Akis Panou confesses: `One night in `58, we went with Mourkako and Kolokotronis to listen to Kazantzidis at `Asteras` in Kokkinias. The place was packed. They had us sitting on some crates. Stelios sings: `But no one is to blame for my condition / my head needs a break`. And then, someone jumps up, breaks a glass, and sticks it in his forehead! We all freeze. They take him out covered in blood. And while they drag him to the exit and Stelios continues singing, he turns and shouts, `Cheers, Stelara!`

Do you understand? So, I say: If Stelios leaves Kokkinias and starts to sing while walking to go up to Athens, with the crowd he would gather on the way, wouldn't that be a revolution? But I don’t stop here. For years and years, I’ve been following him. And I see that most of his songs are terrible. Yet, with these bad songs, he makes me listen to him. How does he manage to make me listen only to him? Is it a great voice? There are other voices that could perhaps reach this level.

Does he sing for the working class and for expatriates? Well, others do that too. So, what happens? What happens is that there is a greatness. The ability of a person, who springs from the experience of taking the soul from the song and giving it to me. Even in insignificant songs. And without it ever becoming technical. If the bad songs that Kazantzidis sang were sung by others, not even their mothers would know them.

[Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]