Best’ generation – chapter four




Best' generation

Best’ generation


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Best’ generation

Ursula reopened the remembrance drawer. She was engaged to Duilio, who today is the barman of the Banda Larga, but at that time he was John Lee D, the King of the Rock in our neighbourhood.

He was the king and she was his queen. They came out only in the lights of the night. They was a convoy of accompanying with plastic dresses that looked straight ahead and that pass, in our eyes, was a phosphorescent locomotive split towards the future.

In that future John Lee D lost the throne because time, despite keeping a more relaxed rhythm compared the rock music, it’s a more constant element of it and makes sure you never reign forever, unless the musical virtuosity are so indispensable to resist. Lee D’s iron riffs didn’t win over his era, they rusted and he was no longer king as Ursula was no longer his queen.

I was the Fax guitarist and I thought the group of John Lee D aimed only on the image while the Fax just loved the music. We liked to experiment with various genres and I think we had bases. I boasted a discrete musical culture even though my mind was a liver full of gallstone to remove.

One of the events which influenced my life was the death of John Lennon. John’s existence for me began with his end. Not having lived as a contemporary ached me. I spent time reading up and staying for hours in bookstores and libraries in search of anecdotes, essays and biographical notes still eluded me, as if this somehow filled the distance and the years which had separated me from that period.

I often thought about what would have been of me if he had never existed but a guy like John would never have just passed.

Best’ generation

Ursula also venerated him more than anything else. The suggestion brought me to talk to her about my theory of Lennon’s death.

In ’71 John left England to live in New York. In America he didn’t make a good kid. He attended radical extremists, participated in the Marches for peace. The Government of the United States did not like the resonance of his deeds. John’s phone was under control and the FBI stalked him.

He wrote “Gimme some truth” for Richard Nixon, pre-announcing the Watergate scandal. No one knows if the president listened to the song but official documents testify how John’s positions were clear to the White House. Moreover, they were urged by King Elvis to take measures against subversive and controversial English man.

In ’75, John won his battle against the U.S. Immigration office that repeatedly attempted to expel him and the following year he received the definitive residence permit. In October of the same year, his long-awaited son was born by Yoko and he withdrew to a private life.

Until the 80s, Lennon led the life of a quiet bourgeois devoted to the family. John was pleased of it, but time passed, his son grew up and maybe even boredom. It was worth retrying a new beginning.

In November 1980 he released Double Fantasy, his first album after five years of inactivity. On the night of December 8th, John and Yoko came home. John heard someone called him. He turns. It will be his last moments of life.

Mark David Chapman was a Beatles fanatic. He worked as a security guard in Atlanta and was confident with firearms. He moved to Hawaii where he was a victim of a nervous breakdown which brought him to the brink of suicide. In ’79 he got married in Honolulu to an American girl of Japanese descent. His fanaticism for Lennon was obsessive. In October 1980, he left the security guard work in Honolulu, signing with Lennon’s name and reaching New York after buying a 38 calibre for 169 dollars. On the night of December 8th in front of the Dakota building, he put an end to his obsessions.

That’s the story. My theory, however, was twisted and flimsy. Despite the excellent relationship between Lennon and the Carter government, following the Nixon government, there is no doubt John’s past was uncomfortable. There’s also no doubt, despite the changes, there are side powers to those politicians composed of military structures and secret services supported by an indissoluble patriotic spirit.

Hence my speculation. Lennon was killed at the moment when he interfered again outside the door after returning to the scenes. And who performed the act was one who had already shown signs of madness. A guy like that with a gun in his hand can do anything and if it’s absurd to admit his mind was so sick that he was led by an unknown puppeteer, he would be taken into little consideration: Don’t you think it was the perfect person to push for a similar case?

To all, I was a mythomaniac but no one took me seriously as Ursula. From that moment on, for a long time, we were indissoluble.

Liverpool was my second hometown. There was no day I didn’t dream of going there. I knew the port area was re-evaluated over the years with the opening of a subsidiary of the Tate Gallery on docks near the maritime museum.

All I saw of Liverpool, the photographs and archive footage, were fascinating in its desolation. I still have an old black and white postcard sent to me by the Fax keyboardist, who filmed the port as it once was. Behind the postcard, beyond Greetings, the caption “STEVEDORES, ALBERT DOCK 1945” was written, alongside a message from my old friend: “Oh my God!”

Best’ generation

My dream became reality. We left, Ursula and I, and we came to Liverpool. These were the most beautiful days of my life. The virtual presence of the Beatles was a concrete suggestion. We were walking around Matthew Street, the street of clubs and the pubs. The narrow alleys, brick buildings and all those colours seemed to recreate a picture lost over time and would remain indelible. Even the beer had a different taste. We stopped briefly, for prudence, at the Albert Dock, the port area. I was electrocuted and I could have died in serenity. We stayed to stare at the river Mersey thinking about John’s melancholy when he saw passing ferries in New York City because they reminded him of his hometown.

From that moment, Ursula became my bride. I idealized her and she was a perfect being. John Lee D had returned to being Duilio and there was no room for losers. All this happened only in my head and space was restricted also to me.






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