Krisma: Sex, and more sex and rock and roll (Sounds Magazine, 1980)
"Hello, welcome to the land of wops," says maurizio enthusiastically shaking hands as I step out form the hotel entrance on the shores of Lake Maggiore, blinking in the sunny glare that's passed Britain by this summer.
Beside him, flashing a grin that would make a toothpaste advertiser envious and with eyes that sparkle with zest and plenty more besides, stands his wife Christine. Together they are Krisma, a self-styled sex-pop duo who've taken Italy by the scruff of its maternal apron strings and shaken it around a little. They are now intent on doing the same in this land of the new wave.
Maurizio is 32-years-old and looks elegantly ravaged with his bleached punk hairdo, white T-shirt, black tight multi-creased trousers and biker-boots.
Christne is 26 with classic Swiss-rich features (after all, she is Swiss), spikey blond hair that's tinted blue at the sides and greased into an outrageous coxcomb in the middle, a withe V-neck T-shirt that does its inadequate best to conceal a pair of mountainous breasts, a blue leather mini-skirt and first of a succession of ridiculously high-heeled shoes (a subsequent pair have wooden sofa castors as heels).
We pile into a car and wind our way up into the mountains that tumble down to the likeside, passing groups of Italians weekending in the heat, some of whom recognise the duo in the front of the car and wave or stare according to age bracket.
The overgrown log cabin we eventually reach is the couple's country retreat, a couple of hours from their Milan base. Inside, the sweet wood smell occasionally blends with a waft of cat's pee. There's a sitting room with books stacked on shelves and records strewn over one corner and a pair of mammoth speakers that savour the scratched vinyl surfaces sounding like sausages dropped in boiling fat.
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