RFI Musique: There's one outstanding song on your new album that seems completely timeless and that's J'te lâche plus…
Salvatore Adamo: It's funny you should begin by bringing up that particular song because that's the song that caused the break-up with my old record company. I admit I had a lot of doubts about the song the way it is, but there have been moments in my career when I've felt that a song is right and should be released exactly as it stands. And I trusted to that instinct. The problem was my record label didn't even want to discuss the idea of bringing out J'te lâche plus. They were trying to push me towards another style at the time which I thought sounded a bit pretentious. They insisted on me working with this arranger who wanted to do a sort of 60s make-over on me. It was awful, I felt I was being turned into a parody of myself!
Anyway, when I performed at the Olympia in March this year I ended up finishing the show with J'te lâche plus. I did the song my way, as this very energetic number with a big brass section. And after the show Pascal Nègre, the director of Universal, rushed into my dressing-room, saying 'Wow! You've got a hit there!' At the time we had no business dealings with each other whatsoever. He said it to me purely as a friend. But it made me sit up and think that while the song was being knocked back by one set of people, it was good enough to make other people rave about it. So J'te lâche plus led to my first contact with Polydor/Universal.

Thirty-seven years ago you recorded the controversial Inch Allah. Now you're back with Mon douloureux Orient, another song about the situation in Israel…
I guess people wonder why someone like me, someone who had a staunchly Catholic education, has remained true to an emotion (about Israel) that I tried to express in 1966. Unfortunately, my song was completely misinterpreted in Arab countries to the point where I ended up being banned from performing in many of them. This summer, on the 15th of August, I got to perform in an Arab country for the first time since then. When I sang Mon douloureux Orient to the audience in Tunisia people started clapping at certain passages in the song.
All I ever wanted to say in the song that caused all the controversy was that it's time these two peoples should live together in peace. No-one's asking them to love one another, simply to stop killing each other. Having had time to get a bit of distance on the whole thing now I realise which line led to me being banned in Arab countries. It was when I sang "In the land of Israel/I saw children trembling in fear." People said expressing myself that way was choosing sides. But I wasn't choosing sides, I was singing about the land as it was in the Bible, Israel and Palestine together. Don't get me wrong, I didn't do this new song to make up for any wrongs I was accused of in the past. I just wanted to do right by my own conscience.

You're a singer who's always brought up social issues in your songs…
The thing is, I'm aware of the fact that I live a privileged lifestyle. So when I sing about the problems and injustices suffered by the poor I understand that some people are going to turn round and ask what the hell I know about it. I'm aware that in the past there have been songs where I've tried to denounce various kinds of social injustice and those songs have ended up irritating some of my fans. But I'll go on writing those kind of songs no matter what, out of a sense of honesty. It's impossible for me to float round on a cloud and remain totally indifferent to what's happening below. It would be easier to stick to writing love songs I guess. And I have to say I actually feel much happier writing love songs than I do when my conscience forces me to get worked up about another outrage.

Talking of love songs you've written hundreds in your time. But in the countless interviews you've given over the years you've hardly ever talked about your own personal experiences of love…
I've got nothing to say about my love songs! When you write love songs I think it's best to remain as discreet as possible. Mes mains sur tes hanches (My hands on your hips) is intended to be a sort of comic love song so I don't have a problem talking about that. But I could never talk about a song like Je te dois (I Owe You). Some of my songs have been inspired by things that have happened in my own life. In fact, I'll admit there's a song tucked away at the back of a drawer that I've never recorded, even though I know it's one of the most beautiful love songs I've ever written. The thing is, I've always found it too personal to make public.

Have you ever had a psychological block when it came to performing any of your more personal songs?
There was this one song I wrote called Paris soixante (Paris sixty) which was about my father. When I performed at the Olympia in 1990 I decided to have it as the opening number in the show. But when I stepped out on stage the first night and the musicians struck up the opening chords I completely dried. I'd imagined everything apart from what it would feel like to have my father sitting out there in the audience listening as I sang it. The band had to do at least four intros before I was able to muster enough voice to start the song.

You're one of the best-known Belgian performers on the French music scene. What does it mean to be Belgian?
Well, for me being Belgian is more than a nationality. Being Belgian is a way of life – and a way of life I consciously chose. It was my parents who took me to Belgium in the first place, but there was a moment when I could have made a choice to leave. When my career started to take off I moved to Paris but I only stayed there eight years. I ended up missing all that Belgian 'bonhomie' and 'camaraderie' and that surreal sense of humour that's so typically Belgian – which, interestingly enough, exists in my native Sicily, too. Being Belgian means accepting the fact you live in a little country. You have to stand on tip-toe to raise your head above the clouds, and that's why, in my view, there's such a sense of euphoria on the streets of Brussels. You can't imagine the Brel classic Jef being anything other than Belgian. I can't think of any other country in the world where you could express such a sense of empathy for a friend in such an intimate, personal way.

What about Sicily?
Whenever I go to Sicily I get this sense of belonging, even if it is from a distance. Right now I've got a desire to go back there more often than I have in the past fifteen years. But, having said that, I can never see myself leaving Belgium.