Beat generation

Once upon a time there was beat music. That is, the moment when Italy began to break free from its "nazionalpopolare" tradition and let itself be won over by the British Invasion and rock'n'roll vibrations from across the ocean. A genre and a youth movement that spread across our country during the Sixties, with sporadic revivals in the decades that followed. Beat music was - like so many genres - everything and nothing at once. It was above all an attitude - vaguely rebellious - and a more international approach to the song format, which however often married a melodic taste that was distinctly Italian. It's almost impossible to define its boundaries, but critic Cesare Rizzi, for one, tried to sketch a sonic identikit: "The style was characterized by a rock and roll made up of simple structures played on electric guitar, sometimes distorted through a fuzzbox, often enriched with electric organ, with lyrics and singing that were mostly unsophisticated and occasionally aggressive" (Enciclopedia del rock italiano, Arcana, 1993). But beyond these general coordinates, there was actually room for everything (or almost), as this playlist shows - one that, incidentally, makes no "taxonomic" claims and is deliberately eclectic, drawing inspiration above all from the general mood of that scene and that era.

So what was beat (or bitt) music, in the end? Often it was mere imitation, sometimes even parody (just think of some tragicomic Italian reworkings of Anglo-Saxon hits, starting with those by the Beatles!). But in many other cases it revealed a peculiar "Italian path to rock'n'roll" and also helped launch artists who would go on to become future cornerstones of Italian popular music (from Patty Pravo to Caterina Caselli, from Gianni Morandi to Lucio Dalla, from Adriano Celentano to Nada, from the Orme to the Pooh). If it's true that modern Italian singer-songwriter tradition was born with the likes of Tenco, Paoli, Endrigo, Lauzi and De André, it's undeniable that the beat craftsmanship had already made a clean break with the sappy, lightweight "canzonetta" of the 1950s.

But while some of its protagonists exploited beat as a mere "Trojan horse" to gain access to the empyrean of the music business, others remained forever trapped within its confines. Just think of the plethora of bands that blossomed in those years, often with improbable names and short-lived fortunes, but also of groups that, while remaining classics, are nonetheless forever associated with that particular sound and musical era (I Corvi, I Ribelli, I Giganti, I Dik Dik, L'Equipe 84, the Rokes, the Primitives and company). A multitude of musical phenomena that's almost impossible to sum up in a single playlist: we would have loved to include many other names too (from IM-pact to Jaguars, from The Magik to Stormy Six), but their tracks often turn out to be unavailable on Spotify.

Overall, one can conclude that, despite all its limitations and naiveties, this was a period of great creativity and fertility for the Italian scene, with hundreds of bands achieving small local and sometimes even national successes, alongside a proliferation of record labels and music magazines devoted to the phenomenon, not to mention venues specializing in the genre across the country, like the Piper Club in Rome and La Perla in Turin, and dedicated music competitions such as the famous Rapallo Davoli. In time, beat evaporated like one of the many illusory clouds of the astonishing Sixties, and many of those artists let themselves be influenced by new rising genres, from psychedelia to folk and progressive. More sophisticated forms of rock music took hold, and the 7" singles of beat bands vanished from the national charts.

In this "open" playlist - open, too, to new suggestions - we wanted instead to lock those flavours back into a magic box and savour them all together once again, as if on an impossible journey back into (lost) time.

Below is the full collection, followed by the individual tracks with commentary.

Patty Pravo – Ragazzo triste

The debut of the “Piper girl,” dated 1966. It's an ordinary Saturday, an Italian Saturday. “Canzonissima” is on TV – or rather “Scala Reale,” as that year's edition of the TV showcase was called. Slight and willowy, with two big, heavily made-up green eyes hidden behind a cascade of blonde hair, the eighteen-year-old Venetian Patty Pravo bewitches everyone with this cover of Sonny & Cher's “But You’re Mine,” turning it into an anthem for the young beat generation. Her performance is so unsettling it makes even the most jaded TV viewers jump in their seats. “Non dobbiamo star soli mai” almost becomes a generational battle cry for the young beatniks. It's only the beginning, but what a beginning…

Rokes – Che colpa abbiamo noi

Rokes – Bisogna saper perdere

A double dose for one of the movement's cornerstone bands, even though they're Italian only by adoption. The Rokes were formed in the UK in 1960 under the name Shel Carson Combo, with Shel Shapiro on vocals and guitar, Robert “Bobby” Posner on bass, Mike Shepstone on drums and Vic Briggs (who would later join the Animals) on lead guitar, later replaced by Johnny Charlton. It was Teddy Reno who discovered them in Italy, where they'd find their El Dorado. “Ma che colpa abbiamo noi” is a kind of manifesto for the generational clash between young and old, destined to become one of the movement's definitive anthems. It shares a similar opening and the same roots with the previous track: the Rokes, too, would become stars of the Piper club. Not everyone knows, though, that this song is also a cover: of Bob Lind's “Cheryl’s Goin’ Home.” “Ma che colpa abbiamo noi” placed second at the historic 1966 Cantagiro and topped the singles chart. They landed in Sanremo (alongside Lucio Dalla, no less!) with their other chosen track, the plaintive “Bisogna saper perdere,” driven by an insistent Stones-like rhythm and dressed up with typically sixties backing vocals: more than Giuseppe Cassia and Ruggero Cini's harmless lyrics, it's the sound itself that makes it one of the gems of the beat era. And if you had to pick one face to symbolize that entire season, it could only be the eternally shaggy-haired mug of Norman David “Shel” Shapiro.

Equipe 84 – 29 Settembre

Equipe 84 – Tutta mia la città

Vying with the Rokes for the title of leading band of the beat era is Equipe 84, to whom we've given the same treatment: two tracks. The first is the hugely famous “29 settembre,” penned by the bona fide duo Battisti–Mogol and turned into a hit by Maurizio Vandelli's band (No. 1 on the charts for 5 weeks). Battisti's first major success, it broke through thanks also to the innovative force of its lyrics and its sound effects, which for the first time drew on psychedelia – so much so that that “date” is considered the birth of beat music in Italy, and the track, given its impact on the national scene, was nicknamed “the Italian Sergeant Pepper's.” The Modena band's second track is also an absolute classic: “Tutta mia la città,” a cover of “Blackberry Way” by the Move, the English band led by Roy Wood. Equipe 84's version, however, stands out for the quality of its arrangements and the sonic choices it makes. Another set of Italian lyrics written by Mogol, and another big hit at the Cantagiro. Equipe 84's story would go on for a long time, even if far from these heights, which would forever identify them with the beat season.

Nada – Ma che freddo fa

Being 15 and already making Italian music history. Nada Malanima, eternal muse of Italian song, debuted with this splendid track (lyrics by Franco Migliacci, music by Claudio Mattone) presented at the 1969 Sanremo Festival in a double performance with Rokes. Destined to become an evergreen of Italian pop, with countless covers (Mina, Giusy Ferreri, Avion Travel and Max Gazzè among many others) and appearances on film soundtracks, “Ma che freddo fa” describes the inner chill left behind by the end of a love affair (the first one?) that had managed to keep her warm even in winter. A portrait of disappointment and loneliness made poignant by the melodic sweep and the raspy delivery of the singer from Livorno. For her too, it was only the beginning. A formidable beginning.

Caterina Caselli – Nessuno mi può giudicare

Caterina Caselli – Insieme a te non ci sto più

Another muse and innovator of Italian song, Caterina Caselli, aka “Casco d’oro” (Golden Helmet), earns a well-deserved double entry here. More clearly in line with the beat movement is the defiant “Nessuno mi può giudicare”, originally intended for Adriano Celentano, who recorded a demo of it before dropping it, and then handed by writers Pace and Panzeri to the then-nearly-debuting singer from Modena. It was Caselli herself, however, who came up with the winning move: turning it from a tango into a tight beat number, with new arrangements. It came second at Sanremo, where a combative Caselli performed it as a duet with Gene Pitney. Less beat and more singer-songwriter in feel is the song that, according to Caselli herself, remains her finest: “Insieme a te non ci sto più”, penned by a young Paolo Conte and by Vito Pallavicini. Airier arrangements and a stirring melodic sweep frame a timeless piece of songwriting. It has been covered countless times (Ornella Vanoni, Franco Battiato, Claudio Baglioni, Avion Travel, Gianna Nannini, Malika Ayane, etc.) and has appeared on several soundtracks (Nanni Moretti even used it in two of his films, “Bianca” and “La stanza del figlio”).

I Corvi – Ragazzo di strada

Another anthem for the Bitt Generation (as opposed to the more famous other one). The first single by the Parma-based band is the Italian version of “I Ain’t No Miracle Worker” by Nancie Mantz and Annette Tucker, originally performed by the Brogues, a Californian outfit whose members would later go on to form Quicksilver Messenger Service. The Italian lyrics are officially credited to Nisa, longtime collaborator of Renato Carosone, although Angelo Ravasini, singer and guitarist of I Corvi, claimed to have written them together with Franco Califano. If musically the track is classic beat, with an almost hysterical vocal delivery amplified by a reverb effect, the lyrics dare even further, overturning courtship stereotypes (it's the boy who rejects the girl, not the other way around) and social conventions (the protagonist refuses the advances of the well-off young woman, feeling mocked by her classist attitude (“Io sono un poco di buono/ Lasciami in pace perché/ Sono un ragazzo di strada/ E tu ti prendi gioco di me”). It remained I Corvi's definitive hit (alongside Ravasini: Fabrizio Levati on guitar, Italo Gimmi Ferrari on bass, Claudio Benassi on drums), an eccentric band devoted mainly to covers of English and American acts. They screamed, wore long hair and black capes, and had a crow perched on their shoulder. They named it Alfredo, in honor of their record label boss: Ariston's artistic director, Alfredo Rossi.

I Ribelli – Pugni chiusi

Does the voice sound familiar? Indeed, it's none other than Demetrio Stratos. At the end of 1966, I Ribelli met the Italo-Greek singer at the Santa Tecla club in Milan, and he immediately joined the group as lead vocalist and organist; bassist Angel Salvador also joined the lineup, giving rise to the most representative incarnation of this historic beat band, who had just split off from the Clan Celentano. “Pugni chiusi”, written by Luciano Beretta, Gianni Dall’Aglio and Ricky Gianco, was released in 1967. But politics has nothing to do with it: it's the desperate cry of a man seeking redemption, calling out to his beloved. What really stands out, though, is Stratos's extraordinary performance, his overwhelming vocal range lending the track even more pathos, making it one of the most striking songs of the whole beat era. Later, with Area, it would be a whole different story (for the benefit of Italian prog and rock as a whole).

Nomadi – Dio è morto

Also for the Nomadi, we're only at the beginning of a (very long) story that will see them sail towards other musical shores. In the full grip of beat fever, though, Augusto Daolio (another great Italian voice) and his bandmates deliver a fervent rendition of the famous 1965 classic by Francesco Guccini, the song that opened the season of Italian protest songs, with lyrics inspired by Allen Ginsberg's poem "Howl". In April 1967, the track was recorded simultaneously by Caterina Caselli and by the Nomadi, on the album "Per quando noi non ci saremo". Despite its more consoling ending – rebirth built on new ideals that will ultimately bring about a world where god has risen again – the song ran into censorship at Rai. Yet legend has it that even Pope Paul VI was fond of it.

I Giganti – Tema

Another institution of Italian beat is this sardonic Milanese band, made up of brothers Sergio and Mino Di Martino (guitar and vocals), Enrico Maria Papes (singer and drummer) and Checco Marsella (vocals and keyboards). Their original take on beat blends gospel and rock'n'roll influences with biting lyrics, as in "Tema", the song that landed them third place in 1966 on the TV show "Un disco per l'estate", but above all topped the charts for 7 weeks. Sergio, Giacomo, Francesco and Enrico each take turns on their own "theme" about love, mockingly concluding: "Viva, viva l'amor/ È per l'amore che si canta". A thoroughly delightful track, later also featured in Enzo Dell'Aquila's teen musical film "Il ragazzo che sapeva amare".

Dik Dik – L'isola di Wight

Pietro Montalbetti, known as Pietruccio, guitarist and singer of Dik Dik as well as a "diehard hippie", has candidly admitted: "If we had actually played at the Isle of Wight, we would have been fiercely booed by the crowd, maybe even attacked". A paradoxical statement coming from the band's "ideologue", the group that in 1970 topped the Italian charts with this single dedicated to the legendary British rock festival. A cover of "Wight Is Wight" by French singer Michel Delpech, beyond its naively utopian lyrics (penned by Claudio Daiano), the Dik Dik's song glorifies the era of the great rock gatherings – from Monterey to Woodstock, through the three editions of the Isle of Wight festival – with a killer harmonic structure: three chords and a killer melody, and the job is done. Even for the hippies. Side note: L'isola di Wight is also the name of a restaurant where former members of the Milanese band cook and perform (!).

The Motowns – Prendi la chitarra e vai

Other "Englishmen of Italy" were The Motowns – namely guitarist Douglas Albert Meakin, Dave Sumner, Lally Stott, Michael Brill and Mike Logan. Stars of the Piper club, invited onto Rai television in 1967 for the variety show "E sottolineo yè", hosted by Gianni Morandi and Caterina Caselli, and then to the Cantagiro festival, they found their signature hit in this anti-militarist anthem, which is nothing other than the Italian-language cover of David & Jonathan's international hit "Lovers Of The World Unite". A protest song, sung by young people who travelled the world with a guitar, championing peace and freedom and speaking out against the Vietnam War.

Gianni Morandi – C'era un ragazzo che come me amava i Beatles e i Rolling Stones

And speaking of Vietnam, no list would be complete without the quintessential pacifist ode of Italian pop from the Sixties. The eternal hit by the golden boy from Monghidoro bears lyrics by Franco Migliacci and music by Mauro Lusini, along with an impeccable arrangement by Ennio Morricone. A guaranteed success, it topped the charts (from February 1967, for 3 weeks) with a song bursting with sound and fully imbued with the beat spirit. The story of the American boy forced to abandon his dream and his journey through Europe to go fight – and die – in Vietnam broke countless hearts across 1960s Italy, but not those of the unyielding Rai censors, who boycotted it over its lyrics critical of the policies of an allied nation, the United States. Here too, the covers are countless, from Joan Baez's historic version to the Soviet rendition by Poyushchie Gitary (Поющие Гитары), titled "Byl odin paren'" (Был Один Парень).

Lucio Dalla – Paff… Bum!

Speaking of Emilia: even young Lucio Dalla, who came up through jazz combos, threw himself into the beat fray (and its offshoots). "Pafff… bum!" was his third single, released in 1966 with lyrics by Sergio Bardotti and music by Gian Franco Reverberi. A bizarre track (the title is meant to mimic a heartbeat when meeting a girl!), but all told in step with the sounds of the era. Presented by Dalla at the 1966 Sanremo festival alongside the Yardbirds (who also recorded a version of the song), it failed to reach the final. It would later be included on the debut album of the Bologna genius, "1999", though it never quite grabbed the spotlight.

Adriano Celentano – 24.000 baci

The Molleggiato was never really a beat artist — in fact, he even wrote a reactionary song ("Tre passi avanti") that mocked the movement ("Tre passi avanti e crolla il mondo Beat/ Una meteora che fila e se ne va"). And yet, he reveled with pure delight in that messy blend of Italian provincialism and naive Anglophilia. Starting with his revival of primal rock'n'roll, which remained a lifelong obsession and found one of its most memorable expressions in this evergreen, destined to even show up in a cult scene from a film by Emir Kusturica ("Do You Remember Dolly Bell?"). Written by Ezio Leoni, Pietro Vivarelli, Lucio Fulci and Adriano Celentano himself, "24.000 baci" was presented at the 1961 Sanremo Festival paired with Little Tony, placing second. The Molleggiato scandalized the audience by turning his back on it, spinning round again only after the orchestra's tempo change — a sacrilege by the standards of Sanremo etiquette at the time.

Don Backy – Canzone

The Clan Celentano — a sort of stable of the Molleggiato's most loyal followers — also included Aldo Caponi, aka Don Backy, who however was never too loyal to the party line (and paid the price for it). A maverick, then, even with respect to beat music, though he managed to capture its moods and idealistic drive, as in this melodic marvel he wrote together with Detto Mariano — one he never got to perform at Sanremo because of a falling-out with Celentano. So it was Celentano himself who brought it to the festival in place of the Tuscan singer-songwriter: despite trying to sabotage it with a questionable performance, the Molleggiato had to bow to the song's natural power, which — helped along by support from Milva — climbed all the way to second place. In Don Backy's own version, its power is elevated by a passionate, aching delivery that makes it a landmark of Italian song from that era.

I Quelli – Per vivere insieme

But back to the covers… "Per vivere insieme" is nothing other than the Italian version of "Happy Together", a 1966 song by American band The Turtles, which in spring 1967 had the honor of knocking "Penny Lane" by the Beatles off the top of the Billboard Hot 100, where it stayed for three weeks. The Italian edition, with lyrics by Pino Cassia, was recorded (among others) by I Quelli, the storied "breeding ground" of an Italian rock legend named Pfm. The original lineup, called Black Devils, featured Franz Di Cioccio, Franco Mussida, Pino Favaloro and Tony Gesualdi, plus a singer named Antonio Teocoli, known to friends as Teo. After changing their name to Quelli, they launched a career as a beat outfit, scoring at least two hits: "Una bambolina che fa no no no" (an Italian cover of "La poupée qui fait non" by French singer-songwriter Michel Polnareff) and — with two more heavyweights added to the lineup, guitarist Alberto Radius (ex-Simon & Penny) and keyboardist Flavio Premoli (formerly of Cuccioli) — the aforementioned "Per vivere insieme". A sunshine pop tune given a beat spin with jangling guitar, later covered too by Jimmy Fontana, I Ragazzi del Sole, Brenda Bis, I Nuovi Angeli and (in 2008) even the Pooh, on the album "Beat ReGeneration".

Pooh – Per quelli come noi

And speaking of Pooh, even Italy's most famous band had its own beat period, especially in its early days. The debut LP by Facchinetti and co., "Per quelli come noi" (1966), mixes earlier singles, unreleased tracks and the inevitable Italian-language covers of English songs. The title track (lyrics by Pantros, music by Francesco Anselmo) is yet another manifesto of the youth protest of the era, with an angry vocal delivery and faint psychedelic echoes. It's quite striking to hear a defiant Facchinetti shout: “Voi che non vedete, non sentite ma parlate/ giudicate solo che non siamo seri come voi/ Ma quelli come noi/ non sanno odiare/ lasciateci la forza di cantare”.

The Primitives – Yeeeeeeh!

"Yeeeeeeh!" — the battle cry of the Primitives, with a hand from Luigi Tenco (!). Before becoming "the guy from Furia" (thanks to the theme of the 1977 TV series of that name), Welsh-born Mal, real name Paul Bradley Couling, worked as an apprentice electrician and, above all, fronted the Primitives, a band discovered in Soho by Alberigo Crocetta (owner of the Piper club) and Gianni Boncompagni during a night of revelry. The ape-like howl of their first single burst onto the scene in 1967, shaking up the beat generation with an unprecedented tale of male liberation from the bonds of love. Even though "your eyes are dazzling headlights" and "your lips are a great lure for me who loves you", Mal concludes he doesn't want to "get burned", delivering it in broken Italian with his British accent, and bewitching the teenage girls of the day. In reality, though, this is the Italian version of "I Ain't Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore" by the Young Rascals, adapted by Sergio Bardotti and Luigi Tenco. The Primitives would be seen again in the film "Bandiera Gialla" and carried on for a few more years before splitting up. After that, it was just Mal, a singer and actor with a mixed run of fortunes. "Furia ruined my life!" he would curse one day. At least in 1989, though, Italy made it up to him by granting him the citizenship he'd earned.

New Dada – Batti i pugni

New Dada were born from the meeting of six young men passionate about rock and beat music: Maurizio Arcieri (future Krisma), Renato Vignocchi, Franco Jadanza, Ferruccio Sansoni, Giorgio Fazzini and Ricky Rebaioli (the latter soon replaced on drums by Gianfranco Longo). They stood out from other beat bands for their name, inspired by Dadaism, and their look (jacket and black tie, white shirt, and no "long hair"). They never became huge stars, but they did get a historic opportunity: opening for the Beatles on their 1965 Italian tour. The combative "Batti i pugni", released a year later, also carries an authoritative songwriting credit: Federico Monti Arduini, the future Guardiano del Faro, alongside Valerio Vancheri.

Massimo Ranieri – Se bruciasse la città

Let's open a brief crooner parenthesis here, which in our view doesn't feel out of place at all. Because, for instance, our thunder-voiced Neapolitan street kid released a track in 1969 that - as we'd say today - "slaps" just as hard, if not harder, than beat's usual battle cries. "Se bruciasse la città" burst onto the Canzonissima stage with its roaring intro and all its passionate force, bolstered by a mighty orchestral arrangement backing Ranieri's forceful vocals, as he rails against the fate of his beloved, promised to an arranged marriage ("Tua madre va dicendo che a maggio un uomo sposerai"): that too was the Italy of the time. Written by Giancarlo Bigazzi with music by Enrico Polito and Totò Savio, it's an evergreen of 1960s Italian pop that would even be dusted off decades later by one of the 2000s' most successful American TV series, "Better Call Saul" (right in its very first episode).

Bobby Solo – Non c'è più niente da fare

The other crooner in this lineup is Roberto Satti, known to his friends as Bobby Solo, early on branded the "Italian Elvis", a label meant to highlight his derivative, at times almost parodic, attitude. An unfair fate, one that good old Bobby would answer with a long and distinguished career that continues to this day, often venturing into entirely different territory (for instance, as a devoted interpreter of Johnny Cash). With its lulling piano-driven pace and Satti's scratchy, Presley-esque delivery, "Non c'è più niente da fare" would dominate jukeboxes, breaking the hearts of Italians lost in the golden dream of the '60s. Released in December 1966, it climbed the charts the following year, helped along by being chosen as the theme for the TV show "TuttoTotò".

Camaleonti – Sha la la la la

With Camaleonti we return to paths closer to beat, at least in this early incarnation of the chameleon-like (ahem...) Milanese outfit. When Livio Macchia, Ricky Maiocchi and Paolo de Ceglie founded the group at Milan's Santa Tecla club, they were considered among the first to bring international beat rock to Italy. That's also why they initially chose English names (Mods, Beatnicks), specializing in the usual Italian covers of hits plucked from the British and American charts. In 1965, having rechristened themselves Camaleonti, they took the stage at Milan's first Beat Gathering, where they were spotted by Miki Del Prete, a collaborator of Adriano Celentano, who offered Camaleonti a contract with Kansas, a label orbiting the Clan Celentano galaxy. Success came right away, riding the beat wave with "Chiedi Chiedi" and this evocative "Sha la la la la" (a cover of "La La La La La" by the Mexican-American group The Blendells), stamped with a distinctly sixties organ sound. It would be included on their debut LP, "The Best Records In The World". After that, the band would go their separate ways, with mixed fortunes.

Balletto di Bronzo – Un posto

By the twilight of beat, progressive rock was already lying in wait. A natural evolution, all things considered, given the movement's Anglophile leanings. But before turning into fully-fledged prog, some bands got stuck in a kind of no-man's-land. That's the case with Balletto di Bronzo in 1970. The Neapolitan ensemble grew out of the core of Battitori Selvaggi, a beat group founded by Raffaele Cascone, future DJ of "Per voi giovani" and friend of Edoardo Bennato (who would later dedicate "Venderò" to him). After bringing in guitarist Lino Ajello (formerly of Volti di Pietra), Cascone left and founded a new group, taking inspiration from Edward Wadsworth's painting "Bronze Ballet". The newborn Balletto di Bronzo's first LP, "Sirio 2222", was still tied to the late-beat sounds of the era, but with a decidedly grittier rock guitar and hints of blues, as heard on this "Un posto", with a great drive and a pulsing drum sound up front. After that it would be prog all the way, with the pivotal "Ys" (1972).

Le Orme – Ad Gloriam

Another institution of Italian prog, Le Orme had to fight hard to earn their deserved success. Released right in the middle of the beat era, their debut LP “Ad Gloriam” (an ironic title on the band's situation, forced to make music “only for glory”) offers rock-flavoured tracks in which it's hard to spot the style the group would develop years later. Fully recognisable, though, is Aldo Tagliapietra's falsetto voice, which would remain one of the most distinctive traits of the Venetian band. Backing vocals, cutting guitars and a sardonic lyric (“I've worked my whole life, but/ I've never had a lira in my pocket... I did it all for glory”) embellish this witty title track, a cult song that would even be revisited in English (for once, the other way round!) as “69 Police” for the soundtrack of Steven Soderbergh's film “Ocean's Eleven” (2001).

New Trolls – Visioni

Another noble name in this collection is the Genoese New Trolls, founded in 1967 by Pino Scarpettini (keyboards) and Vittorio De Scalzi (vocals and guitar) and active until 1998. Over the course of their career, they moved from beat to progressive rock (with at least one milestone like “Concerto grosso per i New Trolls”), then to pop-rock by the end of the 70s, while still retaining some distinctive prog traits, such as elaborate arrangements, technical virtuosity in performance and polyphonic vocals. The band's second single, “Visioni” is still fully immersed in the beat era, amid psychedelic echoes, jangling guitars and a stunning vocal performance courtesy of singer Nico Di Palo. It would flood the jukeboxes of Italian beaches in the summer of 1968.

Le pecore nere – La conta

Among the outsiders of the movement, we should also mention these Roman freaks (Mauro Chiari, Enrico Fusco, Stefano Mercanti and Enzo Tarantino), who started making a name for themselves in Italy's night clubs before becoming one of the Piper's attractions. Signed to Rca thanks to jazz musician Amedeo Tommasi's intercession, in 1967 they released their first single, pairing “Ricordo un ragazzo”, dedicated to Luigi Tenco, with this wild “La conta”, a dazed beat nursery rhyme set to music by Teo Usuelli, which would be featured in the soundtrack of Ugo Tognazzi's film “Il fischio al naso”. Through ups and downs, Le Pecore Nere would only last another three years before splitting up.

Formula Tre – Questo folle sentimento

We close the playlist with a tribute to the great Alberto Radius, who also granted us an interview on these pages, and who left us on 16 February 2023. But that's not the only reason. Because Formula Tre is an institution of Italian rock, the only band that ever backed Lucio Battisti live, who wrote several songs for them, entrusting them with his deepest rock streak. Founded in 1969 by Alberto Radius (guitars and vocals), Tony Cicco (drums and vocals) and Gabriele Lorenzi (keyboards and vocals, formerly of I Samurai), the group debuted on 7-inch that same year with this over-the-top rock anthem, powered by Radius's scorching riffs, lyrics by Battisti–Mogol and a refrain that carves itself into your mind and never leaves: “Ah, love, this crazy feeling that, ah, love, the more I run from it the more it comes back to me”.

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30/01/2026