Marco Masini
L'altalena

When nobody wanted him anymore and even getting rid of anthrax wouldn't have improved his standing amidst that murmur of "unlucky who brings bad luck walks away," Celentano urged him on. With that goofy childlike demeanor, he asked him not to stop, because Masini, exasperated, wanted to quit. Enough, I'm sick of this crap. I don't want to, his exact words, end up like Mia Martini.

At first, it was a whisper, a slight giggle. 883 started, 6/1/unlucky shouted Pezzali and Repetto from Cecchetto's samplers. But he sold millions of records and had legions of adoring fans, with two active fan clubs, and rightly so, he didn't care. Supported by two sacred monsters, Giancarlo Bigazzi and Beppe Dati, assisted by top-notch musicians, he chose to sing discomfort to the distressed, and those who write to you know it well.

He sang about drugs, loves gone wrong, loneliness, abuse, rape, abortions, prostitutes, communities, faith. He put in passion, swear words, melody, a clean image. The person was good, all things considered reassuring, genuine.

Then they began to say that he brought bad luck, negativity, that he was an unwelcome presence. From a drop, it became an ocean, then lava, then move aside 'cause there's Masini. And he became ill from it.

Marco Masini never harmed anyone. Life hardened him. His mother, who fell ill with cancer when he was a teenager, died after a few years of suffering. The perhaps too-long apprenticeship done as a session musician, certainly more talented than many colleagues who had already made it. Reading him, you get the portrait of someone who got back on his feet more times than Balboa. The harm he did to himself, he did it on his own. He was unsettling because he was real. He kept up with the times with naivety. In 1998, saturated with the continuity of the first four albums, though still gaining approval, he made a change and released ‘Scimmie.’ He revolutionized music, lyrics, and productions. He sold 50,000 copies. From there, he didn't score a hit again, except for the win at Sanremo 2004 with “L’uomo volante.”

He rediscovered himself in 2017 when he adapted to a pool of young producers who introduced him to the new ways, both in terms of approach to the microphone and to machines, bringing him back to Sanremo with “Spostato di un secondo.”

This autobiography enriched me. The man is profoundly changed, shaped. I remembered him as carefree, a dazed big kid for all his money and problems. Now he is calm, whole, profound. He's no longer angry, the "screw yous" he doesn't deny but are duly reclassified to the singer he once was. And which he is no longer.

Four years ago, I saw him live. The band is amazing, and despite being nearly sixty, he was alive, resilient, the desperate man he once was.