21/05/2026
Se fue un gran hombre.
Nunca olvidaremos sus lecciones de música y vida.
Condolencias a su hermano Pippo y toda su familia
In loving memory of Romano Pasquini.
Larger than life. That was Romano Pasquini. A volcano of energy, impossible to stop. To me, he was much more than a friend.
His band, the A-10, was one of my all-time favourites. Not just for the music – fast, abrasive, direct – but also for the lyrics and, above all, for the attitude that I always felt close to me. For this reason, after meeting Romano and Pippo (and Celibate Rifles’ Kent Steedman) in my hometown at a gig by their other formidable band, Yage, I didn’t hesitate to catch a night train and travel over 1,000 kilometres a few months later just to see the A-10 in action at CSOA Macchia Nera in Pisa. An unforgettable adventure.
There you go, the word ‘adventure’ always comes up whenever Romano is involved. Because his has been an adventurous rock ’n’ roll life lived at full speed, filled with records listened to and recorded, mad tours, and incredible encounters. Starting with his London experience in the 1980s, which led to articles and interviews (co-authored with Daniela Giombini) for Rockerilla, and the birth of his punk band, the A-10, with former Fortunate Sons (and future Sin City Six) Lee Robinson, New Zealand guitarist Jeremy Chunn and French drummer J.P. Jezequel, before his other mad brother Pippo took over on the drums, with whom he formed the most powerful rhythm section ever seen in action.
To me, Romano was much more than a friend. He was my Virgil through the treacherous seas of rock ’n’ roll. His boundless energy, his hunger for life and knowledge spilled over into endless conversations in which it was impossible to stop him: he’d start telling me about his life in London, his friendship with Robin Wills of the Barracudas and Kathy Freeman of Birdhouse, and end up somewhere completely different, describing J.G. Ballard’s works. In between were Radio Birdman, the Celibate Rifles on Torvaianica beach, the Yage tour in Australia and the meeting with Damien Lovelock, whom he interviewed, Chrome, Cabaret Voltaire… And there I was, captivated by his stories, swept away by his torrent of words, taking mental notes, absorbing ideas that I would later turn into records bought and worn out through constant listening, into books read voraciously, into legendary musicians I came to know thanks to him.
Looking back on it today, with my heart torn in two by disbelief and grief, our friendship was written in the stars. Our first meeting, which took place in Reggio Calabria under circumstances that were only seemingly coincidental, became a story for Tribal Cabaret, the fanzine that – as it happens (but does
chance really exist?) – he had conceived almost forty years earlier together with his then partner in crime, Daniela Giombini. And the same goes for my encounters with Robin Wills, Kent Steedman, Jim Dickson, Deniz Tek, John Needham, Rauky Hermann, Ana Carril…
Over the years we never lost touch, even though we didn’t see each other as often as we would have liked: he was always on the road playing gigs or working as a tour manager, whilst I was leading my nomadic life in Italy and across Europe. But whenever we met, it was as if we’d seen each other the day before. Ideas, stories and dreams to share and turn into projects to bring to life together.
I can’t forget that time at the Templo del Gato in Madrid when the DJ played a track by the A-10 and I went over to speak to him. And he said: “Ah, the Pasquini brothers!”. “The best-known and most beloved Italians in Malasaña”, as someone wrote in the booklet of the tribute CD to Lee Robinson, their friend and bandmate, another rock’n’roll hero who left us far too soon.
Now that he had found his “buen retiro” in Calabria, we dreamed of a thousand things we would do together as soon as possible: organising Deniz Tek concerts in Calabria, reissuing the A-10 and Yage records, swapping science fiction books (of which he was a huge fan) and music, organising lunches and dinners by the sea…
If I close my eyes and think of Romano, I see our lives again and the thousand threads of a web that bind them together. And I can’t help but admire once more his free and rebellious spirit. That of a dreamer. Romano Pasquini, my friend. My hero. The last rock’n’roll romantic.
