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bright side of the moon
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As Bologna’s
most celebrated band gets set to launch in the UK, Ella Carpenter
meets the members of Lúnapop to see what the future holds.
 I’m
in love with Cesare Cremonini. Me and some 10,000 other girls. Numerous
web sites and chat rooms testify to the undeniable fact that he
is the most fancied man in Italy at the moment. Many of his starry-eyed
fans have even gone so far as to send images of their breasts to
their official web site, forming a rather titillating gallery of
Lunapoppe (that’s lunaboobs…). While I haven’t quite
reached that limit, this is my first heady experience of pin-up
star love, and what’s more, Cesare, the lead singer of Lúnapop,
lives in the same city as me, and even hangs out in the same bars.
So I do have a chance of ensnaring him.
On securing an interview with the most talked-about band of the
year, I was suddenly inundated with offers from assistants, false
photographers and drivers, all foreign friends hoping to see their
heroes in the flesh. This Italian band has broken into the ex-pat
world - a world whose interest in Italian music more often than
not only stretches to learning a few token Lucio lyrics - and got
them proudly singing along in the lingo. However, what really distinguishes
Lunapop from the lunapap is their next move: the band are translating
their songs into English and from this month will be revving their
vespas in the UK. How are they going to pull it off?
In case any of you have had your head firmly under your IKEA duvet
these last few years, Lúnapop is currently Bologna’s
most famous export. Five guys, all early 20s, have won their way
into the hearts and minds of most of the population with their breezy,
frothy tunes that have dominated Italian air play for the last two
years. First the pogo-ing 50 Special became the sound of the summer
in 1999. Then their debut album Squerez was released went on to
sell more than a million copies. Cesare Cremonini, the lead singer,
began writing songs at school and formed his first band Senza Filtro
in the old-fashioned way, with school friend Gabriele and a bunch
of other mates. Sheer determination got them a signing with local
producers and the rest, along with a name change, is history….
I caught up with Lúnapop in March as they were re-recording
the 50 Special video for the UK launch. I ask them how on earth
they plan to conquer the elusive Anglo-Saxons. ‘We didn’t
really expect to attempt to break into the UK market,’ explains
Cesare, ‘but once it has been suggested to us we thought we
might as well try. We don’t really know much about the UK world
so we’ll just have to see how things go.’ Laid back, quiet
confidence emanates from the lead singer as he relaxes in his chair
and describes the process of translating the song: ‘It’s
remained pretty much the same, though of course i colli bolognesi
had to be cut: there aren’t enough Bolognese in the world to
make it worthwhile. It was amazing to be singing in English though…
it made a real impression to hear our own songs in the language
of the music we’ve always listened to.’
It’ll be curious to see the job they’ve done on the lyrics.
How wonderful to zoom around the hills and mountains on your Vespa
Special - it blows away your troubles, somehow doesn’t
quite have the same effect. Translation is always tricky, and when
you’ve got the musical arrogance and superiority of the British
to contend with, a real Herculean challenge arises. Quite aside
from linguistic difficulties, being in Bologna and listening to
quanto è bello andare in giro per i colli bolognesi
has its own particular appeal, knowing smugly just how much fun
it is to have your hair whipped up while zooming around those windy
hilly roads behind the city. How many Manchunians can share these
same Sunday afternoon feelings?
Lúnapop’s attraction is not solely based on identification
with Bologna. Their songs have a innocent optimism that epitomises
the Italian dream of so many foreigners arriving in Italy. The romanticism
and charm expressed in their lyrics and melodies draws everyone
from the banker to the baker into the Lúnapop story. The
UK charts are full of chirpy poppy songs and our catchy Bolognese-bred
band could find a niche in the market as Italian-flavour pop. In
fact the UK public could be forgiven for thinking Lúnapop
is the macaroni export version of Westlife: five cute young guys
singing about love and relationships with high-flying exuberance.
Of course they couldn’t be further from the mark, considering
the distinctly unmanufactured way in which the band was formed and
Cesare’s undeniable song-writing talent, but how do Lúnapop
see themselves in relation to these artificial bands?
Cesare is quick to reply. ‘All this talk of boy bands is totally
dull. Great musicians can come out of boy bands - Robbie Williams
for example - whereas other bands that have not been created by
marketing agencies have been total flops. These things aren’t
cut and dry. Some of the greatest rock bands like U2, or Queen or
Oasis have had huge success thanks to their attitude. Like many
Europeans, I couldn’t always understand the lyrics but I loved
them for their music and their image. It’s ridiculous to say
that Lúnapop are a real band and the boy bands aren’t,
simply because we write our songs and they don’t. Our image
has brought us huge success, as much as our songs have.’
And the rest of the band? ‘We think what Cesare thinks,’
says Ballo. Well, that’s cleared that one up then.
If Lúnapop are pushing themselves as pure pop, then they
have a good chance of making it in Britain. But this band is not
pure pop. This band loves Oasis and Cold Play and neither of those
bands can be called pop. To make it really big in Britain and be
taken seriously you have to be cool, and that’s where Lúnapop
could stumble. School’s going bad, I’ve got my Vespa but
I’ve got no girl, I’ve got a Vespa and it’s already
Sunday hardly passes the cool test. Cesare, on the other hand, has
the makings of a self-assured, cooler than cool pop star. He is
most definitely the one in control of the band and his reference
to Robbie Williams seems particularly apt thinking of how the ex-Take
That star shed his squeaky boyish image and emerged as the rough,
cool and talented rock star that he is considered today. Cesare’s
current lifestyle of living with Mum and Dad is a long way off that
of his rock idols, but he’s dreaming of moving to London. ‘In
England houses cost so much. I’d love to live there but it’s
just too expensive.’ Would the rest of the band go there? ‘We’d
all go to Cesare’s house!’ calls out Mike. ‘He could
sub-let us a room!’
The next album is due out in January 02 and Cesare is careful to
inform me that they are all writing songs and contributing to the
album. The style will still be pop, ‘with our name it couldn’t
be anything else,’ says Mike, though Cesare confesses to thinking
about a new direction. ‘To evolve is natural and right. It’s
been two years since we made the last album and to be honest we’re
growing out of it, especially some of the lyrics. At this stage
in your life you change very quickly and we’re very different
now. The music will be the same, but it will have grown up’.
Considering their UK band influences, Lúnapop’s tone
could develop onto a more sombre, angst-ridden level. Although I’m
not sure if angst-pop exists as a genre, nor do I entirely believe
that it could be written in the Bolognese sunshine…
The interview’s coming to a close. Cesare still has not asked
me out and my hopes are beginning to run very thin. Then Gabriele
speaks: ‘Invito ufficialmente a mangiare a casa mia…’.
My heart races. OK, it’s not Cesare but he’s the best
looking one anyway. Keep calm, keep calm. ‘…Paul McCartney,
per due spaghettini.’ Ah well. Lucky Paul.
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