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The Sanremo Festival, as mentioned on other occasions, resembles a seaport, or perhaps a train station that has seen a bit of everything pass through its doors: tracks that have made Italian music history, enigmatic songs like "Sette fili di canapa" by Mario Castelnuovo (probably written after consuming numerous doses of drugs) and, last but not least, embarrassing songs that have rightfully entered the pantheon of Italian trash.
The 1993 edition, from this point of view, can be considered particularly juicy. That year’s winner was "Mistero", sung by Enrico Ruggeri, who was a far cry from his punk/new wave beginnings, dressed in jackets of improbable colors and wearing a still dignified mane.
Let's leave aside the Big competition, where a mystically troubled Renato Zero stood out, coming in fifth with his "Ave Maria", and a young Biagio Antonacci, who with "Non so più a chi credere" (we know, dear Biagio) couldn’t go beyond eighth place. Instead, let's focus on the New Section, consisting of eighteen emerging artists who, for four days, end up annoy... I mean, entertaining the already dozing Italians present in the hall and the millions of viewers linked from North to South.
It's useless to talk about "La solitudine", a tiresome track that, besides placing first, will make Laura Pausini famous, inaugurating a melodically and musically poor era: in other words, the triumph of Pippo Baudo, returning to host the Festival with the aim of reviving its fortunes after the monstrous decline of the Eighties.
Another character draws our attention. We are talking about the unknown Leo Leandro, a chubby Neapolitan who outshines the competition with "Caramella", one of the most brilliant and absurd songs in the history of the Festival.
The first question I asked myself is this: how on Earth did he manage to pass the Sanremo selections? There could be many answers (a stellar recommendation, the alcohol level of the members of the Music Commission, etc...) yet they do not clarify the mystery surrounding the participation of Leo Leandro in the most prestigious singing event of the Bel Paese.
Imagine a shady figure worthy of the worst betting centers in Fuorigrotta, a cross between an illegal parking attendant, Gigione and a sex maniac on leave. Watch him descend the famous Ariston steps and be introduced, not without surprise, by a polished Pippo Baudo and Lorella Cuccarini, at the time the most beloved by the Italians. Listen carefully to the song, read the lyrics and you will really think you are dreaming or being a victim of a spell, because all this cannot be true and yet, incredibly, it is.
Let's focus on the performance. Leo sports a "rattuso" look, an incognito pedophile with a tactical cap bearing his name and a drawn candy. He has a good voice, scratchy and a bit blues, which on a different track would probably have enchanted the audience. It's a pity that he, perhaps having escaped from house arrest, decides to tell us about his infatuation for a minor, who of course does not reciprocate (and indeed, if I were her, I would have at least called the police).
The lyrics seem to be written by a particular inspired Jo Donatello and would be perfect for the Bean Festival Quarantino in Volturara Irpina. Too bad we are in Sanremo and listening to things like "Caramella all’albicocca, guarda che bocca/Caramella alla mora, guarda che bona" or "Hai sedici anni, ma guarda tu/Ormai io li ho passati da un po'" would be enough to contact the mental health services, the vice squad or the Telefono Azzurro hotline.
And that's not all, because our hero further enriches the performance with some gems that have gone down in history. In the middle of this pseudo-plagiarism of "Attenti al lupo" (the tone and chords remind me too much of Lucio Dalla's song: only the offbeat rhythms are missing), Leo Leandro remembers he is a decent musician and decides to prove it to the bored Sanremo audience. Unfortunately, the oboe solo turns out to be a failure, a flatulent sound that would have made even the most stoic Buster Keaton die laughing.
It’s impossible not to mention the rest of the performance, with Leo detaching the microphone from the stand and strutting on stage with a roguish attitude, worthy of a pedophile lurking outside the "Umberto I" Classical High School in Naples. In a delirious crescendo, the climax is reached, with the poor backing singers stepping up an octave and accompanying the singer to the end, amidst dramatic repetitions of the chorus, kisses, and implorations that are nothing short of ridiculous.
This is how Leo Leandro's musical career ends, with thanks from Lorella Cuccarini and the national Pippo's total silence. "Caramella" will be eliminated and won't even make it to the final night, but it will remain in the hearts of all lovers of tricolor cringe, who, to be honest, will find plenty for their tastes in that edition: from "In te", an anti-abortion rant signed by Nek, to "Tu con la mia amica" by Maria Grazia Impero, a mad rock run that confirms the alcoholism of much of the jury that year.
There is little else to say about Leo Leandro: he has a YouTube channel where he publishes covers and original works, perfect material for those Italian music compilations you find at the worst German service stations. And if anyone were to find the single CD of "Caramella", they would come across a troubling "Techno Mix" that, in my opinion, not even his closest relatives have listened to.
In conclusion, the Neapolitan singer's saga reflects different times from today's, when political correctness was less dominant and television authors allowed themselves freedoms that nowadays would be absolutely unthinkable. Or at least that's the only plausible explanation for justifying the presence of "Caramella" among the competing songs.
Yet I imagine Leo Leandro, sitting in a carriage of the Genova - Naples night express (assuming it exists), returning from the most absurd experience of his life. I imagine him with his serial killer jacket, the idiot's hat, staring into space and wondering: how the heck did I get here? No one, thirty years later, is yet able to give an answer.
To posterity the arduous sentence.
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