A church bell chimes, its lonely sound briefly emphasising the silence before a marching band strikes up. A procession of solemn adults and gleeful children, all led by the parish priest, takes to the 12th century streets, for today is the day when blessings are bestowed upon the cars of Roccalbegna.
Standing across the street from my balcony is a vast rock, like a mountain peek that has just popped into town on some errand or other, crowned by the lonely ruin of a watchtower; a weathered stone sentinel that stands patient through the centuries, watching over the tightly gathered roofs and the river valley that winds though the thickly wooded mountains and hills beyond, waiting for something or someone who has never come, and probably never will.
We are, as the locals say, ‘in mezzo ai lupi,’: ‘in amongst the wolves.’
It’s easy to view this ancient settlement, with its Etruscan roots, as a Shangri-la of the Alta Maremma, that wild, underpopulated region of southern Tuscany, as a haven in which to escape the modern madness of our twenty-four/seven, self-entitled world and you’ll notice (tastefully ceramic) satellite dishes, while broadband runs beneath the main street. The newsagent/tobacconist will sell you memory cards, USBs, and any number of technological wonders required to help keep us all connected.
There is no hiding from the world here, any more than there is anywhere else. To be cut off is simply a matter of personal choice, not of circumstance. And it is in this sociable space, this convivial peace, that I create my own worlds of sounds and words.
I’m no different to most people when it comes to feeling revulsion and rage at the stories that get delivered to me minute-by-minute on the internet – posts on social media, emails from a host of charities, even good old-fashioned letters from the United Nations themselves, and others, giving the lie to those who claim that the atrocities being committed round the world are simply conspiracy theories dreamed up on social media platforms. And at the same time exposing the obfuscations and omissions of many European and American opinion-shapers.
The other day, while taking a cappuccino at a local bar, I only had to wish a neighbour ‘Buongiorno’ and we were suddenly talking about Gaza, the Sudan, Ukraine…. We shared the same feeling of being as out of control, as helpless to help, as everyone else. Everyone else, that is, except for our leaders, who refuse to take control, refuse to help, and thereby go directly against the wishes of their electorate. Thus politics and vested interest have killed democracy.
So, no, contrary to what you might think reading this, I am not a political animal. I view both politics and religion as belief-systems that we use as an excuse for being the people we already are. And, yes, there are cases in which a few individuals have done some very good things in the name of politics, religion, or even both. But only a few. Most followers of these belief-systems remain blissfully self-righteous as they drag the rest of us into their quagmires of hypocrisy, deceit and worse.
That’s not to say that I have no social conscience, any more that I’m a complete atheist or nihilist. You could say that I have a belief-system of my own. After all, like everyone else, much of what I think I know isn’t really knowledge at all. Most of my ‘knowledge’ consists of things I have been told by people whom I have reason to believe.
So what am I, but a foolish septuagenarian living opposite a rock with his head full of rock dreams? I have no useful training that would enable me to help the victims of war and atrocity in any significant way: I’m not a nurse, doctor, or paramedic. I’m not a builder, trained negotiator, nor any kind of therapist. If I were to rush out to any of the trouble spots of the world, I’d just be getting in everybody’s way. Another innocent to be protected, another mouth to feed. All I can do is give measly monthly amounts to various charities in the hope that if enough of us do the same it might make some kind of difference.
Where it’s allowed to.
Do You Wonder began as the result of a need to express feelings that plagued me throughout my waking hours.
These days, with the aid of computer technology, writing and recording are for me the same thing. I start with an idea that might be a lyrical or musical phrase, or it might just be an atmosphere demanding to be given some kind of substance. However, during this process with this particular song, I found myself with a chord sequence for the verses that didn’t inspire me, and subsequently a rather ugly, insipid vocal line. I decided to scrap it – just keep the bits I did like and use them for something else.
But scrapping the song seemed too much like betrayal, turning my back on all those millions of largely innocent people caught between rival factions and made to pay the hellish price for the power-plays of others; the homeless, the dispossessed, the bereaved and the maimed. For the dead it’s already too late. I hear the Greeks have a saying: ‘When the buffaloes fight it’s the frogs that pay.’ This is why I said at the beginning that I didn’t write this song because I wanted to, but because I had to.
At the same time, I remembered a track from Del Amitri’s excellent ‘Twisted’ album called ‘Food for Song’ in which frontman and writer Justin Currie highlights the hypocrisy of those who get rich writing songs about (and thereby making money from) the suffering of others. True, such songs do rase awareness, but I realised that one doesn’t write a something like Do You Wonder and keep the proceeds to oneself. To avoid complications, I would have to release it as a standalone piece, not part of an album. But then the question arises: Who on earth would buy it? My name doesn’t sell records. I would need people whose names do sell records.
I immediately thought of Amanda Lehmann, with whom I’ve recently become friends, and as immediately dropped the idea. She’s already very much in demand as a session musician, while trying to get her second solo album recorded, and was at the time about to tour Japan with Steve Hackett. The idea of approaching her at this moment seemed callus to the point of being downright rude.
At the same time, I thought of Zal Cleminson, who was with the Sensational Alex Harvey Band and then Nazareth, to name but two. I met him in 1981 or 2, when he was with Tandoori Cassette, who my band, Airbridge, supported at Lowestoft College. In 2013, when the reformed Airbridge released Return, he wrote to us on Facebook, saying he remembered us as “a bunch of nice guys”. We became friends, and he was the first person I asked to join the project.
He described my first version as being “drenched in emotion” and compared the guitar work and vocal to David Gilmour. In fact, he said the whole thing sounded like Pink Floyd. At first he said he didn’t feel he could add anything. (Perhaps, I thought, he was just too busy – he and multi-instrumentalist Billy McGonagle were fully occupied with their own band, Orphans of the Ash. Their album Ellipsis – a powerful blend of grunge, electronics and heavy metal – has rightly renewed their reputation. A terrific record – but nothing like my song.)
Yet he was the one I wanted – indeed, the one I needed – for the project. I knew that, regardless of the quality of my music, far more people would buy a record with his name on it than with mine. As it is, the lead guitar that he plays on Do You Wonder couldn’t be bettered. Beginning almost gently the whole thing builds, gathers strength and pace as it climbs to higher registers, the feeling deepening and never becoming superficial, showy or slick. Instead, he lets it build, delivering the same message as the lyric, but in sound, and always with that little bit more to give, never quite reaching his peek until the end.
Billy McGonagle joins in on rhythm guitar, supplying not just backbone, but an extra layer of atmospheric texture. He, too, comes up with ideas that I never thought of. I recently heard Peter Gabriel say that the potential power of rhythm guitar should never be underestimated, and what Billy has done here is a very good example
By this point I was thinking again of Amanda. I knew her as part of Steve Hackett’s band – providing lead and backing vocals, and playing guitar with effortless command. On her own album Innocence and Illusion I discovered an outstanding keyboard player, lyricist and composer. We had met after I asked whether she could do two sessions for me – and to my surprise she agreed. Despite her overwhelming schedule, not asking her would have felt hurtful. Who was I to say “no” on her behalf? As it turned out, she liked the song – and its purpose – and insisted on making time for it.
I first met Steve „Fudge“ Smith after I left Airbridge in 1983. I was getting married, and the band wanted to move to London. Unfortunately, like many bands, Airbridge found playing together and living together are two very different things. Members came and went, the band moved back to Norfolk, and I’m not sure whether they actually broke up, or if they decided that with all the personnel changes it just wasn’t the same band any more. Anyway, that was how La Host was born, with Fudge as their drummer.
Years later I watched a Steve Hackett concert on TV – and there he was again. He’s carved quite a name for himself in the business as both a session player and as a band member – Pendragon and Sound Collider. He too liked the song and believed in the cause, and he too really delivers the goods, playing with subtlety and genuine feeling, rather than ego. He’s already played on some songs of mine, yet to be released, and I’ve long known him to be not just a drummer, but a real musician, making him as dependable as he is invaluable.
Through Airbridge’s current multi-instrumentalist/drummer, Dave Dowdeswell-Allaway, I met Richard Rix, himself the keyboard player with Flat White. Besides that, he’s quite adept at video editing, and he’s responsible for the visual aspect of the project. Being a musician himself, he managed to do a quite remarkable job of somehow choreographing the footage. I can’t describe it any other way. He mirrors the lyrics and the musical dramatic arc without sensationalism, showing tragedy and inhumanity yet avoiding gratuitous horror. Despite the subject matter, his work has a simple, haunting beauty.
Ursprünglich war das Lied für eine männliche Stimme geschrieben; daher war klar, dass Amanda eine neue Gesangslinie entwickeln musste. Was sie schuf, ist ergreifend, berührend, mitfühlend – ohne Sentimentalität, nie kitschig. Das ist bei einem solchen Thema eine enorme Kunst. Ich wollte „die Dinge beim Namen nennen“, soweit das jemand kann, der in idyllischer Sicherheit lebt – aber zugleich den Hörer nicht mit Grausamkeiten traumatisieren.
Obviously, my original version was written for a male voice, so we agreed at the outset that Amanda would have to write a new vocal line. What she came up with is haunting and spine-tingling, conveying compassion and sympathy, but never going over the top, never cheapening her performance with sentimentality or schmaltz. Actually, that’s no easy feat with a song like this. Lyrically, I wanted to ‘tell it like it is’ as much as someone living a comfortable existence in an idyllic location can, but at the same time I didn’t want to frighten the listener away with graphic descriptions or details..
And so the individual tracks – the “stems” – were sent across the internet: from myself in Italy, Zal and Billy in Scotland, and from Amanda and Steve in England – a musical jigsaw that we assembled in our respective studios.
Amanda, who as I said earlier, was turning away paid work to do the vocal sessions, then undertook the mixing on top of everything else. And a very beautiful job she’s done of it, too. In fact, I’d say she produced it.
Finally, Andy Glass of Solstice did a fine job of mastering the recording. Richard Fryer (a. k. a. Richard Penguin) and Günter Maria Bregulla are working their P.R. magic, without which the whole thing would come to nothing. As did everyone else mentioned herein, they gave their services gratis. I can’t adequately express my thanks to all those who’ve made Do You Wonder what it is now. I certainly never thought a song of mine could ever sound like this, but then again it’s not really ‘my’ song any more. The input from all those I’ve mentioned has taken it to heights I couldn’t have dreamed of. But if there is one linking factor between the different performances, video and sound engineering – one word that connects all – I’d say it’s sincerity
That is what I think and feel when, above the birdsong outside my balcony, Amanda’s voice rises, when Zal’s solo accompanies the sunset over the cliffs of Roccalbegna, and I sense that together with them – and all who took part – I have set against my helplessness, in mezzo ai lupi, the only response we artists are capable of offering.
— Lorenzo Bedini, Roccalbegna, Italien, Dezember 2025
“Do You Wonder?“
Credits:
Music: Lorenzo Bedini and Amanda Lehmann.
Text: Lorenzo Bedini
