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Rating: I don't know whether to consider myself completely crazy or simply falling into the category of self-harmers; probably just a reckless individual without restraint.
Despite, or perhaps because of this, I nevertheless decided, not without hesitation and after a long and arduous reflection, finally to give in: it was time to exorcise my ghosts, to accept the challenging task: to head into the tiger's den almost helpless and unarmed.
Let me start from the end: they won, without any discussion.
The nine, perhaps ten(thousand) individuals who held their ground, cheering, writhing from start to finish, singing at the top of their lungs for the entire 2 and a half hours (!) of the concert, with the songs of our Hero.
Honestly, within the music-enjoyment context, I had never experienced anything like this (don't ask me why I was present): an alien among terrestrials (or vice versa), a bewildered infiltrator, a spy in enemy territory worthy of the KGB during the Cold War...
Frankly, regarding the boy in question, I don't harbor particular prejudices; about the Artist, or supposed one, on the other hand, I would have more than a few reservations: the little I've heard prior to this evening has, at best, left me utterly indifferent: after all, this poor Christ is just the latest cog, the visible one, unleashed upon the masses, of a huge machine capable of creating out of nothing (and, often, with nothing) the new myth, albeit temporary, to adore, and whose personal vicissitudes and troubled demands become one's own.
The masses, these subtly and stratifiedly brainwashed minds, evidently need this, and this is what the system generously offers them everywhere.
As for what was tangible, concrete, and effective to appreciate in the grueling and varied performance of our voiceless (and forgetful) vocalist honestly remains for me a genuine and inextricable mystery: the program proposes, among generous white smokes and assorted choreographic dances performed by His proverbial "Friends" (coming, surprise, surprise, from the land of TV toys [aka "Friends"]), many covers often interpreted by him in a disturbing manner: spanning from vintage Battisti to recent Battiato, through Mia Martini and various others that I, let's say, didn't have the pleasure to recognize. Naturally, many excerpts too, almost all qualitatively insignificant, from the two studio works frantically released within a few months just to strike while the iron is (not saying hot but at least) warm.
Ovations and absolute cheer, with scenes almost of mystical delirium, for the winning song of the latest Sanremo festival: well, evidently that's how it must go.
In short, as I said, they won; definitely one of the most "difficult" concerts (to digest) I've had the chance to witness in the last forty years: having overcome this challenging hurdle, I am sure nothing will ever be the same again.
Or maybe not.
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