Where should I start.
I think I’ll start telling you that my English is shitty.
Yep. Shitty. You’ll notice it right away.
Telling you just to be sure you will make an effort to understand me anyway.
I mean – if you prefer to learn Italian it’s perfectly fine with me, eh.
But let’s go for English, at the moment.
Actually, a couple of times in Amsterdam people told me that my English is really good. And when I proudly smile, they just add “you know, it’s really good for being Italian”. Well, thank you. I used to like you, three words ago.
I had this blog when I lived in Italy, this blog about music and other stuff that I love.
‘Cause you know, it’s difficult sometimes don’t get tamed by passions.
So I started writing about them.
I started writing about all the whispered words and the lyrics I sing on my mind and the concerts, the concerts that – gosh, I miss those nights so much.
And now it feels so weird, turning the page.
What was I saying? Oh, yes. The blog. I started borchiebriciole.com about one year ago.
The name literally means studs and crumbs – but sounds crappy in English.
I should find another good name.
Oh, and I accept suggestions, don’t be shy.
I started this blog and things went fast, and interviews went fast and summer came and went away and so did my zest and my words, everything went fast.
Fast. So fast that one year later I found myself in Amsterdam – I found myself living in this surreal city and still dreaming about Milan.
Not that I am repented, eh. Not at all.
Just trying to adapt to the new world, pretending that I don’t miss the previous one.
You know – fresh starts are always exciting. Yep.
But what about when the fresh start overlaps with one of the best time in your life?
What about shutting doors you didn’t want to close and what about running away from what you love?
Yes, fresh starts are thrilling.
It’s just that I’m kind of miss a few of things.
Oh – those nights.
But now, now the time has come.
After almost 6 months, I decided it’s the right moment to start setting up a new life and to stop complaining.
Well, I hope so.
So – with all my left energies, I will try to focus again on sounds and faces and guitars. And noise.
I will try to share and spread with you what I think you should really know about Italy.
Do you guys know that there are some excellent artist there and that they’re not dead yet?
Astonishing, I know.
I was amazed, when I found it out some years ago.
And do you know that they portray all our shadows and thoughts?
Wow. That means you’re not alone, fighting this world.
That means that there’s a close, cozy place where take shelter.
Your ears and their words.
Anyway, the blog won’t be only about Italian artists, I swear.
I don’t wanna become the Italian stereotype, always talking about how much Italians do it better.
That’s really really far away from my personality. Or at least, I hope so.
For exemple, I’ll be at Paradiso next week for Peter Hook’s concert.
And I should get ready to write a personal report of the concert in my Italian English.
“Hey uncle Hooky, ti amo moltissimo, do you know that? Capisce?”.
That, I should tell him. So far away from the typical Italian guy. Yep.
Nevertheless, most of the times in this blog I will talk about Italian artists.
And I’d like to translate some lyrics for you. And share songs and albums and videos with you.
And make you love them.
And make you love them so so so much that eventually we will organize a festival.
Me and you, even if I don’t know yet who you are.
Italian underground nights. Yep.
Italian underground festival.
(Not jumping the gun, eh. No. Nope.)
And the oddest thing it’s that someone already believes that it could be possible doing that.
And well, you know – somehow I believe that too.
But that’s just because I’m selfish.
I wanna my favorite bands to play for me here in Amsterdam.
Yeah. Come to mama, baby.
Anyway. You could not believe me right now. Or you could not get involved enough.
Just make the first step and listen to this song.
And if you don’t like it – well, fuck you.
I’m not democratic enough to accept a different opinion. Take note of that.
At least, not about this song – come on.
This is a huge piece of my heart. And of my skin and bones.
And it’s unbelievable that I did not break your balls yet, with this song. You should ask my friends in Italy, how I feel about this song. Eh.
And it’s spring. And everything is blooming outside – even the sky is blooming, in the last few days.
It’s spring. And spring means this song.
And it’s dirty and wild and you can feel all the cycles of nature, in there.
And you can choose the unplugged version too. Shit.
This song is blood and guts.
Shall I translate the lyrics for you?
It feels so weird that you cannot sing those words that I know by heart.
It feels weird that you cannot picture the tallest and brightest flowers ever and the warm air beneath the sun and the insects buzzing.
But I’ll do for sure in another post. Translating that goddamn song, I mean.
In my lousiest English ever.