“You can send your lips to a new address”: Even after fifty years, the enigmatic songs of Francesco De Gregori fascinate Italians

It is a nasty (and also stupid) rumor that Italian love songs necessarily rhyme with “amore” and usually demonstrate modest depth of thought.

Good Italian songs are full of intricate lyrics. "I offer you the intelligence of electricians so you'll always have light," goes Paolo Conte's cult song "Un gelato al limon." And Antonello Venditti asks in his hit "Notte prima degli esami": "But how do secretaries with glasses manage to marry lawyers?" Finally, Francesco De Gregori's song "Rimmel" prompts: "You can send your lips to a new address!" No German or Swiss songwriter would write lyrics like that.

Mind you, even in the original Italian version, these lines are cumbersome. And yet they are sung, from Como to Catanzaro, from Trapani to Trieste. Anyone who has ever attended a concert by one of the aforementioned cantautori in Italy knows: everyone knows these passages by heart, regardless of age. Tens of thousands of times, they then sing about the intelligence of electricians, secretaries with glasses, or lips that are about to be mailed. As if these were the most natural phrases. Many of the lines have become common knowledge: You find them as quotations in speeches, as headlines in newspaper articles, or in advertisements.

When the Italian energy giant Enel created a commercial for last year's European Football Championship, it chose De Gregori's "La storia siamo noi" as the soundtrack. For television viewers, it was the sound of the tournament—a huge success that promptly led the Roman singer-songwriter to be accused of selling his soul for money.

Yet their use for advertising purposes is the best proof of the longevity of such songs. "La storia siamo noi," for example, dates back to 1985. A few guitar chords and the first four words were enough to evoke something in the TV audience—warm feelings, perhaps a memory.

Francesco De Gregori, now 74, knows this. That's why he's using the 50th anniversary of his hit album "Rimmel" as an opportunity to embark on a major tour. It kicks off on August 23rd in Cattolica on the Adriatic Riviera with a few open-air summer concerts; this will be followed by performances in large sports halls and smaller clubs until the finale in Milan on February 14th, 2026.

People will sing along, as always. Because in Italy, everyone knows "Rimmel." Long before De Gregori composed hits like "Viva l'Italia" or "Generale," which also garnered attention north of the Alps, he landed his first major success with this album. The record remained in the charts for 60 weeks and sold over 400,000 copies. By the end of 1975, it was the best-selling album of the year in Italy.

The name Rimmel, by the way, means mascara. The album is about playing with masquerades and trying to unmask them.

De Gregori himself marvels at his success back then: "I often ask myself how I came to this, where I discovered this expressiveness, this language that was so strange for the time. I was only 23 years old and never thought I would continue to be a musician," he said a few days ago in the literary supplement of "Repubblica" in one of his rare interviews.

De Gregori, the "principe," as he is called in Italy due to his somewhat aloof manner, rarely speaks to the media and dislikes being asked to interpret his lyrics publicly. But he still sings, composes, and performs as if the years have not affected him, often together with other cantautori. In 2022, he toured the country's stadiums with Antonello Venditti, and last year he performed on smaller stages with the actor, musician, and comedian Checco Zalone. These were unexpectedly relaxed and witty performances from the bard, who is otherwise known for his melancholic tones.

But he earned his reputation in his early years – like many of his colleagues of the time: Fabrizio De André, Lucio Dalla, and Francesco Guccini. Together with other artists, they represent the unique soundscape of Italian music of the 1970s and 1980s and a spirit that combined lightness with social criticism and possessed a peculiarly seductive power.

The songs, however, were created in a gloomy environment. These were the leaden years, "gli anni di piombo." A wave of right-wing and left-wing extremist violence swept the country, poisoning political discourse. De Gregori himself became the subject of political debates. Many considered him too nice, too sweet, not militant enough. "Rimmel" was panned by some critics as an apolitical work. In 1976, one of his concerts turned into a physical confrontation with aggressive left-wing demonstrators. They criticized him for his high fees and lack of solidarity with the labor movement.

De Gregori considered himself a leftist. "I voted for the Communists and made no secret of it." But even this stance, he says, was an expression of what he ironically calls a "dangerous bourgeois derailment" for many contemporaries. "Those were the times, and I was right in the middle of it."

His songs, however, grew stronger under the circumstances. Only against the backdrop of those leaden years could they unfold their special resonance, which still carries them today. The pensive lyrics, enigmatic turns of phrase, and poetic contortions led away from the black and white of rampant violence in Italy, creating a welcome contrast—and some distraction. Everyone found their own line in the songs, which they treasured.

"Rimmel" and many other songs of that era undoubtedly owe their power to those years—and decades later, they also benefit from a nostalgic zeitgeist that has gripped the country today. Globalization has eliminated many certainties, and in Italy, too, no stone has been left unturned. It's therefore only natural to romanticize the past somewhat. Antonello Venditti is also riding this wave. A few weeks ago, he embarked on a reminiscence tour. His album "Notte prima degli esami" celebrates its fortieth anniversary this year.

The melodies and lyrics of the Cantautori, which have become etched in the collective memory of Italians precisely because they offer more than simple rhymes with "amore," still work today. And they have aged remarkably well.