Around 1977, my uncle Fotis from Athens brought me — a fifth-grade student back then — into the quiet life of Zakynthos, carrying with him cassettes of Savvopoulos. Fotis was very much a Savvopoulos devotee.
“To Perivoli tou Trelou” (“The Madman’s Garden”) and “To Fortigo” (“The Truck”) came in cassette form, played on a horizontal tape recorder without a lid — so it could “breathe.” Since then, and up to now, almost at sixty, I’ve been following and listening to him.
I once met him and told him I’d grown up with his songs, and he replied:
“From what I see, I raised you well.”
The last time I saw him was at the Megaron in December ’23 — quite weary by then — but we said our goodbyes with deep emotion, during that wonderful concert with the inventive arrangements by Antonis Sousamoglou and Lazaros Tsavdaridis.
One of my aunts knew Aspa’s mother and once gave me an autograph of his, about forty-five years ago. I was embarrassed — an autograph? Wasn’t that a bit too sentimental for us intellectual types? I thought then, as a teenager. I really must find it now…
He was a spiritual father to me, and he influenced both my life and my art.
Lately, I’ve grown especially fond of “The Madman’s Garden” — who knows why.
Thank you, Dionysis, for translating this complex world for me in a way that somehow fit me perfectly.
And for introducing me to God — thank you for that, too.