Storytelling

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Milan, April 4, 2020.
The city is in full lockdown, frightened, shaken, wrapped in a surreal silence. 
As I am returning from the Carrefour in Via Farini, I suddenly see a black girl emerge from Via Menabrea.
She is talking on the phone, and she is tall, beautiful.
Our eyes meet for a moment. We are both without masks (in the city they are not yet found and the obligation to cover your nose and mouth outdoors will only take effect a few days later):
- Hello! - I tell her across the street. 
She smiles, quickly returning my greeting.
I am walking with two heavy shopping bags in hand and when I decide to stop she is already behind me. I turn around, put my shopping bags on the floor. I watch her cross the street, she is heading towards the supermarket. 
I remain motionless for a few seconds, then I decide: I go back and walk towards her. 
When I reach her she is already in the queue, she is still talking on the cell phone. We are on the sidewalk, where the long line to enter ends, which stretches all over the parking lot. I sit on a  cement panettone, I wait with a little embarrassment for the call to end and then looking into her eyes I say: Hi, What's your name?
That's how I know Princess, the voice of this song.

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II - Harari

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On March 20, 2020, while all of Italy is in lockdown, an article by the Israeli historian Yuval Noah Harari is published in the Financial Times, entitled:  the world after coronavirus .

I had read his books with interest, but this article - which will also be taken up in Italy by the international magazine - I find it biased, classist, I just can't digest it. 
So on March 29 I write a long post about it, which ends with the following questions:  Do I want to delegate the ability to imagine the world only to technicians and scientists? Who imagines the world is able to shape it? How much power does the imagination have? How much power does my imagination have?

Meanwhile, the days pass and in the vortex of the pandemic the "futurologists", often obscure and catastrophic, take more and more space among the media. 
My intolerance leads me to take refuge in music (which I have started to listen to all the time), in meditation (to which I dedicate an hour a day) and in the attentions to Princess (which I started dating). 
I don't know what future awaits us - I tell friends on the phone, tired  and dejected for  how much it continues to rain from the media.  - Let's hope it's sexy at least. 

Towards the end of April my artistic production finally regains momentum; I start working on the preparation of a sculpture, a performance that revolves around the concepts of "must" and "want" , I create some advertising graphics  continuing the reflection on language, on the media, on the imaginary. 
For fun, one afternoon I also create my personal payoff: "sexy future"

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III - I want a sexy future

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The lockdown on the whole Italian territory ends on May 4, 2020. 
On the same day, through all of Milan on foot. 
The enthusiasm for the regained freedom however diminishes day by day:  in the streets I breathe fear, mistrust. 
One afternoon I spend an hour watching the girls strolling around the tree library: almost all of them walk with their eyes down,  avoiding every possible glance, encounter. Many have headphones over their ears and their faces completely hidden, due to the masks, caps or dark sunglasses they wear. 
Oh my God! - I think - What is happening? What's happening to us?
Taken by despair I begin to imagine a woman, beautiful, strong, who is not afraid and walks with her head held high towards what she wants. And what does he want?  - I wonder.
A sexy future. 

In the evening, alone in my apartment, I start thinking about the lyrics of a song, of which at the moment I only have the refrain: "I want a sexy future".
And the text arrives immediately, simple, immediate, profound.  

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I want a sexy future
(original text)

I am going alone

I am going alone
I want a sexy future

I want a sexy future

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Catch me

Catch me
I want a sexy future

I want a sexy future

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I am here

I am here
I want a sexy future

I want a sexy future

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Don't let me go away

Don't let me go away
I want a sexy future

I want a sexy future

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IV - The sound

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After humming the text all night, the next day I meet Princess in Piazza Santo Stefano, in the heart of the city. 
- I wrote a song - I tell her. - It's a simple text, I need a sexy voice, yours.
She is the daughter of a Gabonese musician and although she is a model  his dream is to sing: as promised, he records his voice with his mobile phone and in the evening he sends me the audio file. I immediately turn it to a filmmaker friend, whom I mentioned about the song in the afternoon. 
- I like it - he tells me. - If you want I have a friend who could make music.  His name is Antonio. He does it by profession, the musician.

The next day Antonio agrees to work on the project.

In the following days we begin to discuss the sound, to confront each other. We have some simple guidelines: We all want a beat that is sexy and danceable. A beat that reminds us who we were, that speaks of the present but is launched towards the future.  

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V - It's coming the police

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In May 2020 I write new texts  of songs that take inspiration from the particular moment we are going through.
One of these is set to music. The song is titled: It's coming the police.

It's coming the police records the disorientation, the disquiet that I felt in the days after the lockdown, in which the police cars constantly scoured the streets, squares and parks of the city where I live. 

The text takes up the imagination of a beautiful, strong, determined woman who wants a sexy future and who is able to joke, play, even with the police. 
So when they arrive, instead of trying to go unnoticed, she puts on lipstick. And she is sorry that they do not stop her, that they quickly look at her legs to get away immediately: "Don't you want to investigate my crimes?"
Here the police siren, from a threat, turns into the sound of the song into pure entertainment.    
 

It's coming the police
(original text)

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police
police
It's coming the police
police
police
I put on my lipstick
lipstick
lipstick
It's coming the police
police 
policethey look me just the legs
the legs
the legs
and already go away
away
away 
now I am waiting the police
police
police
investigating on my crime
my crimes my crimes