Vasco Rossi

Coca Cola

E sei protagonista

There are periods when joy and malaise “screw” every day. It's an unbridled relationship, one that burns even without warning. A drug, in some cases.

Well, 1983 is, for Vasco Rossi, the year in which this special moment reaches K2 with the endurance of a sherpa. The transition between the peak of artistic inspiration and human decline. But above all, the year in which the most iconic album of the Emilian rock singer-songwriter's entire career is released.

"Bollicine" is the album with which the future conqueror of the masses and the charts plays his cards best. The most bared album, stripped of chiaroscuro. Starting with the double entendres that fill the title track. And ending with the generational song par excellence: "Vita spericolata". One of those miracles with a nearly infinite yield. It's no coincidence that De Gregori would cover it ten years later, and Vasco would return the favor with a live version of "Generale" at San Siro during the "Rock sotto l'assedio" concert.

It's an instant classic, as English speakers would say. Specifically, liberation made flesh. A genuine, earthy, disarming manifesto.

"Vita spericolata" is the swerve-and-overtake of a thirty-one-year-old who, until then, had been poorly understood. Vasco is the man who, invoking Steve McQueen, craves death well ahead of time, embracing madness, pure joy, to the point of literally short-circuiting, with a few simple words, the bigoted bourgeoisie sitting in the seats of the Ariston along with all its lackeys. His sudden walk-off at Sanremo, with the playback still running, is known even to the walls, and it stands as the eternal image of a farewell that would never again be so unguarded.

But the Vasco of "Bollicine" isn't just the celebrated one. In the other six songs, the ups and downs of moods, invectives, mockery, premonitions and alienation never let up. "Bollicine" is unique in its kind for this reason too. It's an eccentric album, as brilliant as it is candid. It's also extremely uneven, unpredictable. It ranges from a song on everyone in the country's lips to a gem still unknown to many today.

From "Bollicine", with which Vasco would win the Festivalbar, to "Ultimo domicilio conosciuto", the step is wonderfully short. The stage animal coexists with the lost ex-disc jockey. Emilian sarcasm is the perfect glue. What we find, then, are two souls dwelling within the rooms of a story that also has the gift of brevity, except for the deliberately incomprehensible spoken-word bit inserted as a special in "Bollicine". Because the constant pursuit of a concise formula is a permanent inclination. It is, since Vasco adores Enzo Jannacci. Just consider the song that, incidentally, is for this writer the sun-drenched peak of the national Blasco: "Ogni volta".

Released only the year before on the equally landmark "Vado al massimo", "Ogni volta" is a melancholic tribute to Jannacci, to his writing, to his poetic essence. It's also the forerunner of immediate intentions to come. "Giocala", for example, which indeed chases its melody with a fizzy bassline. Without too much fuss, it's Italian-style yacht rock (!).

Seizing an opportunity in bed so as not to be screwed over by pride: Vasco handles fractures and subtracts. He finally lands the average man. The ordinary life of others. Of those who flaunt normality while being ashamed of everything else. His is a full-blooded rock that "unwittingly" echoes the Gospel according to John: "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone".

Don't tell me you actually believe

Not even a detour

Yeah, she could be your daughter

How many times, how many, come on

Have you thought about it, you can tell me, come on

You're not a devil, you know

I don't want to hurt you, you know

How many detours have you had

The team of musicians backing Vasco in the studio is mostly excellent. Alongside the trusted Guido Elmi, Maurizio Solieri, Massimo Riva and Claudio Golinelli, there are also, among others, Dodi Battaglia, Lele Melotti and Ernesto Vitolo. In short, quite a crew.

There's no shortage of oddities either. Take "Ultimo domicilio conosciuto", which borrows its title from José Giovanni's 1970 film, for a track that's pure new wave à la David Bowie – the “Low” phase, to be precise — and one that champions free radio stations: “Following the injunction issued by magistrate Grassi of Bologna, who, through Escoport, ordered the shutdown of all radio transmission points of private broadcasters.” New wave splashed right in your face again on the closing “Mi piace perché”, with the “Gallo” Golinelli's still-irresistible bass slipping into a frenzy before the lopsided synth crashes in feet-first at the end, setting up a closing line — “Lei è tua mamma?” — delivered by Vasco at the speed of light, just to wrap the whole thing up perfectly.

I like you because you're dirty, because you're dirty

I like you because you're filthy, because you're filthy

I like you because you're fake, because you're fake

I like you because you're a bitch, because you're a bitch

Between a provocation and a raw confession (“Portatemi Dio”), Vasco Rossi also pulls out the album's other timeless miracle, “Una canzone per te”, a declaration of love addressed to the song itself, which becomes a woman and thus a source of life. Vasco sings about how his songs are born. Spontaneity is the foundation of everything. The simplicity and essentialism mentioned above reach their fullest realization here. “Una canzone per te” is, in every sense, yet another masterpiece from a songwriter at his peak.

Shortly after would come his arrest for cocaine possession. Twenty-two days in prison, five of them in isolation. Fabrizio De André and Dori Ghezzi would be the only well-known names to visit him. “The only credible rocker in Italy,” the former would say. And it's hard to disagree.

The follow-up “Cosa succede in città” would inevitably be his most troubled and controversial album. In some ways, also the one most “hated” by Vasco himself. He would feel misunderstood, before being reborn as an untouchable star, idolized for life by what would become his own “people”, amid record-breaking tours and albums that would cement his place in history once and for all: “C'è chi dice no” and “Liberi Liberi”.

Between the two records, there even emerged a film by Giandomenico Curi, “Ciao ma'...”, which celebrates his omnipotence and the cult he inspired in an entire generation, among aspiring paninari, “lost” good boys, young lovers and neighbourhood tough guys.

This is Vasco-mania in its earliest, most sincere form. Not to be confused with a second wave of fans, the ones who hail the so-called “komandante” — the weary Vasco of later years.

From 1995 onward, in fact, the rocker from Zocca would inexorably and unmistakably lose his spark, fizzling out from one dud to the next like a badly made firecracker. Listening back today to a giant album like “Bollicine” therefore also means weighing two eras whose specific gravity is infinitely different.

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09/04/2023