Or, at least, it was him and it was his life when he was writing and making it. Nowadays, he’s in a much better place – settled in his new city, madly in love and with a world tour on the horizon. So does he still recognise himself in these songs?
“I don’t only recognise myself,” he answers, “but I feel what I felt for four minutes of a song. And that’s why I always try to make it very clear when the song is over, when the performance is over. Even when video of Born With A Broken Heart ends, I’m back in normal clothes and I jump in a car and get away. It’s like taking a picture of water flowing. In the picture is that water in that moment and I can describe it, but if you look at the same river, the water has gone and it’s a completely different group of particles. So it’s very important to say that this is an experience that I took, I shaped it, I made a song about it, and that’s worth celebrating for the duration of the song. But when the song is over, it comes back to being a personal thing which deserves care and respect. It’s not meant to constantly be under the spotlight. Because the other times, I’m just a guy at home with his own experiences – and I really want it to stay like that.”
So is he going to take what he’s learned about himself and about music, about those frozen moments in time and the ones that keep flowing beyond it, from this record and utilise that knowledge when – and it is a when, not an if – Måneskin eventually regroup? And will he be a different person when that happens?
“Yeah,” he nods. “But I would have been anyway. We’re still all in our 20s, so it’s hard to imagine a future where we’re not different.”
He chuckles quietly. Behind him, the white skies feel like they’re hiding the future, but also like they’re leaving it wide open. It’s a new dawn, a new day, a new life – and Damiano David is feeling good.