Home » Author Biography » THE BILLIARD PLAYER – Angelo Branduardi

THE BILLIARD PLAYER – Angelo Branduardi

Composing, recording the texts of the favorite poets

The first traces of human settlements in Cuggiono (a municipality in Lombardy) date back to ancient times. Its interesting archaeological finds are collected in the Archaeological Museum of Legnano http://cultura.legnano.org/musei/ Do not forget to visit Villa Annoni, a majestic neoclassical villa dating back to the Napoleonic era (built in 1809), with a huge park of 230,000 m², realized in romantic style. Among its famous natives, a pope, two sculptors and singer-songwriter Angelo Branduardi. Born in 1950 in Cuggiono (a small town near Milan), in thirty years of music ANGELO BRANDUARDI managed to enter fairy tales in Italian song, drawing on the popular legends of many nations. The most important meeting of his life took place in 1975, with Luisa Zappa, his lyricist, as well as his wife. His spirit for the historically faithful re-enactment of past epochs of popular music takes shape in an articulated chain of record works. With poeticity of the texts sobriety of the arrangements, his debut record took place in 1974.

ANGELO BRANDUARDI http://www.angelobranduardi.it/ita/artista.htm studied violin at the Niccolò Paganini Conservatory of Genoa, then attended the faculty of Philosophy of Milan, where he had begun to compose his lyrics, also drawing on favorite poets. His first success came in 1976, with the album “Alla fiera dell’Est”. Two years later, he began a tour that took him across Europe. In 1985 he had released a record album with ten lyrics by poet William Butler Yeats.

THE BILLIARD PLAYEROnly the grass on the plateau is green a little more, but do not think about it, there is no lie on the hand trying to figure out where to hit. Tic-tac tic-tac, for every geometry, tic-tac tic-tac, requires imagination. There is a light that moon is not, in a darkness that night is not, and a voice that voice is not, that does not speak but speaks of me. Suddenly my hand burns, the green air of the cloth on the floor. Tic-tac, and the game takes away rolling my life. That’s why he holds his breath until he stays down, and forever he wants to say never again. Tic-tac tic-tac, for every geometry, tic-tac tic-tac, it takes imagination. There is a light that moon is not, in a darkness that night is not, and a voice that voice is not, that does not speak but speaks of me, and suddenly touches my hand the green grass of this plateau. Tic-tac, and the game takes away rolling my life.

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