Renato Zero

Renato Zero – “Un uomo da bruciare/ Madame”

(7-inch single, 1976)

There was no need for Lucio Corsi's endorsement to reassess the impact that the ineffable Renato Fiacchini had on Italian music. At least for those who lived through that genuine flying kick to the moral standards of the time that was his eruption onto the scene at the dawn of the 70s. "The fact that I was Bowie before him is known by anyone who used to hang around Piazza Navona with me," he exaggerates, ever the inveterate braggart he's always been. Without wanting to grant him quite that much, though, it's worth remembering that even if, as he puts it, "back then that hedonistic quest, the idea of presenting yourself in the round, was in the air," he was the one who planted the flag first in Italy - at least at a mainstream level. With his naive cross-dressing - part circus clown, part drag queen - his ambiguous, knowing, irreverent lyrics, and his triumphantly kitsch stagings, suspended in an impossible "middle earth" between the fringe theatres of Trastevere and the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

In that stretch of the Years of Lead, Renato Zero truly was "Un uomo da bruciare" ("A man to be burned"), utterly disconnected from every national convention, including those of the institutional rebels of the beat generation (to which, in some ways, he ideally belonged, given his time spent at the Piper Club) and those of the long-haired rock bands of the 1970s. And perhaps he burned himself out too quickly, losing that transgressive allure in favour of a more reassuring, easy-going approach. One that eventually earned him the recruitment of legions of "sorcini" fans even among the masses anaesthetized by the cathode-ray tube of that very Rai network he would later cleverly poke fun at ("Viva la Rai", 1982).

But when he first appeared on stage in the guise of that ungainly freak, gaunt and heavily made-up, in ostrich feathers, sequins and platform boots, he really was, for a while, a glam epiphany on the banks of the Tiber, the closest vision to the alien Ziggy Stardust ever to appear in our latitudes.

After a tireless apprenticeship on stage (even in the musical "Hair"!), Zero released two albums of unsettling pop-rock songwriting ("No! Mamma, no!" in 1973 and "Invenzioni" the following year), with raw, uncomfortable lyrics tackling subjects such as anti-militarism ("Sergente no!"), the oppression of bourgeois and family conformism ("Paleobarattolo", "No! Mamma, no!") and violence against minors ("Qualcuno mi renda l'anima"). Songs still viewed with suspicion by the general public, but which began to carve out a small breach in the general indifference. So much so that when a new album, "Trapezio", arrived in 1976, the charts' doors swung open for the first time. And it was this very single - "Madame/ Un uomo da bruciare" - that would climb the hit parade all the way to number fifteen, even catapulting him into competition at that summer's Festivalbar.

It's not exactly a coincidence. Because alongside refining his songwriting into a more theatrical and melodic vein, Renato Zero found in Ruggero Cini his man of providence. The Tuscan conductor revolutionised his sound and arrangements, paving the way to major success. Also significant was the contribution of the band backing him: Achille Oliva on bass, Carlo Giancamilli on piano and keyboards, Giancarlo De Matteis on guitars and Marco Pirisi on drums. But the lion's share still belongs to him, the lanky shape-shifting minstrel of Via Ripetta, transformed for the occasion into a sandwich-board man, covered only by the sign around his neck, with improbable frayed (and mismatched) striped socks, a piece of bread in hand and the rest hanging by a thread (we'll see why later). An ironic, provocative cover, in keeping with the song's lyrics. Credited to Zero alongside Mogol (whose contribution, however, turns out to be almost negligible) and Piero Pintucci, "Un uomo da bruciare" is in fact a sardonic parable on class struggle, distorted through the lens of Renato's Trastevere-style glam. But it's a true story, indeed a genuine one, just like the "due etti di prosciutto" ("two hundred grams of ham") in the lyrics.

While his fellow songwriters were writing about vague or impossible loves, about thin t-shirts and lips to be sent to a new address, he, Fiacchini, was walking into the grocer's shop. To dig into the anxieties and (vain) hopes of a terribly human protagonist: “Now that you're the grocer's boy, and with tips in your pocket you're a gentleman, at this point, you can aspire to a lot, even to her…”. That is, the illusion of a life that conforms to social expectations, lived “behind a counter, building a future that can give her security, a car, something to be envied”.

But while the shop plays host to hilariously surreal conversations – “Two hundred grams of ham, yes, madam. Is your little boy still in bed with a fever… What a shame… Would you like some cheese spread too?” – reality surfaces in all its rawness. His partner will reward him (“And she'll reward you, offering herself… with enthusiasm and with love”) for having become “stronger, a real man”, even in the face of his wicked mother (“that witch, always the same, with murderous eyes, so mercenary”). But the price to pay will prove unbearable. Hence the impassioned final exhortation: “Run! Flee! And save something of yourself! And don't let them do it. Don't become a man to be burned”. A hymn to the freedom to be oneself (“the air”, “the scent of real things”) against every convention: some have read into it an exhortation not to give up one's own homosexuality for a safe, more socially reassuring life, others have even detected a hint of misogyny (with a stereotype of the greedy, dependent woman). But the heart of the song remains its anti-conformist spirit, with that desperate, wonderfully theatrical final plea (even more so in the live version). Because Renato Zero certainly doesn't hold back, with a vocal delivery that can at times seem over the top, but is nonetheless tempered by irony, as well as backed by an extremely powerful voice, perfectly suited to the melodramatic demands of the cabaret pantomime being staged.

With its sly, almost music-hall gait, marked out by the piano, and its poignant melodic opening, “Un uomo da bruciare” remains a bittersweet slice of small perspectives and big everyday hopes. Nanni Moretti would remember it too, including it in his film “Sogni d'oro”, in the famous scene where a catatonic Michele Apicella flips through notes in a notebook and, while “La mamma di Freud” is being shot, some couples start dancing. Zero, for his part, would bring it back on several occasions in his concert setlists, often turning the arrangement upside down (as happened on the 1981 live album “Icaro”).

Perhaps even more famous is the B-side, “Madame”, a foretaste of the irresistible disco sound of “Mi vendo”, the song that would bring Renato his big breakthrough. A driving track, with its four-on-the-floor beat, Mario Scotti's pulsing bass up front, and keyboards somewhat in the style of Supertramp (who were in fact covered on the very same LP, “Trapezio”, with their “Dreamer” translated into the incredible “Sgualdrina”!).

“Madame” is the quirky, captivating portrait of a memorable female figure – quite different from the faded protagonist of “Un uomo da bruciare” – and of a love that goes beyond physical appearance, but which in fact conceals a fine self-portrait: “I'm a rarity in the whole city. Look around for monsters like me, but there aren't any”. Zero would release a new version of it in 2013.

A year later came the triumph of “Zerofobia”. And for the Roman singer-songwriter a stellar career would begin, one that would make him one of the most beloved figures ever in Italian song. Of course, the irreverent irony and transgressive verve would only sustain him for a few years, at least until the start of the following decade; after that, the persona would tend to normalize somewhat, taking refuge in nostalgia and self-indulgence. And he would gradually lose some of his earliest fans, gaining in return hordes of new “sorcini”, ready to fill his ever-enjoyable concerts (here's a recent review).

But we like to remember him this way, in the guise of the improbable sandwich-man torn apart by the existential dilemma of “Un uomo da bruciare”. With that heartfelt final piece of advice which, today as then, still rings entirely true.

Adesso che sei il garzone del droghiere

E con le mance in tasca sei un signore

A questo punto puoi aspirare a tanto

Anche a lei

Sua madre, quella strega è sempre uguale

Con gli occhi da assassina così venale

Diventerà finalmente un po' cordiale

Ti sentirai più forte, un uomo vero

Talking about the house to buy

And yeah, she'll reward you, offering herself eagerly

You'll have it, you'll have it with eagerness and with love

You'll have it, but you don't know the price you'll have to pay

Run, flee and save something within you

And don't let them do it

Don't become a man to be burned

The air, the air you breathed just a little while ago

Still has its scent

Of real things, of pure things, of freedom

Oh no, oh no, don't ask yourself where, how

How you'll drag your life along

With whom, with whom you'll erase your name

For whom?

Two hundred grams of ham

Yes, ma'am…

Is your child still in bed with a fever?

What a shame, does he want some cheese spread too?

A life spent behind a counter, building

A future that can give you

Security, a car, something to be envied

You'll have it

You'll have it, you'll have it with eagerness and with love

You'll have it, but you don't know the price you'll have to pay

Run, flee and save something within you

And don't let them do it

Don't become a man to be burned

Ride the wave of great music

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24/04/2026