The Press no. 7/2011
We lighten. Fortunately, to help us out, San Remo is coming. Sanremone my handsome, bright and chubby. Sanremone mio, dispensing confidence even to those who have lost most of it. Sanremone mio, who is a benefactor of the Italic people who are seeing every color of it and would prefer a so-so song to a symphony, to a song without a coda. Sanremone mio, the mirror that sends back our true face in which we have no trouble recognizing ourselves.
The face of good people who crave things that are understandable, simple, clean, maybe a little retro. And he is in the mood for music. In this case, now, in this contingency, we receive music as a good deed, done by those who know our wants and needs.
I know little about the choice of pieces, but if it was Morandi who decided, as I hope, I am very sure it will be a great Sanremo. He always grasped, over the years, over the decades, almost (like me) over the centuries, what was the right piece for marketability, popularity, and so much more. But he did more than just the “accordions” and the “down on your knees.” I also found rare pearls in his production. “Nina,” for example. Piece neither easy to sing nor to listen to.
Splendid. Sung by a great performer, with rigor and authority. I’m pretty sure very few people know him. I invite you to go to Youtube and listen to it. You will thank me.
So, San Remo. Dazzling girls, strong Luke and Paul, but I, above all, wait for the music. I hope it will be at the center of the show, since it is the “Italian Song Festival.” Let’s get ready, then. The usual liturgy. Few competent friends, someone absolutely incompetent to liven up the evening, and the phone that won’t leave you alone for a second. “Did you see that one?”, “Did you hear that one?”, “That’s nice”, “That’s gross”.
I will try, as usual, to be even more concise than usual so as not to miss anything, and then, as usual, I will unplug it. Yes, because it is our solemn feast. Of us music people, I mean. We who pillory ourselves with our doubts, our uncertainties and our vagueness. That we are used to being willingly mocked. That we cannot thank chance enough for giving us the tools to be able to do work that we are passionate about and excited about. Dear, beloved music. You are wonderful even when you are ugly.
