The respect of which Italians, and Sicilians in particular, hold America, especially with respect to the liberation of Sicily by US troops in 1944, is astounding. A day of mourning was called in Italy for both the assasination of JFK, and the 11th of September. Streets around my father’s home village in Palermo include Via Eisenhower and Via Washington.

“Volare” is the biggest selling song in Eurovision history, pissing all over anything by either Cliff Richard or Abba. It plays at every Italian wedding ever, every Italian restaurant ever, every Italy ever. Domenico Modugno, the man behind it, was widely respected in Italy, for basically singing just that. England had Shakespeare, Scotland had Burns, Italy had Modugno.

This song can only lead to a war. It’s about as good for Italo-American relations as Colin Powell goosing Silvio Berlusconi’s wife, and only slightly less ugly.

It’s an awful song, to go with an awful film. The Lizzie McGuire Movie is full of “Ey, I-a smack-a you face-a” stereotypes, and so why not prove some of that Superior Western Culture by having Americans (good and intelligent, like Hilary Duff) “improve” an Italian (stupid greasy dagos) classic.

No.

Just no.

The improvement seems to revolve around shouting most of the song, in a matter not totally dissimilar to completely forgotten 2001 act Live On Demand. The backing rankles, the vocals annoy, and it soundtracks a shot of Hilary Duff’s stupid fucking face.

Next week, Mauro Piccotto covers “Freebird”.