Maurizio ferrarotti torino è la mia città 2011

MAURIZIO FERRAROTTI
TORINO È LA MIA CITTÀ 2011-2012
Scopri Torino!
Mexia

One sunny day in September 2008, this stunning naked brunette was smiling at Turinese passers-by
from this mega-poster, asking us: “Discover Turin! What were you thinking of?” (Pun intended:
scopri! is the imperative form of the italian verb scoprire, which means either to discover or to
expose.) Basically it was an advertising campaing to bring the citizens closer to the commercial
activities of their own districts through a free brochure, but a political-moral frenzy ensued – oddly
enough, since the initiative sponsorship was given by the same Council of Turin whose logo is
clearly visible on the poster – so that shortly afterwards the manifesto was removed in a big
hypocritical hurry. Alas.
The Stunning Naked Brunette is Eugenia (or Jevgenia) Nevonen from Estonia. I’m pretty sure that
sickly moral crusade ruined her career as a model, while those fat ass bigots are always down there
in the Municipality palace making a lot of money to the detriment of our community. She was
promptly interwieved by our most famous local paper, La Stampa, revealing herself as a smart,
charming and witty girl. Hence I’m gonna dedicate my new blog or photo novel or call-it-whateveryou-want,
entitled Scopri Torino! oh yessa, to Jevgenia The Stigmatized Beauty but also to Shaun
Ryder, Sergio Simeoni, Iggy Pop, Ron Asheton, Sean Penn, Jonathan Lethem, Phil Lynott, Johnny
Thunders, Philip K. Dick, Vin Diesel, Jayne County, James Williamson, Frank Zappa, Pamela Des
Barres, Thom Yorke, Paolo Pulici, Alen Stevanović, Beppe Dossena, Kurt Vonnegut, Francis
Picabia, Marcel Duchamp, Frank Gehry, Max Ernst, Andy Warhol, Ace Frehley, Lou Reed, John
Cale, Jesus Satrustegui, Julen Guerrero, Gigi Radice, Rolando Bianchi, Vanessa Del Rio, Francis
Bacon, Robert Fripp, Glenn Branca, Joe Strummer, Paul Simonon, Johnny Rotten, Glen Matlock,
Paul Cook, Sid Vicious, Steve Jones, Howard Devoto, Mick Jones, Billy Idol, Tony James, Electra
Jordan, Pa, Ma, Dany, Piero Maccarino, my nephew Lorenzo, Ristorante Sarroc in Vignale
Monferrato, Eddie Argos, Ultras Granata, New York, Sarasota, Bilbao, Donostia, Vitoria,
Pamplona, Biarritz, Juanma Bajo Ulloa, Robert Wise, Sidney Lumet, John Frankenheimer, Sam
Peckinpah, Steve McQueen, Alexander McQueen, Liela Moss, Paco Rabanne, Patti Smith, Fred
Sonic Smith, Wayne Kramer, Rob Tyner, Adrian Belew, David Bowie, Carlos Alomar, Brian Eno,
Ricky Gardiner, Hunt & Tony Sales, Dave Alexander, Scott Asheton, Rafael Martín Vázquez,
Vincenzo Scifo, Ciccio Graziani, Mikel Arteta, Lorena Bernal, Ric Ocasek, Pablo Picasso, Jackson
Pollock, Curva Maratona, William Petersen, Jorja Fox, Henry Rollins, Fee Waybill, Charlize
Theron, Spike Lee, Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross, Rod Stewart, Ron Wood, Keith Richards, John Cale,
Shane McGowan, Dublin, Savannah, Nags Head, Southport, Baltimore, Ed Bishop, Michael
Billington, Gabrielle Drake, Alexander The Great, Joseph Conrad, John Sinclair, Michael Moore,
Steven Berkoff, Johnny Ramone, Joey Ramone, Dee Dee Ramone, Bob Mould, Pete Townshend,
Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon, Itoiz, Liam & Noel Gallagher, William Gibson, Carl Sagan, Isaac
Asimov, John Shirley, Juan Sebastián Verón, Will Eisner, Magnus & Bunker, Raquel Welch, The
Seth Man, Julian Cope, Paul Weller, Donald Buck Dharma Roeser, Deborah Harry, Chrissie Hynde,
Peter Kolosimo, Steve Marriott, Ippocrate, Wire, Guy Debord, Man Ray, Servando Rocha, Santi
Manterola, Justus Von Liebig, Elene & Josune Ispizua, Pietro Micca, Camillo Benso Count of
Cavour, Jeff Beck, Beck, and Jimi Hendrix.
Finally, tons of hugs, kisses, love & empathy vibes to my Lovergirla Bubsa Musa, QIjane Thomas.
Mwah. Mwah. Mwah. Now let’s strip naked Turin, muthas!
Maurizio Ferrarotti
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PINK RIBBON
Seasons of wither I’m wandering in Pellerina Park holding my digital camera. People think I’m
crazy but I don’t give a damn ’cause I’m way beyond their tired and narrow minds, I’m beyond
good and evil, yeah high on Pop Group dissonant guitars, alien sounds that fuel the fire of my
curiosity and if you say that curiosity killed the cat I’ll just shrug and leave you behind, Mr or Mrs
Banality. Agur... if you don’t know the meaning of this world, oh just google it, it’s Basque. Got no
time to waste. Got no time to lose ’cause I’m looking for a sign. I’m looking for a ribbon.
Seasons of wither leaves are dying and I’m thinking about healty boobs. SAVE THE TA-TAS! Tatas®
Brand is committed to stopping cancer. They give a portion of every sale to end the disease.
Every purchase counts because every purchase creates a donation. Do you love boobs? From the
Dawn of Time, boobs have been shaping history – destroying careers, crippling world powers. But
feeding us all generation after generation, mostly. Love em or hate em, they are fun-da-mental.
Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! If you really love your bubs boobs, donate. Yessa donate your
contribution, empathize, slam whoever criticize, love life in the sunrise drinking tequila!
Seasons of wither I’ve just caught a glimpse of the ribbon. Suddenly I feel the wind of memory. I
take the wind right out of your heavenly sails. Whoosh. A Duran Duran vinyl on the turntable.
Whoosh. An argument between us about the curtains. Whoosh. You swimming in the pool, brilliant
trainer. Whoosh. You just married, smiling, shiny happy drinking people around you. Whoosh.
Your son is born. Whoosh. Chemotherapy. Whoosh. Your last breath on that fuckin’ hospital bed.
You’re gone.
Click. I took a picture of the pink ribbon. My eyes are wet. Ooh, woe is me crying. Click, another
pic. Good job Mauri. It’s enough. Off to my car I go. Goodbye, Dani sista. Arrivederci.
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Figura 1. Pink Ribbon.
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DIGOS ON MY BACK
Well I’m running Digos on my back
I’ve been hiding Digos on my back
There was a shooting Digos on my back
And the victim well he wont come back
What have I done?
(just supporting Torino F.C.)
I been running monday tuesday wednesday
Thursday friday saturday sunday runnin
monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday
Saturday sunday
Yes, I'm running down the railway track
Could you help me? Digos on my back
They will catch me if I dare drop back
Wont you give me all the speed I lack
The General_Investigations_and_Special_Operations_Division (Italian: Divisione Investigazioni
Generali e Operazioni Speciali), mainly known with its acronym DIGOS, is an Italian law
enforcement agency, charged with investigating sensitive cases relating to terrorism, organized
crime and serious offences such as kidnapping and extortion. Boia, well, it means, hangman. Digos
is The Hangman. Don’t blame the photographer: I’m just trying to line the track a lack...
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Figura 2. Digos on my back.
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APOCALYPSE SNOW
Ain’t it a frame taken from New Year’s Day U2 video. This is Don Filippo Rinaldi garden,
Southside Turin and The Neighborhood Junkies. Googlemap it ma frienda. Nothing on earth is as
symmetrical as a snowflake, nothing but Poptones, yeah that P.I.L. song. Play it over and over and
over, you’ll see. Little Flake Jewel.
I’m not listening to U2 right away. I just never like them much. I do like only Zooropa, you know.
Especially that song, Babyface. It got that special David Bowie-on-Eno loopy aural feeling, if you
know what I mean. Always crashing in the same car with the cover girl blessed by natural grace.
However, I’m listening to Joe’s Garage, Frank Zappa’s Apocalypse now, while walking alone in
the snow like a nose-running, estranged Willard looking for a Jack-Frosted Kurtz. Frank’s playing
his best guitar solo ever, Watermelon in Easter Hay: desolate, devastating beauty notes. This is
rather Ice Station Zebra than Saigon. A spy satellite may fall down on my head and then uploading
all its secrets to my brain. Then some retired asshole may report this to Russian or American or
whatever operatives agents dressed like italian cops – they would tase and kill him cleanly
afterwards – thus turning me into The Most Wanted Man in The Whole Wide World, fuckingly
overnightly. It would be exciting. Zillion Dollar Turinese Brain. Russian stunners blowing your
penis and then trying to knock you down, I would be like: “Lemme untie your lace... but keep that
narcotic needle away from my back or I will destroy your face, my beautiful devotchka.” Anarchic
hackers givin’ you protection and AR kung-fu lessons. Stumbling upon the woman of your life in a
Hamburg bar. Lookin fine, so fine, dressed up like a lovely day. Watching impotently as passes
away for a bullet. Oh no.
White light, frozen meat. A thousand sonic blanco melons are floating all over here. Zappa melons.
It might be absolutely nothing behind that milky fog down there. It might be the edge of the
universe. I won’t go there. I don’t wanna be the man overboard drowing in the sea of nothing. No
bloody way.
Here he is, finally. Jack Frost Kurtz. He is small, bald, chubby, got the bloody carrot nose.
I ask him: “Hey Kurtzy, how ya doin?” In a slow, flat voice he replies: “Oh the horror... the horror.
The horror of having a snowy cock that’s gonna melt in the sun.” And the last, flanged chord of
Frank Zappa’s guitar slowly fades out.
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Figura 3. Apocalypse Snow.
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EUSKO KASABIANA
Figura 4. Ever took a paleta in the rib cage, mutil?
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SAVE A TREE!
The Big Club, Turin, Spring 1988. The European leg of Iggy Pop’s Instinct World Tour. The venue
is crowded, the band is superb – Andy McCoy being the axeman! – and Iggy is on fire. It’s my first
Iggy concert ever. I had missed him five years ago in this same town, Breaking Point Tour it was
named then, decidedly appropriate since Iggy was really close to the second breaking point of his
turbulent career. So tonight I couldn’t fail absolutely. The Ig is back in the saddle with true grit
riding a heavy metal horse. I’m here with the bunch in my Ron Asheton-like leather jacket, drinking
beer then getting into the pogoing crowd then back to beer then pogoing again and so on.
Cold metal, it’s gotta be. Better save a tree. Save a tree, save a tree, save a tree, save a tree, yeah!
That skinny pogoing hipster with bleached hair in the front row is astonished: “Save a tree? Oh...
SAVE A FUCK?” So he clears his throat and spits at Iggy. Fuck you guy this ain’t 1977! Mr
Osterberg doesn’t react. He keeps slowly crawling off stage like a stoned iguana. The peroxide
anachronic moron follows him almost in parallel, once again clearing his throat. Iggy crawling
careless in a whirl of feedback. Still, just a moment before disappearing behind the scenes, my Ann
Arbor hero suddenly turns his head and spit in the boy’s face. Leaving that little poseur astounded.
He he he. Good job Iggy! Luv ya. Save those fuckin’ trees!
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Figura 5. Save a tree!
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FLYING (ACROSS THE OCEAN AND OVER TURIN)
I’m flying
Across the ocean
And I’m soaring
Back home
To the place I was born
And probably raised.
And I’m flying
Across the mountains and valleys,
Back home to the one that I love so happily.
Can ya blame me for feeling homesick
’Cause I’ve been away such a very long long time
I served a while in the county jail
Five years for being hungry tired and poor
On and on
Yes I will follow
With your buttons and bows.
Figura 6. Flying (across the ocean and over Turin.)
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A STEP AHEAD OF THE SNOW
I’m a step ahead of the snow, thinking about willfully obscure genuine rock classics. The kinda
vinyl that only me and you own. We used to wandering downtown in search of sonic gems. Those
were the bloody days. Hungover, noisy, witty, happy, young. I’m still strong and young at heart but
now I wear scars: well, I wear them like proudly. I’m a veteran of the psychic wars. We fought the
stupidity and the stupidity won, we were captured and chained but they weren’t able to brainwash
us since our heads were protected by the Strummer Energy Shield, so they gave us our freedom
back like: “Oh, nema problema. The Modern World will do the job.”
Do you really think like that?
So what kind of fool do you think I am? You think I know nothing of the modern world. All my life
has been the same. I’ve learned to live by hate and pain: it’s my ispiration drive. I’ve learned more
than you’ll ever know. Even at school I felt quite sure that one day I would be one of a kind. The
teachers who said I’d be nothing. Ha ha ha.
So say what you like cause I don’t care. I know where I am and going too. It’s somewhere I won’t
preview. Don’t have to explain myself to you. I don’t give a fuck about your fucking rules. I’m a
step ahead of the snow, while you, you can just blow.
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Figura 7. One step ahead of the snow.
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TOO MUCH TOOO YOUNG
You've done too much
much too young
Now you’re married with a kid
when you could be having fun with me
oh no, no gimme no more pickni
You’ve done too much
much too young
Now you’re married with a son
when you should be having fun with me
we don’t want, we don’t want
we don’t want no more pickni
Ain’t he cute?
No he ain’t
He’s just another burden
on the welfare state
You’ve done too much
much too young
Now you’re married with a kid
when you could be having fun with me
no gimme, no gimme, no gimme no more pickni
Call me immature
Call me a poser
I’d love to spread manure in your bed of roses
Don’t want to be rich
Don’t want to be famous
But I’d really hate to have the same name as you
(you silly moo)
You’ve done too much
much too young
Now you’re married with a kid
when you could be having fun with me
gi we de birth control, we no want no pickni
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You’ve done too much
much too young
Now you’re chained to the cooker
making currant buns for tea
oh no, no gimme no more pickni
Ain’t you heard of the starving millions
Ain’t you heard of contraception
Do you really a program of sterilization
Take control of the population boom
It’s in your living room
Keep a generation gap
Try wearing a cap
Figura 8. Too much too young... The Specials in Turin!
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BANDWAGONESQUE
Just forget about Mike The Situation, Vinny Guadagnino & C. Here we got the real stuff: a middle
aged original italian Guido. Er, actually more than middle aged, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a typical
product of our third-rate trashy tv: a supposed sports journalist who talks about soccer with the
competence of a black salsify. Not to mention the impartiality, since he is a die-hard Juventus F.C.
fan and he does absolutely nothing to dissimulate it. Just look at his T-shirt: MOGGI È VERITÀ.
Moggi is truth. Who the hell is this Moggi?, may ask anyone. Well, former Juventus director
Luciano Moggi was found guilty of sporting fraud in Calciopoli scandal; the former supremo of the
Turin-based club, as well the remaining leading troupe of the Calciopoli scandal, have all been
condemned for their actions.
The phrase “jump on the bandwagon” first appeared in American politics in 1848 when Dan Rice, a
famous and popular circus clown of the time, used his bandwagon and its music to gain attention for
his political campaign appearances. As his campaign became more successful, other politicians
strove for a seat on the bandwagon, hoping to be associated with his success. Later, during the time
of William Jennings Bryan’s 1900 presidential campaign, bandwagons had become standard in
campaigns, and “jump on the bandwagon” was used as a derogatory term, implying that people
were associating themselves with the success without considering what they associated themselves
with. In Italy this concept, literally translated in Italian as “saltare sul carro del vincitore”, was
introduced by Ennio Flaiano, a great author and critic.
So here we got an uncommon – very uncommon for this messy country – case of coherency. While
all Moggi’s lickspittles and sponsors (politicians, tv hosts and opinion makers, that kinda scum)
jumped headlong off his corrupted bandwagon when the scandal broke, this freak – sorry, I’m not
able to recall his name! – stand still in his defence. Well, what can I say: congrats! As long as you
hit a subjunctive right one of these bloody days.
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Figura 9. Bandwagonesque (Middle Aged Original Italian Guido.)
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INVALIDATORS
In the picture below, you can appreciate an italian ticket validator on its most frequent mode, i.e.
broken, on Lingotto’s railway station platform track number 6. If it is broke, don’t fix it!
Figura 10. Invalidator.
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GRAZIE CHE HO BEVUTO!
Fin dall’antichità l’uomo si è trovato a creare ruoli mistici e separati per l’atto del bere: benché
spesso celebrato entro il generico rito di un pasto, esso rimane sempre appartato in un rituale a sé.
Gli antichi Sumeri, ad esempio, si mantenevano a rispettosa distanza dalle loro bevande mediante
lunghe cannucce di paglia. Il fatto che le cannucce permettessero a coloro i quali partecipavano al
rituale di bere da un unico contenitore consentì l’affermazione di un evento comunitario. Uno
poteva condividere un senso di profondo cameratismo con gli altri bevitori membri del suo gruppo
di coppa. Quest’antico costume è ancora parte intrinseca dell’attività sociale di molte tribù africane
odierne; in Occidente è stato ripristinato per i nuovi cerimoniali della sbronza collettiva. La paglia è
stata sostituita dalla meno esotica plastica e i sempre più arzigogolati beveroni non hanno bisogno
di essere passati al setaccio, ma di un fegato in lega di titanio!
Da lì al brindisi il passo è breve. L’atto di offrire simbolicamente una bevanda a una divinità fu
senz’altro una parte indispensabile delle offerte di preghiera e feste religiose fin dall’alba della
storia in ambo le comunità pagane e giudaico-cristiane. In questo senso il moderno cincin può
essere considerato come una derivazione dell’Eucarestia! In qualsiasi modo vi sono stati molti
misteri associabili al consumo di pane e vino fra tutte le comunità religiose, inclusi i Nativi
Americani. Anche i seguaci del Dalai Lama in Tibet celebrano in stile eucaristico. Gli Egizi
festeggiavano ogni anno la resurrezione di Osiride consumando pane in forma di torta sacra od ostia
dopo che era stato benedetto da un sacerdote e così divenuto carne della carne del dio; poi
s’inzuppava il pane nel vino e si comunicava al fedele di aver mangiato il corpo e il sangue di
Osiride. La lista potrebbe continuare per un bel pezzo.
Nell’antica Grecia il brindisi tra due persone era chiamato proposis, “la bibita prima”. Colui che
proponeva il brindisi dapprima sorseggiava, poi dava il recipiente che conteneva il resto del vino
alla persona onorata; in occasioni di particolare rilevanza la tazza stessa era un regalo permanente al
ricevitore. A uno sposalizio, per citare un caso, una coppa dorata piena di vino sarebbe passata in
questa maniera da suocero a genero. La coppa diveniva un simbolo della sposa, “accompagnata
all’altare” (com’è ancora in uso dire) da suo padre; i due uomini, le due famiglie erano ora una cosa
sola nel vino condiviso.
Notevolmente più a nord e avanti lungo la linea temporale, nelle notti di luna piena, i sacerdoti
guerrieri di Odino offrivano brindisi al proprio dio nell’ambito di riti da connotati proto-heavy
metal: niente vetro finemente lavorato, solo metallo grezzo, cuoio e sangue. Più tardi essi
svilupparono la pratica di usare il teschio di un nemico caduto come coppa d’offerta sacrificale, e
alcuni studiosi sostengono che quest’uso diede origine al ben noto brindisi scandinavo “Skoal!”.
Indubbiamente questa parola e skull (“teschio”) sono etimologicamente correlate, significando
entrambe “una cosa cava”. È anche interessante notare che mentre il brindisi non è mai stato una
tradizione molto forte nei paesi dell’area mediterranea fin dalla nascita del Cristianesimo, gli sono
stati attribuiti termini germanici in francese, italiano e spagnolo. La forma teutonica del costume di
brindare sembra essere stata reintrodotta in quei paesi in qualche periodo durante il sedicesimo
secolo. Come risultato in italiano e spagnolo “brindare” si dice rispettivamente “brindare” e
“brindar”, dal tedesco “ich bring dir’s”, un brindisi che significa “io lo porto a te”. Nella lingua
francese la parola “trinquer” viene dal tedesco “trinken”, ossia “bere”.
In lingua inglese “fare un brindisi” si dice to drink a toast. Questo modo di dire viene dalla pratica
britannica di mettere a galleggiare sulla bevanda un pezzetto di pane tostato addolcito o
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aromatizzato. Un’usanza antica, derivante anch’essa dalla tradizione degli eventi religiosi
eucaristici della storia: dopo che tutti gli ospiti avevano diviso la coppa, si attendeva che il padrone
di casa ne sorbisse le ultime gocce in onore dei commensali e della devozione alla propria deità.
NOW COPY, PASTE AND GOOGLETRANSLATE ALL THIS, MUTHA!
Figura 11. Grazie che ho bevuto! Thank you for drinking!
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TAMBOURINE
Tamborine what are U
Why are U the star of
All my dreams
(Star of all my dreams, are U a good tamborine)
Are U good, are U bad
Are U just unnecessary means
Figura 12. Tambourine.
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INTO THE VALLEY OF THE NEWS
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Newscasters come and go
Song number one and the news are comin’
Electronic beats down 4/4 rock ranking
A bass so deep thud as she starts talking’
Screen white meche and my spine’s shakin’
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
There walks Crudelia De Mon
Dedicated to Mrs Caterina Cannavà (image below), Tg3 Piemonte half night edition newcaster.
Figura 13. Caterina Cannavà.
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THIS MUST BE SEAN PENN
From Mauri’s Book of Irish Memories...
One night in Dublin, August 1991, me and the boys tried to sneak into a historic venue called
McGonagles whose musical selection we had appreciated in a flyer a couple of hours before, while
jumping from pub to pub drinking Guinness like mad: glam punk new wave rock. Wow, that was
our cup of tea!
Yet when we showed up at its door, the doormen bounced us back: “Wrong dress code, sirs.”
Wrong? We fitted like a fuckin’ glove! I mean, we got two skinheads, a mod and... me... what about
me... well, I was a crossover between Hugh Cornwell of The Stranglers and Terry Noonan, that
character played by Sean Penn in State of Grace. I do adore that movie and Sean Penn of course.
However the two brogue energumens kindly suggested us to come back there the following night:
“You’re gonna fit in it perfectly, fellas.”
Absolutely. With tongue bloody firmly in cheeck. In fact it would be a baggy shoegazer dream pop
night... what the hell. Anyway, we showed up again and I had lotsa fun and a musical epiphany, a
real one. Once back to Italy I started hunting for those bands like crazy in records stores: La’s, New
Model Army, Mock Turtles, EMF, Carter USM, Jesus Jones, Soup Dragons, Ride, My Bloody
Valentine, The Wonder Stuff, Curve, Stone Roses, Happy Mondays Black Grape... Info Freako!
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Figura 14. This must be Sean Penn.
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