E' così che funziona then. One day we're there to write stupid things and the day after we have disappeared. This morning I woke up and found a text message on your phone, "Ernesto is dead." I went to open Facebook and do not know why the first thing I noticed was the warning of birthdays today, Feb. 13: Today's birthdays, Ernesto De Pascale. What absurd, that bad thing. You went away within hours of your birthday, then that was the day before Valentine's Day. Coincidence? Boh. I do not know what the fuck what the fuck do and say if you do not have to write as I always did like you taught me to do.
colleague, comrade, as the Americans say: brother in arms. We worked together for years, albeit from afar, You sent us your songs from your Florence, in Milan we put them together and publish them. The sudden your calls, I go to Los Angeles, I go to Florida, I go to some remote festival in the middle of the English countryside. Are you interested in an interview? Of course we are interested, bring home the most incredible interviews with the major who had made the history of rock, only you know how did you catch them all. What a laugh your articles and your stories that they tell us, for example, when you have been to Los Angeles to go crazy nights with Guns n 'Roses. We wondered, but is it true? Of course it was.
Your site, your label, called The People of the Blues, but I know that your greatest love was for that season who had been the great English folk end of the 60, the first 70. We loved the same way as Sandy Denny and Fairport Convention. Only you were able to photograph the legendary bassist Ashley Hutchinson of Fairport and the discoverer of Nick Drake, with Fiorentina on your shirt. "Fuck Ernesto, the next time you go to that festival I want to come too" I told you a thousand times. Thou by the toscanaccio laughed, but that trip together to England we were not able to do so.
The last time we met in person was at the Felice Brothers concert here in Milan, you were brought to Italy, whose disk you were circulated. Well, 'I owe you one of the best nights of music my life. We talked at the bar, a beer and whiskey, the place where all the music journalists give their best. A couple of months ago you were also at the concert at the National, still here in Milan. Great music does not miss it ever. Julia came to greet me, "There's also Ernesto" he said. Ok after I come to say goodbye, I said. I made it in time. Fuck.
I had the pleasure and honor to review your last album a few years ago. We had called "the Randy Newman of Florence." I had called to thank me for that expression. I believed and still believe. You went on your birthday, the day before Valentine's Day. Coincidence? Boh. But it is not right. Now we were still in meno, abbiamo perso un collega, un commilitone, un brother in arms. Siamo sempre di meno a cercare di vivere questa folle passione per la grande musica. Tu sei stato uno dei primi, ci hai insegnato come amare la musica. Ciao Ernesto, ci vediamo a quel festival prima o poi.
Firenze, 1996, con Massimo Bubola e l'amico Pasquale
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