It’s quite easy to explain how my
As with all things, though, there is nothing to
explain. All you need to do is start, strike up a musical phrase, a
sequence of sounds or noises and even a note, I dare say a note, and
out comes the whole musical composition. Consequently, the word
inspiration has nothing to do with art, but has everything to do with
the physical sense of the word; it actually refers to the inhaling of
air, that is to say, the act of taking in oxygen.
I compose my songs in the basement, a rather dark
place that’s a sort of laboratory and wine-cellar put together and I am,
as you could see, in a well-defined place. The console and various
instruments are in front of me and, behind me, you will find many
bottles of good Italian wine, jars of tomato sauce, etc. I won’t say
anything else because I don’t want to reveal my secret hideaway, but I
can tell you that I’m only in the company of the following: musical
instruments, wine and cigarettes. I don’t do drugs because it isn’t
necessary to take them in order to make
I compose mostly at night because I have to work, as most people do, during the day.
I don’t know how to answer to this. There’s never a
reason, not even for the minstrel.
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