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Rating: On the square in front of the Parish of Nocera Terinese, the atmosphere becomes sizzling when the scantily clad announcer takes the stage to introduce Teppisti dei Sogni.
The audience has already warmed up with performances by the local dance schools and the evening's thirty-degree heat. However, now the large-sized grandmothers and mothers with strollers are politely moved aside to make room for the multitude of fans of one of the historical formations of Mediterranean melodic pop.
If I'm here, it's because of—pardon, thanks to—Giuseppe, my neighbor in Calabria.
I found him two nights ago, all mortified, sitting on a bench in our residence.
-Oh, Giusè, what’s wrong?- I asked him.
Giusè explained to me how sad he was, because the next day there was going to be a performance by Teppisti dei Sogni at the beer festival nearby in Nocera Terinese. And he couldn't go because he had to take his mother Rosina, whose legs were swollen and thus not very mobile, somewhere. It was going to be the second time he missed them because he already missed them last week when they performed in Soveria Mannelli for the Sagra della melanzana cunzata.
-Okay, Giusè- I told him -maybe I'll drop by this beer festival, so I can tell you how it went.-
-Bravo!- he replied, emotional -Music like Teppisti dei Sogni isn't made in Italy anymore.-
-What kind of music do they make?- I asked him ingenuously.
Giuseppe was a bit confused at this point, and to explain their influences, he made a semicircle shape with his arms, like an arc starting from Mino Reitano, passing through bands like Santo California, and ending with the Pooh.
He concluded: -In short, they’re melodics, you know.
I'm not telling Giuseppe that I'm more interested in the beer than the Teppisti dei Sogni, but the important thing is that tonight I'm also here, among the audience eagerly awaiting the start of the concert.
And here come four guys who jump onto the stage looking halfway between grandparents of the Blues Brothers and retired gym teachers.
After the customary greetings from the frontman, the show kicks off immediately. They start with languid keyboards and an evocative guitar introducing the first verses of a sad song where a man alone in his room torments himself over lost love. There's a moment of panic in the audience when they sing about a hand sliding down the sheet, a brief pause, but then the hand moves toward the pillow that still smells of the fleeing lover.
In the lyrics of the subsequent songs, this theme of abandonment by the woman emerges as a recurring topos. Along with the leitmotif of the emigrant.
Although there are philosophical digressions and daring fantasies, like in the song If I had wings, a title promptly corrected by a girl next to me: -If I had wings? But shouldn't it be if I would have wings?-
The show continues with a mix of heart-wrenching melodies underpinned by dreamy keyboards and more upbeat pieces with similar guitar riffs and vocal trills until reaching their historical super hit: Piccolo fiore dove vai. Even here, the little flower in question seems to wander off into the world, disregarding the love offered by the singer.
And with that, I've had enough. Being at a beer festival after all, I retreat to a pint of blonde beer, pondering one last doubt: for what reason on earth did they name themselves like that? Did they mean they are dreamy delinquents? Or perhaps they are pure and tough delinquents capable of smashing any dream? Well, when I get home, I'll check online while I restore my eardrums with some debasio listening.
With Giuseppe, I'll settle the score soon.
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