, the arrangements are carefully measured, Zamboni's guitars are very orderly, and Canali's rediscover here and there a primitive use of feedback — far from grunge, from no wave or from Sonic Youth, and closer to late-Sixties bands, which always remains in the background. Ferretti blends mysticism and feminist thought with a gaze that stretches from provincial Italy to embrace Europe. "A tratti" opens the record with power and the warning "se divento un megafono m'incepperò"; "Del mondo" cradles with piano and cuts with guitars a magical bitterness; "Fuochi nella notte" recaptures the flavor of a folk ballad, while the hypnotic "In viaggio" is almost highway rock. If "Celluloide" is a pleasant joke somewhere between funky and electronic, "Finestere" is, frankly, a bit cumbersome with its Latin and its bloated guitars, and "Intimisto" is a laborious monologue.

Meanwhile CSI increasingly become the beacon of the fertile Italian indie-rock scene, indirectly launching bands like Ustmamò and Disciplinatha, with whom they shared the stage on September 18, 1992 at the "Festival delle Colline", held at the Centro per l'Arte Contemporanea Luigi Pecci in Prato.

Some of the most stimulating avant-garde acts of the Italian underground shared the stage for what was meant to be a one-off event, but which would turn into a mini-tour in February 1993.

That concert will remain etched in collective memory, and not only in the eyes of those present, thanks to the recording captured on the live album Maciste Against Everyone.

The next step is a welcome from the pop-rock mainstream: an acoustic live set (as was fashionable at the time) for Mtv: In Quiete (1994). The album shines with old CCCP gems which, in this form tempered by subtle electricity, emerge with an undeniable elegance of songwriting. The live set is remembered above all for the tango of "Allarme", the stacked percussion and distortion of "Stati di Agitazione", and the linear, danceable "Io Sto Bene" (which, in truth, aren't all that "unplugged"); the new "Fuochi nella notte" and the old "And the radio plays", placed so close together in the running order, reveal their shared lineage. Also finding a spot among the tracks is a successful cover of "Lieve" by Marlene Kuntz.

Many more concerts follow, in which the band also appropriates "Noi non ci saremo" by the Nomadi, rendered in a slow murmur of keyboards.

We have to wait until 1996 for the new album, Gothic Line. Dedicated to the myth of the Resistance (particularly the Italian Resistance during the Second World War and the Bosnian resistance in Sarajevo), the album pursues an almost desperate search for intimacy. This quest for depth is evident in the near-total abandonment of percussion, the slowing of every tempo, and the choice of a uniform timbre built from lightly distorted guitars and keyboards acting almost like a small organ, all laid down as a bed for Ferretti's words and Ginevra Di Marco's vocal lines, never seeking sudden shifts or powerful openings. As if it were one long prayer.

At certain points the album reaches great intensity, and this happens precisely in the moments when this long mantra folds in on itself to catch its breath — for instance in the tangle of strings and guitars in triple time on the splendid "Cupe Vampe" (about the siege of Sarajevo), or at the album's close ("Irata"), in the circular motion of the Pasolini-derived line "ad onta di ogni strenua decisione o voto contrario mi trovo imbarazzato sorpreso ferito per un'irata sensazione di peggioramento di cui non so parlare né so fare domande". Worth noting too is the dark cover of "E ti vengo a cercare", sung together with its author, Franco Battiato, and the hypnotic "Esco", with slowed-down cadences reminiscent of Codeine.

At other moments, though, the album drags, heavy and slow ("Blu", "Io e Tancredi"), failing to achieve that synthesis of spirit and matter it so strenuously sought.

The band, which by now permanently includes Ginevra Di Marco and Francesco Magnelli, sets off on a journey to the East and returns with a new album clearly inspired by that experience. This is Tabula Rasa Elettrificata (1997). The album comes out in summer, and thanks to the surrounding release drought, it outsells the two previous records, catapulting CSI to the top of the Italian charts with over 80,000 copies sold. Whether by design or by chance, people argue about it at length... Italian alternative rock conquers the market... but one could just as easily answer with Ferretti's own words ("M'importa na sega"?). What matters most, though, is that CSI's music is in splendid form even on an over-produced record, with layers of guitars piled on layers of distorted guitars, topped by a constant flutter of keyboards and cymbals in the heavier passages, alternating with quieter sections driven by bass, soft drums, and small breaths of keyboard or guitar: an almost-dub without the nerve to push further into electronic territory. Driving it along is above all the single "Forma e sostanza", with its razor-sharp, scraping riffs, while the Eastern-flavored "Ongii" perhaps offers the album's most spiritual moments.

In 1998 came La terra, la guerra, una questione privata, a concert in honor and memory of Beppe Fenoglio, played and recorded in a church in Alba, whose liner notes close with: "It will be released on January 29, 1998, it will accompany us during the 'M'importa 'na sega' tour, but there will be no trace of it at those concerts. It will be withdrawn from sale on May 1, 1998. It's not a matter of money, it's a private matter." It's a splendid record, a pure, cutting gem. A magical suspension holds together a simple sonic architecture that is at once light and utterly solid.

Stripped of any ornamentation, the songs reveal their solid skeleton and their roots, whether planted in the spirit or in the memory of each listener, and they find that space — not within themselves but among everyone — that earns the word masterpiece. And a masterpiece this concert is, from the guitars of "Campestre" to the keyboards of a slowed-down, rarefied "In viaggio", to the emotion of hearing "Annarella" again accompanied only by piano, to the finale with the reprise of "Guardali negli occhi" and its partisan ode, Canali's guitars in a feedback as delicate as it is wrenching. The record shines from start to finish, and closes the story of this band. That line, "Se divento un megafono m'incepperò", becomes the line that cannot be crossed: the group splits between those taking on ever more demanding future commitments — new albums, new concerts, books — and those who want a different pace, and perhaps different reasons, to keep playing. Zamboni and Ferretti part on bad terms. Now CCCP are truly finished; two posthumous live albums will still appear, adding and taking nothing away from what the band had already accomplished.

In 2001 Ferretti released a solo album (Co.Dex, 2000), which passed almost unnoticed, as did the debut under the new name Per Grazia Ricevuta (2002), a sort of CSI reunion minus Zamboni, shaped by electro-world sounds, produced by Hector Zazou and mixed by the seasoned Peter Walsh (also heard on "The Last Broadcast" by Doves). Ferretti had meanwhile won the hardest battle of all, beating the pleural cancer that had struck him. But everything suggests his artistic vein was by now on the wane.

Rekindling nostalgia for the golden years of CCCP-CSI is the live album Montesole, a recording of the concert held in memory of Don Dossetti on June 29, 2001 in the historic park of Montesole, which led to the reconstitution of CSI under the new guise of Per Grazia Ricevuta. The album (18 tracks, 72 minutes) features old CCCP songs, CSI songs, readings by Ferretti, and unreleased PGR material. All the tracks are stripped down, pared to the bone, slowed, stretched out, with no percussion or drums, played mostly with the help of piano and a healthy dose of electronic effects. The CSI songs benefit most from these rearrangements, especially the three tracks that open the record: "Guardali negli occhi", "Unità di produzione", "Cupe vampe". After this opening run, the album becomes more fragmentary and somewhat repetitive: too many interludes ("Libera me domine", "Veni Creator Spiritus") and a few songs that don't show their best side in watered-down form ("Morire", almost unrecognizable). Electronics are used heavily (and, with Hector Zazou's complicity, would take on an even bigger role on their studio album): in the reading of "La notte", by Elie Wiesel, Ferretti's voice is accompanied, and at times nearly drowned out, by techno sounds, while in "Unità di produzione" you can even hear Ferretti's vocals run through a vocoder. The unreleased tracks (recorded separately) are interesting: the shouted "P.C. – Popular Correct" wouldn't be out of place on a CCCP record; "1/365°" is a simple two-voice song accompanied only by piano.

More minor projects would follow, such as Ferretti's two collaborations — Initials: BCGLF (with Giorgio Barberio Corsetti, 2003) and the sacred-themed composition Litania (with Ambrogio Sparagna, 2004) — plus the new Per Grazia Ricevuta release, D'anime e d'animali (2004), which marks a return to the rock assaults of a few years earlier, albeit without the original verve.

Meanwhile, Ferretti would also embark on a brilliant literary career, publishing, among others, "Fedeli alla linea dai CCCP ai CSI" (with Massimo Zamboni and Alberto Campo), "Il libretto rozzo dei CCCP e CSI" (with Massimo Zamboni and Remo Bonazzi), and "In Mongolia in retromarcia" (with Massimo Zamboni).

Made up of the trio of stalwarts Giovanni Lindo Ferretti, Giorgio Canali and Gianni Maroccolo, PGR's final act, Latest news, is certainly not their swan song. Rather, after various departures (not least that of Ginevra Di Marco) and, above all, mediocre output (the self-titled album and D'anime d'animali, with the possible exception of the not-unworthy live album Montesole), it can be seen as a fitting final stop for the saga of Ferretti and company's last musical incarnation.

The content of "Ultime notizie" is made clear from the very packaging of the CD, which prefers to present itself as the work of the three surviving names rather than of the band-as-project. Indeed, the dreadful over-produced deja-vus built on electronics ("Cronaca montana", "Cronaca di guerra 1"), the new-age clichés ("Cronaca del ritorno", with a new rediscovery of the drum machine dating back to the CCCP days, and "Cronaca di guerra 2009"), and the singer's litanies ("Cronaca settimanale") fail to impress even the most hardened fan. The ending of "Cronaca Divina Te Deum" is just as surprising as Ferretti's pro-clerical, right-leaning statements.

Bringing back the emotions of the Cccp epic is the reunion of old friends organised by Zamboni to celebrate thirty years of Ortodossia. A project that reaches its peak in a live setting, where the voice of new singer Angela Baraldi rings out powerfully, while the guitars cut through the air with their piercing feedback. In a white shirt and black string tie à-la Patti Smith, the former detective of "Quo Vadis, Baby" unveils a surprising stage presence, jumping and dancing about with the fervour of a true-born frontwoman. But what's most striking is her voice: its qualities were already known from the early days of her long apprenticeship (she was discovered by Lucio Dalla in 1990, and has since worked with virtually every major name in Italian songwriting), but she has now taken on a strange, dark, almost masculine timbre that fits Ferretti's old songs unexpectedly yet perfectly. A transformation helped along, by her own account, by the tour with Giorgio Canali for the tribute project to Joy Division, which has now opened the doors to an intriguing artistic "second life".

CCCP became widely talked about again in 2023, when an exhibition was staged in Reggio Emilia, "Felicitazioni! CCCP – Fedeli alla Linea. 1984-2024", to mark the 40th anniversary of their debut. Among the many initiatives organised to commemorate one of the finest chapters in the history of Italian alternative rock were the reissue of the band's four albums and two EPs, and an anthology box set, Felicitazioni!, containing a double vinyl (also sold separately), a CD, a twenty-page booklet, postcards with rare images and previously unseen photos taken by Maestro Guido Harari. It is a chronological collection of eighteen CCCP tracks which, calling it a "greatest hits", might seem a bit of a stretch given how clandestinely these songs circulated at the time.

As part of the celebrations for their fortieth anniversary, CCCP have also put out a live album titled Anything but new, new, dating back to June 1983 and therefore predating even their first official releases from 1984 — making it, to all intents and purposes, the very first live recording by the Emilian outfit.

That dusty tape, which turned up from who-knows-where, has now become an official LP, though not before going through further misadventures. Rejected by one studio as unsalvageable, it was then handled and pieced together by another recording studio which, to everyone's great surprise, managed to pull off the miracle: bringing back to life — and, given the circumstances, even in decent quality — a historical document whose importance goes far beyond what these cold words on a page can convey.

The setlist includes a handful of gems that would go on to become true milestones of their career: from "Live in Pankow" to "Punk Islam", from "Militanz" to "Tu menti" and "Mi ami?", not to mention the self-titled "CCCP", "Sono come tu mi vuoi" and the illustrious "Emilia paranoica" — here in an even more hypnotic, drawn-out version compared to the already familiar arrangement — plus the jagged cover of DAF's "Kebab Träume".

Worth noting is the presence of a couple of previously unreleased tracks. There are exactly two, or two and a half if we count the almost total difference between "Sexy Soviet" (accusatory down to its very last mitochondrion) and the already mentioned "B.B.B.", which leans closer to new wave flavours.

The genuine exclusives are "Onde", used as background music along the exhibition route, and "Oi Oi Oi", two striking, highly communicative episodes that wouldn't have looked out of place on any official release: “I sogni del mattino/ Non hanno l’oro in bocca/ I sogni del mattino/ Non hanno in bocca l’oro/ I sogni sono schiuma/”.

It's reasonable to assume that this new release can't add anything especially revelatory to the already well-known, rock-solid body of work. Its importance lies, above all, in wishing a long life to the rediscovered CCCP, and in hoping they can remain forever true to their artistic and communicative stance.

The epic saga of CCCP-CSI marked a decisive chapter in the history of Italian rock. The entire domestic scene of the Nineties owes something to Ferretti and co. Theirs was a fundamental role, then, but not only in strictly musical terms. The Emilian band was, for a long time, the symbol of a musical counterculture, of an irreverent and merciless attack on "the system", one that carried the Italian "alternative" audience through two decades. And some of their classics — from "Curami" to "Emilia Paranoica", from "Annarella" to "Cupe Vampe" — remain among the greatest achievements of Italian rock.

From those seeds would sprout much of Italy's own alt-rock scene, one that would go on to define the Nineties in a decisive way. It's not hard to see, for instance, how much Emidio Clementi drew on Ferretti's declamatory force in forging the experience of Massimo Volume, or how the urgent, underground sounds of the Emilian band reshaped the instincts driving Italy's leading frontier acts, starting with Marlene Kuntz, whom CCCP themselves helped launch to success a few years later.

Contributions by Davide Bassi ("Montesole"), Michele Saran ("Latest news"), Claudio Lancia ("Felicitazioni!", conclusions), Cristiano Orlando ("Anything but new, new").

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