Francesco Donadio, Freewheelin’ in Rome. La vera storia della prima volta di Bob Dylan in Italia. [“Freewheelin’ in Rome”: The true story of Dylan’s first time in Italy”]. Rome: Arcana, 2022, pp. 160.
Review by Alessandro Carrera, University of Houston
A few years ago, Francesco Donadio, a music journalist, radio programmer, and author of four books on David Bowie, embarked on an investigation into the myths surrounding Bob Dylan’s first trip to Italy. As anyone familiar with Dylan’s biography knows, he visited Rome for a few days in January 1963, as part of a detour during his first trip to England. But what exactly was he doing there? Was he searching for Suze Rotolo, who was then studying at the University for Foreigners in Perugia, a town not far from Rome? Or was he simply drawn to the idea of experiencing Rome, a city that would leave an indelible mark on him?
Donadio relies heavily on Dylan’s biographies and Suze Rotolo’s autobiography A Freewheelin’ Time: A Memoir of Greenwich Village in the Sixties (Crown, 2009), but he also enriches Rotolo’s narrative with details about the cultural milieu she encountered in Perugia. He explores the possibility that Suze may have been aware of Folkstudio, the venue in Rome where Dylan had his first encounter with an Italian audience (not to be confused with his actual Italian tour, which took place much later, in 1984).
In the early chapters of his book, Donadio leaves no rolling stone unturned—pardon the oxymoron—as he weaves a “parallel lives” narrative of Bob and Suze. Many paragraphs include phrases like “one could imagine that … ,” which, though evocative, might seem excessive, given the tight chronology of the events. Suze arrived in Perugia in July 1962, while Dylan flew from New York to London in mid-December 1962, likely accompanied by his manager, Albert Grossman. Donadio challenges the notion that Grossman was waiting for Dylan at Heathrow, alongside Odetta, who in fact was scheduled to perform in New York until the end of the year. However, Odetta was expected to be in Italy in early January 1963, for television appearances and concerts with bassist Bill Lee. So, Albert, Odetta, Bill, and Bob were all in Italy in the first days of January 1963.
But Suze was no longer in Perugia. After the Cuban Missile Crisis, she felt homesick and decided to return to New York, arriving on December 18, just as Dylan was departing for London. Their reunion would come later, and the end of their relationship was still far off. By that time, however, in Perugia, Suze had already met a quieter, more dependable man, Enzo Bartoccioli, whom she would later marry. Enzo, at the time a factory worker at Baci Perugina, would later become a film editor for the United Nations. Dylan, in turn, would vent his frustration with a bitter and—in my opinion—very bad poem about Enzo, which appears in Writings and Drawings (1973).
Turning to the chronology once again, Donadio notes that Dylan flew from London Heathrow to Fiumicino, Rome’s airport, on January 5, 1963. According to rumors, he and Grossman went to Folkstudio that very night, located at Via Garibaldi 58 in the historic, working-class Trastevere neighborhood. Folkstudio had been created by Harold Bradley Jr (1929–2021), an African American expatriate, former football player, and leader of a gospel group, and by producer Giancarlo Cesaroni (1933–1998), with the help of their wives, Hannelore and Noemi. Before its move to a larger space in 1967, the original Folkstudio was tiny—no more than 50 or 60 people could fit inside. It was, however, the only folk music hub in Italy at the time, a meeting place for English and American students, as well as the new generation of Italian cantautori (singer-songwriters).
The mystique surrounding Folkstudio has always been fueled by the persistent rumor that “Bob Dylan played here.” For example, in 2012 Francesco De Gregori, one of Italy’s most talented cantautori, who made his debut at Folkstudio, released Amore e Furto , a collection of Dylan covers in Italian, whose title translates “Love and Theft.” His lifelong obsession with Dylan began on Via Garibaldi 58.
Donadio lists seven people who confirm that Dylan performed at Folkstudio, including Harold Bradley Jr., whom he interviewed. Bradley recalled that Dylan played two songs for a small audience of 15 people, but the performance left little impression. Bradley himself described Dylan as tipsy and a bit obnoxious, seemingly more interested in flirting with Hannelore and Noemi than performing. In the end, Bradley suggested to Grossman and Dylan that they find somewhere else to spend the night. Though it wasn’t one of Dylan’s finer moments, the encounter evolved into an urban legend. Years later, it wasn’t difficult to find dozens of people who would claim to have been present at the performance (as with Dylan’s early concerts in New York City).
Another urban legend, which Donadio investigated in Perugia, tells of Dylan supposedly hiring a cab that night to travel to Perugia, only to find out that Suze was no longer there. A cousin of Enzo Bartoccioli even confirmed that “two American bums” (presumably Bob and Albert) arrived at the boarding house where Suze had been staying and then knocked at Bartoccioli’s house in the middle of the night, to be met by Enzo’s incredulous mother. The Italian word straccioni means that they were poorly dressed, which is strange if one thinks that Albert Grossman used to be more formally dressed than the folk music crowd, but it is likely that Dylan’s usually unkempt appearance left a more lasting impression. It’s unclear how these “bums” had gotten Enzo’s address, as it’s unlikely anyone at the boarding house would have given it to them. Donadio attempted to interview Enzo Bartoccioli in New York, but Mr. Bartoccioli declined, stating that he had nothing to add to what his wife, who died in 2011, had already written in her memoir.
What else was left for Dylan to do in Rome? Perhaps visit the Colosseum, which made a strong impression on him, as he later mentioned in interviews and in the song “When I Paint My Masterpiece.” He might have also attended Odetta’s concerts at the Teatro Parioli on January 8 and 9, and he sent a postcard to “Sue Rotolo c/o Bob Dylan, 161 West 4th Street, New York City, NY, USA,” stating: “If I don’t open my mouth in this town, everybody thinks I’m Italian (unbelievable but true, I swear).” Dylan also announced that he was heading to Turin (possibly to follow Odetta for another television appearance at the Rai studios?). It didn’t happen. By January 10, Bob, Albert, Odetta, and Bill were back in London. Dylan attended Odetta’s concert at the Prince Charles Theatre, solidified his friendship with Martin Carthy, appeared on an album by Dick Fariña and Eric Von Schmidt, and, of course, completed “Girl from the North Country” and “Boots of Spanish Leather.”
But Donadio doesn’t stop there. The last forty pages of his captivating book narrate Bob and Suze’s reunion, the cover of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, tensions with Carla Rotolo, the “parasite sister” in “Ballad in Plain D” (a song Dylan later regretted recording), actually a skilled folk music expert (she was assistant to Alan Lomax) who harshly disapproved of Suze’s involvement with that Jewish Minnesotan drifter (their mother disapproved too). And then the love story came to an end, leaving a rift between the two sisters.
Donadio uncovers lesser-known details. Many readers will be surprised to learn that in later years Suze became almost estranged from her family, who felt she had become aloof and pretentious. Even more surprising is the revelation that when Carla Rotolo, now living in Italy, died unexpectedly in 2014, Enzo Bartoccioli traveled to her home in Sardinia to clear out her belongings. There, he discovered that Carla had obsessively kept all the newspaper clippings she had found about Dylan. The most precious item in her archive was her dedicated copy of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. Donadio reproduces the back cover with an inscription that reads: “To my Carla-law, Ro la sis [presumably ‘To Carla Rotolo, my sister-in-law’], with luck and don [sic] forget to duck. Me, Bob.” And in smaller letters: “—me, Susie, too, also.”
I had the pleasure of meeting Susan Rotolo at the New York University “Casa Italiana” in 1997 or 1998, during an exhibition of her artwork. She struck me as a joyful person who didn’t appear to consider herself a star. One of the small pieces on display—everything she exhibited was small, she was a miniaturist—was a tiny version of the Freewheelin’ cover, shrunk down to the size of a cigarette pack and placed in a minuscule display case. I remember the caption saying, “It was not all sex, drugs, and rock and roll. We were doing serious things back then.”
