In the summer of 1989, a group of young people discovered they shared something special. Soon after, they decided to form a band—one that would play together for more than fifteen years. It was the era of Paolo Belli's Bicycle Thieves, and with a wink at the absurdity of their own situation, these kids chose their name with tongue firmly in cheek: the Wheelchair Thieves. The joke was this: almost all of them were disabled, most with varying degrees of muscular dystrophy. But they didn't wallow. They came armed with a grit and passion that defied expectation.
Paolo, a member of the group from its earliest days, tells the story: "The guys who started with me years ago were all dystrophic. I met them while working as an animator at a tourist village. We'd spend summers together, then see each other during the winters, and that's how the idea came up—let's form a band. There were ten of us, eight in wheelchairs with progressive forms of muscular dystrophy. We kept that first lineup going until 2005. After fifteen years, most of them just couldn't play anymore."
Some of those original members have since passed away. Today, the Wheelchair Thieves encompasses three distinct groups. The first is the official band—a pop-rock outfit that plays venues and festivals. The second and third are equally professional in spirit, though with a lighter, more playful musical approach. All three share the same founding principle: to make music together like any other group, purely for the joy of it. "The remarkable thing about us," Paolo says, "is our complete ordinariness. We're a band. That's all."
The current lineups include people with physical disabilities, intellectual disabilities, members who play in multiple bands simultaneously, and people without disabilities—like Paolo himself, who plays guitar in the main band.
"I'm the guitarist in the first Wheelchair Thieves formation, the one that plays in town squares, theaters, sports halls. We have a tour starting in April. The second band, Area Nova, is made up of people with Down syndrome and autism. And here's the thing—I demand from them what nobody else usually demands: professionalism. Not getting paid, but being professional. Knowing what you're doing. The guys in Area Nova set up their instruments and know exactly when to start playing. No improvising. The third band operates the same way. Neither is paid, though they get expense reimbursement and support from the group's volunteer fund. And I demand serious commitment from the volunteers too.
The problem now is the money's dried up for this kind of work."
Paolo functions as manager of all three bands, organizing concerts and events. By day he teaches religion and works with Fabrizio Er Caciara, leading a weekly music workshop with the third band, Area 22. "Technology lets us do music with people who can't play instruments in the traditional sense—it bridges the disability gap. I'm talking electronic drums, sequencers, loop machines. Some of these people are zero musicians. But their zero is my ten. Manuela will never keep time, but when she plays, the enthusiasm is unstoppable. Fabrizio has more passion for music than anyone I've ever known, but his condition means he can't count 1, 2, 3, 4—he plays by feel, even though he studies four hours a day."
"Finding gigs for the Wheelchair Thieves is the hardest thing in the world," Paolo continues. "When things get serious, nobody wants 'the handicapped.' Then you play, and everything changes. Suddenly everyone's calling back. People's expectations are low—they assume you can't actually play, and they automatically link disability with bad luck. But my friend Claudio Imprudente once told me something I've held onto: change one letter in the Italian word for bad luck—'sfiga'—to 'sfida,' challenge, and everything shifts. Disability is a challenge to clichés and prejudice. For years we've tried to present ourselves differently, with plenty of irony. Making jokes about it—that was the key for us, the way we fought back against prejudice."
That first lineup was exceptional, a one-of-a-kind moment that proved a reproducible model was possible. "Today only one person with dystrophy is in the main band—because he's the only one whose condition isn't progressive. The others are all in rough shape. But what I watched those guys do was surpass their own limits. Alessandro, the singer, did two Italian tours while tracheotomized, with a backup respirator and half a hospital behind him—this after a doctor told him he'd never sing again. He had to prepare carefully. Everyone has a certain number of functioning hours each day. He made sure those hours aligned with concert time. All of them showed commitment and passion beyond imagination. The bassist played tracheotomized until last year. And Alessandro sang beautifully—it still moves me. His voice was quiet, but it gave you chills. He had real charisma. Even in terrible physical condition, he could communicate, could move you emotionally."
The Wheelchair Thieves have recorded eleven albums. Some tracks are on iTunes; others are free on the website. They don't release physical albums anymore, but that hasn't stopped their touring. This summer you can hear them at the Fede e Luce pilgrimage in Loreto, June 2–5, 2011.
Matteo Cinti and Rita Massi, 2011