Giuni Russo - The Voice Held Captive by Italian Music

For a gift I want a harmonizer

with that trick that doubles my voice

(“Un’estate al mare”)

So, to begin with, let's clear up any doubt right away: whatever is said in the lyrics of “Un’estate al mare”, the inescapable summer earworm that, more than anything else, immortalized her name, there is actually no harmonizer or trick of any kind able to double or imitate her voice - that, instead, was a true gift, but to all of Italian music. Elegant and refined, cultured and light at the same time, a luxury outsider or a pop phenomenon as the occasion demanded, Giuni Russo was the folly of an evening at the beach or the missed opportunity, the love of youth or the regret of a lifetime. However you look at it, hers was a rare musical emotion, impossible to contain, almost as much as that accent of hers, so proudly marked, a fierce testament to a Sicilian identity carried high with every note, through a long journey of beauty and suffering.

Sicily, the beginnings and that promise

“I will not marry, the great love of my life will be art. I will study music, I will cultivate my voice, I will become a great singer.” This was the vow a stubborn Sicilian girl made to herself many years ago, while still darting through the alleys of Borgo Vecchio in Palermo, and there's no denying it: that's exactly how it turned out.

Giuseppa Romeo was born in Palermo, the second-to-last of ten children, on September 7, 1951. Her father Pietro, however, only managed to register her birth three days later, as he was understandably busy, at that very time, looking after the other children.

During her childhood she breathed in a great passion for singing and music in general at home — after all, jazz, classical and opera were part of everyday life in a family where her father, a fisherman, and her grandfather were both baritones, while her mother Rosa was a natural soprano. Even as a little girl she immediately set her mind on following in their footsteps, feeling entrusted with a precious legacy to safeguard, and well aware of a talent just as innate and special. In short, the path into art seemed already laid out for her in the cradle — what she didn't know yet, though, was that it would turn out to be an uphill climb, far more rugged than expected.

Still very young, she began seriously studying singing and composition, and in the meantime, at just ten or eleven years old, she took a job in an orangeade factory to pay for her music teacher, so as not to weigh too heavily on an already very tight household budget. She dreamed of Aretha Franklin and Maria Callas, her favourites, and usually liked to practise on the large terrace at home, the only refuge where she could isolate herself a little, sheltered from the chaos of a rather hectic household given the large number of family members. Little by little she began to refine vocal abilities that were becoming increasingly evident, so much so that at just thirteen she was already performing at the "Palchetto della Musica", the customary Sunday gathering held in the square in the centre of the Sicilian capital, just a few steps from the historic Teatro Politeama. The first important milestone came in 1967, when she entered and won the Festival di Castrocaro performing, in a duo with Ferrara-born Elio Gandolfi, Fausto Leali's "A chi". That earned her a rightful pass to the eighteenth edition of the Festival di Sanremo, held a few months later: it was 1968, and for the occasion she went by the name Giusy Romeo, singing "No amore", a song that was however rejected by the popular jury and failed to reach the final night. After all, the young singer was still a complete beginner, and it was inevitably too early to gauge her real worth. Columbia Records noticed her anyway, though, and decided to turn the song into what would remain her very first official single, "No amore/Amerai" (also distributed abroad, though neither track would ever appear on an official album except in a few posthumous compilations). Next came "L'onda" (music by Al Bano, this time she tried her luck at the Festivalbar and the Cantagiro), and "I primi minuti", the Italian-language version of her beloved Aretha Franklin's "I Say A Little Prayer". She celebrated her eighteenth birthday in Tokyo in 1969, during a short three-month tour around Japan, before landing in Milan, her future adoptive city, where she settled permanently.

I consider myself the luckiest person, and with endless gratitude I thank the Lord for giving me such a precious gift: having shared with Giuni more than thirty-five years of life and art.

(Maria Antonietta Sisini)

The Seventies, Milan, love is a woman

In the Lombard capital came the meeting of a lifetime, with Sardinian musician Maria Antonietta Sisini, who for over thirty-five years would remain her main point of reference, trusted friend and collaborator through and through. They met one evening that same year, when a small venue in the city organised a gathering of up-and-coming young talents. Giusy was trying to make her name as a singer, while Sisini at the time was an aspiring guitarist: the two met backstage and immediately formed a special, deep, unique bond, which would soon blossom into an artistic partnership of rare longevity and an intellectual symbiosis that proved unshakeable over time, despite fluctuating fortunes.

The long apprenticeship began in 1972, with Giusy trying to make ends meet however she could, first lending her voice to backing vocals for Adriano Celentano (on Molleggiato's album "I mali del secolo"), then collaborating with Italian prog group Il Balletto di Bronzo (hers is one of the whispered voices during the "Introduzione" on the album "Ys").

Some time later, in 1974, she landed a contract with German label BASF, who suggested she change her stage name to Junie Russo in an attempt to give her future output a certain international visibility — which is why Love Is A Woman, her official debut, was written entirely in English and released in 1975, preceded by a single, "Milk Of Paradise", which marked the start of a prolonged English-language period in this early phase of her career. It wasn't the easiest launching pad, but she had to try diving in somehow. Light and jazzy in feel, the album also featured trumpeter Enrico Rava and African-American bassist Michael Logan, alongside Italian pianist Giorgio Sabelli (known as "Cabildo"), while the lyrics were split between her trusted collaborator Maria Antonietta Sisini and Tuscan writer/lyricist Donata Giachini.

Worth highlighting are the delicate "Give Me One Reason", "I've Drunk My Dream" (the B-side of the lead single) and the more touching "Carol" (a tribute to a friend who had recently died of a drug overdose). But between ambition and reality the gap was still vast. This first outing, in fact, failed to make the hoped-for impact with audiences and critics, poorly promoted and still too raw to generate the attention it deserved, so the label, given the weak sales, decided to pull it from the market after pressing only a handful of copies — today a collector's item.

In short, a false start, but by the end of the year she tried again with two more singles which, despite good intentions, once again missed the mark: the first, "Everything Is Gonna Be Alright", is a cover of P.P. Arnold (though the song's original version actually dates back to 1965, when it was released by American soul singer Dee Dee Warwick under the title "We're Doing Fine"); the second, "In trappola", also soon forgotten, is notable for the return to her native language and kicked off a recurring partnership with Cristiano Malgioglio, a seasoned artist/lyricist who a few months later would also write "Mai/Che mi succede adesso" (1976) for her — released by Durium, it was the last official release under the name Junie, as from then on the spelling would be Italianised into the more practical Giuni, to avoid confusion and mispronunciation, especially among Italian audiences.

Under this new and definitive stage name, Giuni Russo made her first attempt at a relaunch in 1978 with the song "Soli noi" (again written by Malgioglio), which this time earned a fair number of TV appearances and caught particular attention in France, so much so that she was even offered the chance to try her luck across the Alps, where she could count on a certain goodwill from the local audience, who had already come to know her back at Sanremo '68 ("No amore", in fact, had been performed together with French guitarist Sacha Distel, well known back home mostly for being Brigitte Bardot's boyfriend). But the singer, burned by her previous disappointing experiences, remained wary of this new opportunity and quite demoralised, almost reluctant to carry on, to the point that she now even considered quitting the scene altogether to devote herself to a more low-key role, as a composer/co-writer working behind the scenes for other artists, Italian and otherwise, regardless of age or musical genre.

Several songs for various other performers were thus born, to which Giuni contributed in various capacities: some went largely unnoticed, others fared better, but all are at least worth a mention. For Filipponio, for instance, she and Sisini wrote the music for "Che presuntuoso questo cuore" and "Non è un'ora" (1979, both can be found on the album "Diventi amore"), and she also lent her voice to the backing vocals on "Partire oltre amore" (1980, album "Sensazioni precise", again by the same Milanese singer-songwriter), while on Amanda Lear's self-pleasuring divertissement "Ho fatto l'amore con me" she helped finalise the lyrics once more alongside Malgioglio, the main author (from that point on their paths would part for good, after having previously co-written "Selvaggio" for Iva Zanicchi and "Triangolo d'amore" for Rita Pavone).

Among the curios of the period is her cry of "Colore sempre vivo… Philips!" for a famous TV commercial — a little gem of Italian pop folklore. Major success, at least in commercial terms, however, remained a mirage, but Giuni was not at all bothered by this — if anything, to be clear, that was never her priority, nor would it ever be. Sisini, on the other hand, remained convinced she was handling an unexpressed, untapped potential, one it would be a mortal sin to relegate to marginal roles as a mere non-leading extra, regardless of any sales-driven calculations. So, determined to leave nothing untried, she pushed her to record further demos, which this time would open up a new horizon within their already broad artistic landscape.

Meeting Franco Battiato: enter Energie and gli ombrelloni

A direct line opened up with Alberto Radius, who was struck and quite intrigued by their partnership. The Roman producer/guitarist first championed, with Cgd, a now-forgotten "American Man" (written by both of them, though the demo was turned down even after a mild show of interest from the label), then invited them into the inner circle of maestro Franco Battiato, around whom, in those very days, not only the epoch-making "His Master's Voice" or "L'arca di Noè" were about to come to life, but also a number of interesting projects aimed at a niche audience ahead of its time by the musical standards of the period — such as the launch of Alice ("Per Elisa" or "Il vento caldo dell'estate") and Sibilla (at Sanremo '83 with "Oppio"), several works by Juri Camisasca or by Radius himself, or even a couple of Milva albums, just to name a few (in the song "La passione secondo Milva", incidentally, you can also make out a brief high note from Russo).

Here the discourse changes radically: the Catania-born patron is an unrivalled idea factory, and immediately grasps how to draw out the best from his talented fellow Sicilian artist, so in no time at all he tailors songs for her that fit perfectly both her standard as an unconventional, highly original artist never beholden to the market's demands, and the pleasure of a wider audience - a factor that nonetheless had to be taken into account.

I was struck by her extraordinary voice, the vitality with which she sang, her vocal power that went hand in hand with her musical sensitivity.

(Franco Battiato)

Energie was released in 1981; it's her second official studio album (the first under the name Giuni Russo) and remains to this day the one most praised by both audiences and critics, the summa of a rare communion of intent and an all-round visionary project, best described by the Palermo-born artist herself in one of her most significant interviews: "Energie... perhaps I can still say it's part of my future, because it was a truly exceptional album. There are songs on that album that, even now when I sing them, I enjoy enormously, and I think it's the album most representative of me."

Enter short hair, big dark glasses and improbable military-style uniforms, hit-parade kitsch and experimental pop, highbrow intellectualism and much more besides. A unique, revolutionary design, an ideal handbook for a country trying to change pace on multiple fronts, musically and otherwise. "Lettera al governatore della Libia", for instance, is a majestic, driving overture of martial lyricism, carved out between synths and violins. Notably, compared to the original text (cf. Battiato's "Giubbe Rosse", 1989), Russo chooses to drop the line “lo sai/ che quell’idiota/ di Graziani/ farà una brutta fine”, fearing she might offend her colleague Ivan (in reality Battiato was ironically referring to the near-namesake Rodolfo, the general who led the colonial expeditions of the Mussolini era). "Il sole di Austerlitz", the second track on the album, is instead a ballad suspended between novel and historical document, tracing more or less the same soldierly rituals (this time, however, drawing on Napoleonic inspiration) and unfolding over a measured, cadenced gait in the style of "Prospettiva Nevskij" - again staying within the Battiato household (who here perfects an unreleased "Bulgarian Song" of his own, never published and performed only in a handful of live shows from 1980-81).

But the album also opens onto a vision beyond Italy's borders, less restrictive in scope: the usual suspects (Battiato, Sisini, Radius, Giusto Pio, Messina) create a working team more cohesive and in sync than ever, of which "Crisi metropolitana" is nothing less than the apotheosis - an irresistible musical bladerunner built from punk jolts and new-cool hysteria, driving electronics and Yma Sumac-style vocal virtuosity, all sublimated by a Russo who here delivers a masterclass performance, finally free to unleash the full range of her miraculous vocal qualities (almost five octaves of range!) that had inexplicably been kept caged for so long. "L'addio", aching and melancholy, is instead an intimate, autobiographically tinged symphony, while "Atmosfera" is described by Russo herself as "a romance of today" - in this case, though, written for the benefit of someone forced to leave their own home, perhaps in search of better fortune elsewhere, as suggested by the lines “scrivi ai tuoi parenti/ che non vuoi tornare/ …cos’hai fatto ieri?/ come va in Italy?”. Next comes "Una vipera sarò", another standout of her repertoire, this time carved out to a tango rhythm, released as a single (though only for the German market, not the Italian one) and delivering yet another album highlight, between astonishingly skilled vocal trills and echoes from the Land of the Rising Sun (the "trifonie dei mongoli" mentioned in the lyrics, namely "Anata wa, anata to, futari, anata wa", are actually Japanese syllables roughly translatable as "You, with you, the two of us, you...". Eastern terrain being explored in those same days by her friend Rettore too, in her "Kamikaze Rock'n'Roll Suicide").

The circle closes with "L'attesa", a melodramatic, minimalist elegy with a sumptuous final crescendo, and the more playful "Tappeto volante", b-side of the single "Una vipera sarò" and the final brushstroke on a painting never so vivid and meticulous, dynamic and cohesive at once, which to this day remains one of the finest frescoes of the Italian scene of that period (and beyond).

Thanks to Energie, Russo finally achieves a measure of popularity; her androgynous allure and abundant charisma thrust her into the spotlight, and so, together with her team, she embarks on a long promotional tour for the album, shuttling between radio stations and TV appearances. By the end of it, though, the Maestro's tireless pen is still hot: within a few months, in 1982, he writes her another song, "Un'estate al mare", recorded as a 7-inch single and destined to remain her biggest chart success ever, as well as a fixture in the upper reaches of the Top Ten from 7 August to 20 November of that same year. The performance is yet another anthology-worthy feat, courtesy of a voice able to rise, with disarming ease, from the low tones of the verses all the way up to literally the height of seagulls (yes, what you hear isn't actually birdsong but the singer's high notes at their most extreme), for a wonderfully original blend of beach twist and bold experimentation, 60s yé-yé and loopy new wave.

Its B-side, "Bing Bang Being", is another summer jukebox coin, and both tracks would later be tacked onto the subsequent CD reissue of Energie. The real problem, though, is that the whole beach-umbrella business was meant to be just a passing interlude, but it turns out to be a double-edged sword, and Russo finds herself trapped in a seaside cliché she'd gladly do without. This puts her on a collision course with her label Cgd, whose behind-the-scenes mastermind, Caterina Caselli, riding the wave of this success, seems more interested in keeping the hit-friendly train running than in honouring the artist's real intentions. In short, if from a commercial standpoint Battiato can be called a godsend, from another angle he could jokingly be called the one who, more than anyone else, helped land her in trouble.

Eighties, August evenings and Mediterranean passion

In any case, despite mutual resentment and an initial veto from the label, between February and March 1983 Vox was recorded, once again at Radius's Milan studios, and it's another towering achievement. It's the second LP released under the name Giuni Russo, crafted by the same entourage behind Energie, who still leave a strong, clearly recognisable mark on the lyrics and arrangements - this time, however, tailored to a sparer, less imaginative score. But in terms of ingenuity and creativity, the quality remains undiminished. Once again the fabric of the record is woven from constant rhythmic exploration and (un)usual vocal acrobatics, each one jaw-dropping for the disarming ease with which they're executed. This is something of the leitmotif running through the whole tracklist, best appreciated in the fierce, march-time operetta "Post moderno", or in the bold, haughty synth-pop of "Oltre il muro", which spells out cryptic, autobiographical lines ("il muro salterò/ un canto ipnotico sarò"). These are the two best tracks on an album where the refined tango "Buenos Aires" and the quasi-Socratic ethnic touches of "L'oracolo di Delfi" sit at opposite extremes - geographically and otherwise - of a stylistic choice that is nothing if not eclectic and varied, one that inevitably also runs through simple, lightning-quick pop melodies: standing out among these are "Abbronzate dai miraggi", another major piece that sets to music the landscapes, customs and female traditions of her homeland, and the more intense, sophisticated "Sere d'agosto" (both steeped in a subtle veil of melancholy; the latter was performed at Festivalbar on the label's orders and took home the event's Special Prize).

The more straightforward "Good Good Bye", the lead single, and "Le grandi colpe" (music by Roberto Cacciapaglia) seal an album warmly received by both audiences and critics, but inexplicably given little promotion by Cgd, who from then on would view the artistic affairs of the Russo household with growing ostracism and ever greater detachment. Such as when, just a couple of years later, the Palermo-born singer already had her bags packed for Sanremo, only to be forced into an eleventh-hour U-turn by a ruthless label decision to bet everything instead on Patty Pravo, who had just returned to the scene after a few years of silence and had recently been signed.

Yet another setback and the deep misunderstandings do not, however, prevent the release of Mediterranea (April 1984), another delicate, precious overall vision of a total artistic conception, ranging from the "summer madrigal" "Ciao" to the familiar meta-tango "Una sera molto strana", from the disorienting "Demential Song" - an eloquent title for a hit outside the norm - to personal reinterpretations of classics of Italian song, such as "Aprite le finestre" (with a vintage Platinette on backing vocals) and "Limonata cha cha cha" - not all of them perfectly realised, but always united by first-rate vocal performances ("Keiko" is also a reworking, drawing on the more obscure "Incacho" by Yma Sumac).

Priceless are "Le contrade di Madrid", a slow, seductive parade of memories from a stay of hers in Spain, and the more sensual title track "Mediterranea" ("il mormorio della gente... portami via da qui"), a musical fuitina enjoyed away from prying eyes but caught red-handed by fans, for whom it has always been one of her most beloved songs. As it was for Giuni herself, who would have liked it to be the lead single - though once again it fell victim to Caselli's unforgivable axe, who preferred the more fleeting "Limonata cha cha cha" instead.

The directive is once again reluctantly accepted by the Palermo-born singer, who in response slaps down an anthology-worthy performance in the subsequent promotional live show of 10 September 1984 (broadcast live on AntennaTre from the studios of the TV programme "Effetto Concerto"; it can now be found in the posthumous box set "Mediterranea Tour", released in 2005).

Total dissociation.

Alghero, adrenaline, at Giuni Russo's home

The disagreements and ongoing clashes only heighten the tension in the studio, to the point that “at one point I was forced to act as a go-between for her and the record company,” recalls Franco Battiato. But his intercession, however authoritative, won't be enough to calm the waters: later on, the dispute will drag into legal territory. Giuni, in fact, besides her voice, is also known for a difficult temperament — moody, irritable, changeable — and she has no intention of compromising, so it's only a matter of time before things come to a head. She and Sisini are working with undimmed enthusiasm and great sacrifice on a new project, which Cgd once again relegates to the margins, more inclined to treat it as a mid-July throwaway than to showcase it among the autumn releases, where it would be far easier to catch people's attention. All this, it should be said, not for the sake of boosting sales, but, at least in the two women's intentions, purely out of a commitment to artistic expression. At this point the break is total, and it comes down to an ultimatum: she is presented with an official document to sign that amounts to a kind of “retirement from the music scene.” But Giuni holds the upper hand, since she could in turn invoke a contract signed back in 1981. In the end, the whole affair is settled with a release agreement that dissolves their relationship, to the satisfaction of both parties.

Free from obligations and formal commitments, Russo first takes part in the “Aid For Aids” gala evening, held on 20 November 1985 at the Teatro Ciak in Milan (a charity fundraiser for the fight against AIDS, also supported by Eva Robin's, Loredana Bertè, Righeira, Bruno Lauzi and many others), after which she is free to sign with whoever she likes. Among the few labels still interested in her — let's call them — “artistic whims,” she chooses to tie herself to the small Bubble Records/Cinevox (part of the Ricordi group), which, technically speaking, cannot guarantee her the costly, wide-reaching distribution of a giant like Cgd, given a completely different company policy geared mostly toward soundtracks, with only the rare, sporadic foray into pop music (Tony Esposito or Eugenio Bennato).

The change of production, however, doesn't compromise the quality of the self-titled Giuni, finally released in 1986, which gathers in full all the material left in limbo for about a year — the very material that had sparked the querelle with her previous label. It's still a convincing, inspired album: this time the lyrics and music are the exclusive work of the Russo-Sisini duo, and they don't pay any toll to the post-Battiato generational shift. It naturally opens with “Alghero,” which in the collective imagination is probably second only to “Un'estate al mare”: in this case, though, the success and popularity achieved are the result of a gradual climb rather than an instant hit. The single, in fact, generates only moderate interest on release, but repeated radio and TV exposure (for instance on Festivalbar or Vota La Voce) will turn it, over time, into an Eighties evergreen, thanks to its catchy, irresistible hook and a lively sax (Emanuele Cisi) underscoring the verses. The lyrics hint at a love affair still to be consummated on the beach (“mia madre non lo deve sapere che voglio andare ad Alghero in compagnia di uno straniero…”), while the compositional spark came on one of the many Rome-Alghero flights the singer took in 1984, when, between breaks from her many commitments, she was shuttling back and forth to support her friend Maria Antonietta, who at the time was keeping vigil at her dying mother's bedside.

Besides “Alghero,” though, there's plenty more to hear, such as “I ragazzi del sole,” a genuine display of class, once again built on her wholly original and personal lyrical/art-pop model, here laid out over rather spare arrangements, as are “Europa” and “Con te,” two neat little exercises in style, if less eye-catching. “Piove piove,“ on the other hand, is an energetic, clawing near-rock number, delivered with the same bold attitude as Loredana Bertè, further proof of a chameleon-like, shape-shifting voice that never gets caught off guard, not even by the most sudden change of costume. Among the most evocative tracks on the album, and indeed in her whole catalogue, is “Sogno d'Oriente,” which moves between wave keyboards and exotic fascinations, with backing vocals (here as throughout the record) from the Pumitrozzole, a veteran, openly gay Italian theatre collective very active on the underground scene of the late Seventies (in this case, the voices belong to Platinette and Flavio Merkel).

The more on-the-nose “Occhiali colorati” and “Glamour,” on the other hand, aim — as their titles already suggest — to mock the emptiness of values in contemporary society, devoted chiefly to a fleeting, surface-level hedonism. This is the dominant theme of the tracklist, summed up even better in “Illusione,” a delightful little theatrical sketch barely two minutes long and a true gem of the album (it reworks “Clamor,” an older song once again by the Peruvian Yma Sumac).

⟦Q1⟧

⟦Q2⟧

⟦Q3⟧

⟦Q4⟧

(Giuni Russo)

A few simple lines that could perhaps also be read as a wry metaphor for her restless, elusive career, always just one step away from recognition yet never fully appreciated.

Her relationship with Bubble Record is renewed on the following Albums, from 1987; this time the main attraction is the aptly titled “Adrenalina,” sung as a duet with Donatella Rettore, who agrees to play along after some initial hesitation. The two are, in fact, seemingly opposite personalities: Giuni, a woman of the South, stubborn and proud, pursues her ambitions always with one foot on the stage and the other firmly planted on the ground; in her personal baggage there are plenty of dreams and little of the diva's restlessness, a legacy of her childhood and a long apprenticeship that saw her grow gradually, passing when necessary through the far thornier business of living and the art of getting by. Rettore, by contrast, more rebellious and transgressive, is a loose cannon and a thoroughly sui generis figure on the Italian scene of the time: flamboyant, blunt, risqué, but also sharp. The result is a delightful little skit and a sparkling hit, launched with modest success at “Un disco per l'estate” and “Saint Vincent.”

Coming back to Albums, it's the usual stylistic pastiche, this time a touch more mannered and affected than usual, but Russo's vocals, still in splendid form, manage to distract from a few minor creative shortfalls. “Ragazzi al Luna Park,” for instance, is an altogether forgettable lead single (the acoustic-guitar incipit is a rare occurrence in her repertoire), as is its B-side “Mango, Papaja,” a reggae-pop number less juicy than its title suggests. The quality rises considerably, however, with “Inverno a Sarajevo,” much closer to her usual compositional standards, and above all “I Giardini di Eros,” embellished with another heavenly chorus. The rest of the tracklist (“Alla Luna,” “Venere Ciprea,” “Il canto di Lillà”) follows the same path, somewhere between poetry, rhetoric and sudden flashes of inspiration.

Even with its ups and downs, Albums still marks an important chapter in her career, as it can be considered the first crucial step in her gradual, irreversible drift away from the mainstream scene — which, paradoxically, became her most coveted goal. The following At Ida Rubinstein's House, released in November 1988, is in fact a sort of homecoming, first and foremost for Russo herself, tired of treading stages she never really felt were hers and finally free to devote herself to what she loved most.

I wanted to grow, to move forward. So I thought a little about myself, I turned to chamber arias, I changed direction… That record had jazz influences, classical music and even blues (I fall for it vocally sometimes, because I've always loved it). As far as I know, that was the first record in Italy of borderline music.

(Giuni Russo)

These were the reasons behind the abrupt yet long-awaited change of direction, and indeed this is truly the first Italian example of so-called "border music," a universal crossroads of genres and cross-contamination that would be echoed by many other artists throughout the Nineties.

In 1988, however, at the time of the release of At Ida Rubinstein's House, we're talking about an experiment still unheard of in Italy, one that combines her innate passion for opera, jazz, classical and chamber music all at once. If already before only a few had been willing to offer her a contract, for this album there's truly no one prepared to cover the production costs — except that, at the last minute, her friend Battiato comes to the rescue, personally stepping in and having it distributed through L'Ottava, his own sub-label under the Emi group.

The album doesn't get the attention it deserves, and that's a real shame, because although the repertoire is unmistakably auteur-driven, it still lends itself to an easier listen than its aristocratic format and démodé appearance might suggest.

The idea is to reinterpret, in a personal key, famous nineteenth-century arias by Bellini, Verdi and Donizetti, reworked specifically by conductor Alessandro Nidi and musician Martino Traversa. The two craft a light, crystalline score, both dreamlike and crepuscular at once, one that evades any possible categorization. It ranges, for instance, from the blues-jazzy sonorities of "La zingara" and "A mezzanotte" to the stornello-like "Me voglio fa' na casa," all the way to the light, intangible poetry of "Fenesta che lucive," which digs into the most hidden emotional recesses. And so on, through "Vanne, o rosa fortunata," "Nell'orror di notte oscura" and "Malinconia, ninfa gentile," all reconstructions of classical scores renewed through electronic arrangements. The sole common thread is the singer's clear, transparent voice, an extremely thin sonic isthmus connecting the most disparate musical continents, here the ideal crossing point between late Romanticism and modernity, folk culture and echoes from the past, deserted wastelands and still-unexplored territories. In short, a fine but never snobbish drawing-room gramophone record, true to the nature of an artist of undeniably superior calibre who was nevertheless never arrogant in intent, her gaze always turned first and foremost toward ordinary people.

The album's release is followed by a tour that sees her performing with prestigious opera houses and cultural associations, including the renowned Pomeriggi Musicali. In 1990 her first compilation, Le più belle canzoni, is released by Cgd, bringing her main hits from the Eighties back onto the market. But beware: this is not a conciliatory gesture, but rather yet another slight inflicted on her by her former record label, which, leaning on certain legal loopholes, denies her the royalties from the album.

Giuni, however, couldn't care less, by this point she doesn't even notice anymore, and she carries on down her own path. So in 1992 comes Amala, another best-of that this time contains two new tracks, the first to see the light after roughly four years of recording silence: namely the title track itself, which contains several references to Tolstoy while flirting with an Arabic-tinged world music, and "Alla spiaggia dell'amore," with a view of the picturesque, heart-shaped beach of Portobello di Aglientu, in Sardinia, to which the song is dedicated. The same year she improvises a solo-voice cameo called "Black Image" (written by Enrico Riccardi), which can be found on the soundtrack of "Extralarge," the TV series starring Bud Spencer.

The path toward faith, his figure, Borges

During the early Nineties the Sicilian singer embarks on a long journey of inner searching that leads her to embrace a profound religiosity, thanks to which, later on, she would be able to face the terrible days of her illness with great dignity and inner peace. During this period of her life she reads a great deal, takes an interest in theosophy and esotericism, rediscovers Hermes Trismegistus and the Emerald Tablet, the Eastern mystics and much more besides. But it is above all sacred texts that accompany her on this contemplative, ascetic path, undertaken hand in hand once again with her alter ego Sisini. She is deeply struck by Saint Ignatius of Loyola's "Spiritual Exercises," to the point that she wants to put them into practice, so the two women travel to a monastery in San Sepolcro, near Arezzo, where they are introduced and initiated by a Jesuit priest. In the library of that same convent she also comes into contact with the writings of Saint Teresa of Ávila, founder of the Carmelite order, whose biography "Fuoco di Castiglia" would play a decisive role in bringing her closer to the Christian faith.

I felt the need to undertake a spiritual journey, until I came across the writings of Teresa of Ávila, who captured my heart. She helped me seek God and find Him. Teresa of Ávila says things that only those who read her can understand, as does John of the Cross, whom I quote on the album. I remain a singer, and I don't use my spirituality for business purposes.

(Giuni Russo)

The album in question is Se fossi più simpatica sarei meno antipatica, released in 1994, which gathers what had been sown over this intense period of reflection. The album's title (promoted by an eponymous single) borrows a line from Ettore Petrolini's "Fortunello," and is a clear jab aimed at the record industry and at all those who, over the years, had repeatedly tried to rein in her artistic drive and creative impulses. From this point on, none of her songs should be understood as a mere "vocal performance" anymore, but as a genuine stage on which to hold forth on music, literature, theatre or religion. "Il vento folle," for instance, is drawn from the book "Prima dell'alba" by the French writer and mystic Henri Thomasson, who had previously already written the lyrics for Russo's own "Bing Bang Being" (as well as "Clamori," "Chanson Egocentrique" and other famous Battiato songs, Battiato being one of the leading disciples of his school of thought), while "Oceano d'amore" is inspired by a woodcut by the psychologist/Sufi Gabriele Mandel, originally titled "Pesce, anima, oceano."

The more intimate "Niente senza di te" is a tender childhood reflection addressed to her homeland ("I always dream of my island, at my father's house down there, broom and oleander in the courtyard, the sea from the window"), as is "Strade parallele (Aria siciliana)," written entirely in dialect and performed as a duet once again with Battiato. Special mention goes to "La sposa" and "La sua figura," two of the songs Giuni loved most: the former is performed together with the choir of the Discalced Carmelites of the Monastery of Milan and draws on passages from the Old Testament (the Book of Sirach, In Praise of Wisdom), while the latter takes a line from a poem by Saint John of the Cross ("Sai che la sofferenza d'amore non si cura/ se non con la presenza della sua figura") around which a lyric was built that she had wanted (and was meant) to enter at Sanremo that same year. Although it passed every round of selection, the song was ultimately rejected by the committee in charge, without much explanation. "What was I supposed to think? I understand, they want something else. A shame. It's a constant in my artistic life: every time I've tried to rise above, I've ended up at odds with everyone." The bitterness was considerable, but Giuni takes it in stride and moves on.

They wanted a radio-friendly little tune, I told them I have no little tunes tucked away and I'm not looking for any. If I have to go hungry rather than give in to compromise, then I will. That's my strength: having neither a husband nor children to think about, I can live on little. And so I allow myself the luxury — because by now it is a luxury — of being a free artist.

(Giuni Russo)

At this point she performs on two consecutive occasions at the Premio Tenco, where she pays tribute to the unforgettable Piedmontese singer-songwriter first with her own personal version of "Ciao, amore, ciao," reworked by Battiato, and then with a few pieces from his repertoire, among which a moving "La barca degli amanti," performed alongside the Portuguese artist Sergio Godinho, deserves special mention. Although many of her songs aren't exactly what one would call radio-friendly, the Palermo-born singer continues to be greatly admired and her presence much sought after, hence her numerous television appearances during this period. It's impossible to list them all, but two stand out above the rest: "Viva Napoli," aired on Rete 4, where she performs Renato Carosone's "Maruzzella," and "Il Boom," a show about the 1950s broadcast on Canale 5, where she appears performing the classic "Johnny Guitar" by Peggy Lee.

1997 is a particularly intense year: she first performs in Rome, at the invitation of mayor Rutelli, during an evening marking the start of restoration and renovation works on the Fori Imperiali ahead of the 2000 Jubilee (alongside José Carreras, Avion Travel and many others), and then sets to work on a new album, which however will never see the light of day. It was meant to be called "Gelsomini d’Arabia", but it was never released due to disagreements – inevitably – with her new record label, in this case Nar International.

Two songs from that original project do survive, though: "Gabbiani" and "Fonti mobili", which can be found on the posthumous album Cercati in me (a 2008 compilation that includes these and other unreleased tracks from the same period). Also in 1997, at the Church of Santa Maria dello Spasimo in Palermo, "Verba Tango" is staged, a show of contemporary music and poetry dedicated to the writer Jorge Luis Borges, who was born in Buenos Aires in a historic neighbourhood that happens to be called Palermo too. Fragments of the Argentine author's stories and writings are recited, and for the occasion Russo (together with actor Giorgio Albertazzi, who curated the event) creates the previously unreleased "Borgestetica", sung entirely in Spanish.

The following year, 1998, brings the release of the live album Captive Voice, which celebrates her first thirty years in the business in the best possible way, with a special dedication. It can be read inside the cover, and reads: "To Maria Antonietta Sisini… I dedicate this, my first live album, to you, for your irreplaceable friendship and your great patience. Thank you. Giuni". As for the title, the Sicilian singer explains: "I liked it because I put myself in prison, in the sense of the choice I made. It's ironic, but a prison can also turn you into a diamond shining beyond the bars. Inside prison, suffering can renew you. Something negative can yield gold. Flowers grow everywhere, even in prison, or in the mud. That's the humus from which wonderful things can grow".

The album's tracklist draws heavily on At Ida Rubinstein's House, a deliberate choice made precisely "to satisfy those who kept asking me for that record, which today is impossible to find. The labels don't want to reissue it, yet the audience keeps asking me for it...". Also worth noting are two fine interpretations of Battiato's "Il re del mondo" and "Nomadi", often sung live during her concerts but never recorded in the studio – with a small clarification needed regarding the latter, "Nomadi": it had originally been written specifically for her by Juri Camisasca, but the label didn't like the idea, so nothing came of it; it was Russo herself who then suggested it to Alice, who included it on her successful 1986 album "Park Hotel" (later Battiato himself would also record a version, on "Fisiognomica" in 1988).

Carmelite love, Naples, farewell

Giuni Russo's toughest battle begins in 1999, when she is diagnosed with cancer, but even this time she will fight with courage, never losing heart. She finds strength at the Monastery of the Discalced Carmelites, of which she becomes a "sister" in every respect, though without ever taking vows. It is located in Milan, on Via Marcantonio Colonna, and it's here that she chooses to face those difficult days, amid seclusion, quiet and meditation. "At first she called to get the exact text of the poem 'Desiderio del cielo di Santa Teresa', which later gave rise to the song 'Moro perché non moro', which she insisted everyone listen to" – so recalls Mother Emanuela, prioress of the convent, who continues: "She was very private, but she sought what was essential, and had a spirituality akin to that of Carmel: intense, genuine, open to others, as well as feminine and modern. One day she said exactly this: 'I am in love with Jesus', and it was that love that sustained her through her illness. Then she added that if the Lord granted her more years, she would spend them as well as she could; otherwise, His will be done". And the Lord listens to her, granting her a few more years, which Giuni spends just as she pleases – that is, continuing to work tirelessly and make plans, despite the atrocious pain and physical suffering (and not only physical). She undergoes continuous rounds of chemotherapy at the hospital in Bergamo, tries to keep the news from spreading (except to her closest loved ones), and in the meantime appears as a guest on several TV documentary programmes, where, through interviews and archive footage, her entire human and artistic story is retraced (most notably "Cocktail d'amore", broadcast on RaiDue and hosted by Amanda Lear, and "Testarda io", presented on Rete 4 by her friend and colleague Iva Zanicchi).

Then, in 2002, she releases a new live album with a telling title, Signorina Romeo Live – three simple words that alone sum up a life lived exactly as she wanted, and which, right at the hardest moment, bring to fruition that old childhood dream of hers. "Signorina by choice, Romeo for the strength I have. I find a title like that amusing, that's all, there's nothing contrived about it. I like the irony of 'the signorina Romeo', and I'm a very ironic person. It bothers me when people say that the 'signorina' no longer exists today, that there's only the 'signora'. Where exactly? I don't agree at all. The hysteria of the signorina is ironic – please, don't take my 'signorina' away from me!"

Unlike the earlier Captive Voice, this time a good number of previously unreleased tracks are also selected, drawn from various concerts of the 1996-2000 period. The tracklist opens with "J'entend siffler le train", a cover of a song originally made famous in the Sixties by French singer Richard Anthony, here offered instead as an elegant, melancholy duet with her friend Battiato. Originally performed during a concert held in Catania in 1996, the successful vocal interplay/contrast between the two makes for one of their finest live performances as a duo, full stop. "Il Carmelo di Echt" (originally written by Juri Camisasca), on the other hand, is marked by a quiet pace that borders on the surreal given the gravity of its subject: it tells the story of Edith Stein, a Jewish philosopher who converted to Catholicism (taking the name Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross) and took refuge first at the Carmel of Echt in the Netherlands, before being deported to Auschwitz and murdered by the Nazis in 1942 along with her sister. Then come two further covers, "Un'anima fra le mani" (a version of "Un'anima pura" by Cuban singer Don Marino Barreto Jr., previously performed, incidentally, by a very young Mina on the day of her public debut in 1958, at the Bussola in Viareggio) and "Ciao amore", once again a tribute to Luigi Tenco.

There are many previously unreleased tracks, with lyrics drawn from sacred readings; it's no coincidence that most of the recordings took place in places of worship, such as the Basilica of San Lorenzo or the Church of Sant'Eufemia, both in Milan. Among them is the Catholic Christmas carol "Adeste fideles", "Nada te turbe" (once again inspired by a work by Saint Teresa of Ávila), and "O vos omnes", which reworks a biblical quatrain drawn from the Lamentations of Jeremiah (I,12). "Vieni", meanwhile, quotes verses by the Persian mystic master Jalal al-Din Rumi, while "Sakura" is a traditional Japanese song that Russo had learned by heart as far back as 1969, during her first tour of the Land of the Rising Sun (the lyrics speak of the blossoming of cherry trees that occurs every spring, as a metaphor for rebirth and a hymn to life). Closing the circle are "La sua figura", "La sposa", "Nomadi" and "Il re del mondo", all already mentioned in connection with previous records.

Signorina Romeo Live serves as a prelude to her moving appearance at the 2003 Sanremo Festival, where the singer returns after a good thirty-five years' absence. "I wanted to go no matter what", she recounts in one of her last interviews. "I was absolutely furious – I'm dying and I haven't crowned my career the way I wanted, so I went to Rome and asked Pippo Baudo, who was the artistic director, to give me the chance to present a song to the jury. He didn't know it, but it was the very same song that had been blocked twice before. Baudo knew about my health condition, but I didn't tell the others anything – it wouldn't have been right to compete while ill". The song she's referring to is "I'll Die of Love", written several years earlier together with Maria Antonietta Sisini and Vania Magelli, with which she places seventh but still receives the award for best arrangement (handled by Franco Battiato and Roberto Colombo, with strings by Stefano Barzan). It's an intense, deeply affecting performance that will long remain etched in people's hearts: for the occasion, she takes the Ariston stage pale and bald, an unmistakable sign of the illness devouring her. Her face hollowed by suffering, her head decorated with henna arabesques, yet also full of pride, dignity, and the incredible strength to joke about it: "I'm sick of wasting time at the hairdresser's, I'd rather devote myself to my voice!" A real moral slap in the face to the record executives and to all those who had tried to stand in her way.

The illness even brings her to reconcile with Caselli, about whom she had said shortly before: "Logically, I should hate her, yet today I know I have to thank her, because it was the pain she caused me that pushed me down the road of inner searching". The song (with lyrics by Teresa of Ávila and John of the Cross) can be found on the album of the same name, I'll Die of Love, released a few weeks later on 7 March 2003, which also contains three other previously unreleased tracks: "Una rosa è una rosa", "Amore intenso" (described by her as "a meditation, experienced and sung") and "Moro perché non moro" (one of her most heartfelt performances, which, as already mentioned, is drawn from the poem "Desiderio del cielo" by Teresa of Ávila, written by the Saint right after an ecstatic vision in which the Virgin Mary appeared to her). The rest largely revisits much of the earlier Signorina Romeo Live, aside from a few small changes to the tracklist.

Less than a month goes by before Nar releases a new compilation titled Irradiazioni, in an attempt to ride the emotional wave following the Festival: it includes the fine unreleased track "Voice That Screams", but this LP should not be considered part of the singer's official discography, as she publicly disowns it, stating she doesn't even like the title.

On 1 September 2003 she performs the Neapolitan classic "Marechiaro" for the programme "Napoli prima e dopo", broadcast on RaiUno: it is her very last television appearance, coming just a few months before the release of the album Demo De Midi, in November of that same year. The title plays on that of the novel "Le Demon de Midi" by French writer Paul Bourget, and is in fact a collection of demos, unreleased recordings cut (and never published) around the turn of the Eighties and Nineties, as the artist points out with her usual irony in a note of thanks that can be read inside the cover: "It is with pleasure and amusement that I release these previously unheard demos, which during the Eighties and Nineties remained stuck in the limbo of the Italian record industry for some reason or other (fear? embarrassment? gotta feed the family? Medea syndrome?). Let's pretend we'll never know. So my thanks go to Sony Music for their trust". In reality, quite a few of the instrumental backing tracks were specially reworked for the release of this record, in particular that of "Diva divina", the famous theme tune of the TV show "Effetto Cinema". "Amore speciale", meanwhile, had originally been intended for the album Mediterranea, but was later dropped on the label's decision, which chose to cut it for lack of space. Worth mentioning are "Mezzanotte al sole", "Io non so amare" and a fine version of "La donna è mobile", while "Notturno italiano" (curiously credited to Giuseppa Romeo) contains quotes from the famous Lili Marlene. "Vieni" (first presented on record on Signorina Romeo Live) appears here in its original studio version, enriched by a spoken part in Urdu by Gabriele Mandel (dating back to the period of If I Were Nicer I'd Be Less Unpleasant, when the same Italian-Afghan scholar had inspired "Oceano d'amore"), while "Una la verità" is nothing other than the first draft of "Amala", found on the album of the same name from 1992. Finally, an instrumental ghost track, which revisits various passages from the fourteen songs on the tracklist, closes the album.

Naples That Sings, released on 2 April 2004, also in a DVD edition, is her last official album and holds special significance for the singer, who dedicates it to her mother. "Naples and its songs belong to my childhood, I've carried them inside me forever. I thought of my mother, who, during a Santa Rosalia festival, was taken out to sea by my father on his boat to get a better view of the festival lights. When the ship bound for Naples – from where it would then set sail for America – passed by, my mother greeted it by singing in Neapolitan: this record is a great tribute to her". It's a musical suite made up of twenty-two songs from the Neapolitan tradition, including also Totò's poem "A cchiù bella", which the singer had performed live a few months earlier, on 18 October 2003, at the Teatro Zancanaro in Sacile, in the province of Pordenone, on the occasion of the Silent Film Days. That day, before a large international audience, the silent film on the theme of emigration "Naples That Sings" by Roberto Leone Roberti was screened, with the singer providing live vocal accompaniment. The film (from 1926), long suppressed under the Fascist regime, had been rediscovered after many years during which it had been considered lost, and had just been restored by Paolo Cherchi Usai, a founding member of the event, who in a personal note uses wonderful words to thank Russo for that memorable evening: "Those who witnessed it will never forget it. Giuni did not merely perform a musical genre and accompany a film, she created a work in its own right, in which image and voice complete one another. During the days spent working on the film and the music, I saw Napoli che canta light up again like an elegy to Mediterranean culture; Giuni understood the film, and the film opened itself up to her gaze. My only contribution to the project was to have sparked this brief, dazzling love story between the human voice and the image. Giuni and the film did the rest".

Giuni passed away during the night of 13-14 September 2004, at the age of 53. Her funeral is held at the Monastery of the Discalced Carmelites in Milan, attended by a great many friends, colleagues and collaborators, including Ivan Cattaneo, Platinette, Christian and Alice. Absent with good reason, however, is her friend and mentor Franco Battiato, who the previous evening was performing a concert dedicated to her in Tallinn, Estonia; his brother Michele stands in for him. The singer is buried among the Discalced Carmelites, as per her final wish, in a special section of Milan's Cimitero Monumentale.

Her untimely death was followed by the inevitable, long-running series of initiatives, the most important of which is without doubt the founding of the "GiuniRussoArte" Cultural Association, the only official and authorized one, established on 25 May 2005 by Maria Antonietta Sisini with the non-profit aim of protecting and promoting the artistic legacy left behind by the singer. As stated in its charter, the association aims to collect, preserve and publish material relating to the singer's life and career, but also, and above all, to support freedom of musical expression and research through exhibitions, conferences, scholarships and events of various kinds designed to spread knowledge of her figure. In short, certainly the best and most commendable way to preserve her memory and keep alive, even today, what had always been her true aspirations.

Para siempre: the posthumous output and her legacy

In 2006 the first posthumous album came out, titled Unusual, a kind of tribute record featuring numerous artists from the Italian scene and beyond. The project was born from an idea of Maria Antonietta Sisini, aimed at fulfilling one of Giuni Russo's greatest wishes: duetting with fellow artists, something she had never managed to do in the course of her career, aside from the one pairing with Rettore back in the days of "Adrenalina". Now she achieves it virtually, with Caparezza (on "Una vipera sarò"), Lene Lovich ("Moro perché non moro"), Vladimir Luxuria ("Illusione") or Megahertz ("Un'estate al mare"), for example.

The boxed set comes with a bonus DVD capturing a concert she gave at the Auditorium di Milano on 4 April 2001. La sua figura, also on DVD, is an extensive 2007 documentary film curated jointly by Sisini and Battiato, and stands as the most comprehensive retrospective on the singer's personal and artistic story, with Giuni herself narrating her own life through archive footage, interviews and TV appearances spanning from her debut to her final days.

Also in 2007 came the three-volume opera omnia The Complete Giuni, which traces virtually the singer's entire discography through remixes, original demos and live recordings of songs more or less well known, most of which had never appeared on CD before. In 2008 came Cercati in me, which again contains a few tracks in remixed form, but this time is also enriched with five previously unreleased songs: the title track "Cercati in me" and "La settima stanza" (both once again inspired by the life of Edith Stein), "Ninna Nanna", "Ave Maria" (live) and the traditional Iraqi song "Fogh In Nakhal" (also covered by Battiato himself on his 1993 "Caffè de la Paix").

Meanwhile, in 2009 Sardinian novelist and essayist Bianca Pitzorno published "Giuni Russo, da un'estate al mare al Carmelo", the singer's official biography, or rather, as the author herself puts it, "the story of her life as she would have told it" — and it is indeed the most authoritative word on the matter, since the writer was bound to Russo by a deep friendship lasting more than thirty years. "Before she died," Pitzorno adds, "Giuni told me that if a biography of her were ever written, she'd like it to be me who wrote it, and the occasion (sadly) came." The book, presented at the Festival di Mantova, was written with Sisini's assistance, while the introduction was penned by Battiato. It also includes a technical note on the distinctive qualities of her voice, curated by pianist Michele Fedrigotti, with whom Russo had collaborated live on several occasions. The boxed set, published by Bompiani, also comes with the DVD "La sua figura" and a six-track EP featuring the very first versions of "Moro perché non moro" and "Morirò d'amore" (the latter turned down twice by Pippo Baudo and then sensationally readmitted to the competition at Sanremo 2003), the poignant "La sua voce (come sei bella)" (written personally by Giuni in the mid-90s) and "Pekino", loosely inspired by traditional Chinese music and song, while "La sua figura" and "La sposa" had actually already appeared on the album Demo De Midi.

Para Siempre, from 2012, is instead the result of the discovery and painstaking restoration of some old, previously unreleased tapes, and finds the singer tackling a deep, intense title track written some time earlier together with Sisini. The album also dusts off a good number of covers of famous Italian and international songs, recorded over the years partly as "simple" vocal exercises, partly just for fun, but all with surprising results, further proof of her outstanding interpretive gifts. Just listen, for instance, to Umberto Bindi's "Il nostro concerto", Sergio Endrigo's "Io che amo solo te", but also "My Way", "Yesterday" or "New York, New York".

Although it contains no unreleased material, Unica, from 2013, should also be considered an important work, if only because it finally brings together on CD all her very first singles, otherwise impossible to find today, from "No Amore" at Sanremo '68 through to the close of the Malgioglio era in the late Seventies.

God seeks us, God waits for us, God finds us… before we seek him, before we wait for him, before we find him.

(Pope Francis, from a letter to M. A. Sisini)

Record labels aside, the Palermo-born artist has been admired and praised by just about everyone, even by the Pope. On 7 September 2013, in fact, just a few days before what would have been the singer's 62nd birthday, Maria Antonietta Sisini found a white envelope in her mailbox, with the address and sender's details handwritten: "F. Casa Santa Marta, Vatican City". The writer was Pope Francis himself, to whom she had sent a CD and the official biography of her unforgettable friend a short time before. "I thought it was the tickets for the general audience I'd requested some time ago," says a still moved and incredulous Sisini, "but instead the envelope contained a beautiful letter written by Pope Francis, entirely in his own hand! Obviously, out of respect and discretion, I will never reveal its contents, but it was a wonderful gift — now we can truly say that Giuni sang for the Holy Father, and in the most beautiful and intimate way, just as she had always wished... Now that wish has become reality; she never received a more beautiful birthday gift in her life."

The Pope's words would be read publicly a few months later, on 23 April 2014, on the occasion of the inauguration ceremony for the "Mirador Giuni Russo", a long stretch of lookout point over the Gulf of Alghero which the Sardinian town named in memory of the singer, commemorating that special bond forged in 1986, when the famous summer hit had brought the town great fame and incredible publicity. Also present that day were Battiato, Pitzorno, Sisini and representatives of GiuniRussoArte, as well as, of course, members of the town council and the Street-Naming Commission.

It was also a good occasion to talk about a new album, Il ritorno del Soldato Russo, released a few months later and containing eight previously unreleased tracks in a limited vinyl edition. Among them, Battiato's "L'animale", presented here with slight changes to the original lyrics, while the near-title track, the harder-edged "Il ritorno del soldato", had been written in the mid-Nineties in collaboration with philosopher Manlio Sgalambro. Also worth noting is the melancholy "Tu che sai" and two of her very earliest recordings written by Paolo Conte, "Un milione un miliardo" and "Uomo piangi", which the singer had performed while still a teenager. Closing out the record are "Nell'anima", "M'è rimasto nel cuore" (a cover of Jimmy Cliff's "Many Rivers To Cross") and "Le tue parole" (actually none other than the original version of "Morirò d'amore").

2015 brought Las Moradas, to date the last official release under the name Giuni Russo. It is the complete reissue of a live concert held on 29 December 1999 at the Basilica di San Lorenzo Maggiore in Milan, dedicated to Pope Francis. The record was part of the celebrations for the 500th anniversary of the birth of Saint Teresa of Ávila; the tracklist notably features "Muero Porqué No Muero", a brilliant, previously unreleased Spanish-language version of the song inspired in her by the Saint, written right around the time she began making contact with the Monastery of the Discalced Carmelites, where, for this same anniversary, GiuniRussoArte organized the concert "Giuni Russo carmelitana d'amore, incontro con Santa Teresa d'Avila" (the honor/task entrusted to the wonderful Portuguese singer Dulce Pontes).

Let's hope they teach us to blush

For now, Giuni Russo's story ends here, remembered in her own best words, through Maria Antonietta Sisini.

I write these reflections starting from the assumption that, for better or worse, my life lived with and for Giuni is well known. I don't like putting myself in the spotlight, and I despise those who do so (or try to) by exploiting Giuni for their own benefit. In certain posts online I read that 'Giuni never got what she deserved', and I would add, not even now, so many years after she's been gone. She used to say it herself: 'Had I been born in America, Britain, and so on... no one would ask me why I love experimenting and searching within music and singing, instead of basking in the glow of popular success'.

With hindsight, I ask myself: 'Did I make a mistake in not insisting that we move abroad? Who knows... Italy doesn't deserve her, Italy has no memory, Italy fails to value exceptional talent in any field, and unfortunately even less so in music.

A talent like hers, outside Italy, would be celebrated and hailed as she deserved.

Italy doesn't even realize that it will never again have an artist, musician and singer like Giuni Russo, short of a miracle.

She was here, we had her and we failed to recognize her, while she gave everything, gave herself, to everyone's honor!

This is just a crumb of what I feel in my heart.

(Maria Antonietta Sisini)

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google