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Rating: - The Live Performance of Telespalla No. 14: Respect for the Audience -
It had been quite a while since I last went to Salò. I remembered the way but had no idea where "Camillo" was. Google Maps can only help you so much. The moral? I decided to leave home earlier, just in case. I parked the car near the "Turina" stadium, home to the recent sports achievements of Feralpi Salò, and started my walk along the lakeside of the Garda locality. It was full of bars, impromptu karaoke, piano bars playing Battiato songs, and the rehearsals of the local band. An elderly gentleman was peering out the window, probably unaware that the band was playing the suite from "Atom Heart Mother" by Pink Floyd. Recognizing the theme, I was astounded, it was utterly thrilling in a dark little square while tourists flocked to bars and ice cream parlors just a few meters away. However, time was of the essence: "Maria Antonietta" awaited me. It wasn't the first time I saw her this year, but it has become an unmissable event for me, now smitten by her way of writing and singing. The "Camillo" is essentially a bar that occasionally sets up two speakers, a small mixer, a platform, and organizes concerts. The wait for the concert passed quickly over a beer and a chat with an old friend I met by chance and lasted longer than expected, at least for her who complained about it. I waited as always, overwhelmed by emotion and dazed by alcohol, not caring about the time. Something else had to be worried about: the system, the speaker-mixer-platform combo I mentioned earlier, which soon started acting up. She was forced to stop after two songs, the third would be completed after ten minutes with the encouraging applause of the audience urging her not to give up. It seemed steady, but the illusion lasted very little, another 3-4 songs. This time the breakdown was fatal: the system died definitively. The dejected look of Letizia (the real name of "Maria Antonietta") was the greatest defeat.
This is where the magic happens, driven by love: her boyfriend, Giovanni Imparato (singer of "Chewingum"), tries to negotiate with the owners of "Camillo" to play inside. The only available spot is the small room in front of the bathroom door. They continue there for those few willing to follow them, despite it all. Guitar and voice, a candle on the floor to read the setlist, no microphones or speakers. Trying to still complete that concert. Despite the flow of people wanting to go to the bathroom or grab a drink at the nearby counter. Imagine the scene: she has to move from one side of the room to the other because people need to pass, perhaps just to chat. Extraordinary tenacity, a respect for the audience I had only witnessed once before. Many others would have given up and walked away cursing. Not only did they resume, but they did so with an extraordinary surprise: Giovanni Imparato picked up the guitar to sing with his woman. In that paradoxical context, it felt like a miracle, perhaps in a mystical sense, perhaps in a prosaic one. Certainly an emotional moment, a rare gem. Together they played a track by Chewingum, "Svastiche," and a beautiful cover of "Senza un perché" by Nada. After this moment, Giovanni lovingly placed the guitar back in his woman's hands and stayed there with us, singing and watching her. The concert could continue and finish, despite the final racket of a group of youngsters, with her closing ranks with us to counter those shouting choruses.
I had set off from Brescia intending to see a simple acoustic set, but instead, it was a memorable concert, where the artist and the audience broke the gap and the unforeseen events to experience the music together. I believe that this too is music: being accomplices and lovers of emotions, convinced that the difference between those on stage and those off it is minimal, if not nonexistent. The journey home was marked by an involved, different gaze. Where an almost full moon but with no stars accompanies a highway brushing past one Brescia province town after another. Thinking that all this began with an act of love and tenacity makes one call it poetry.
Thank you Letizia, thank you Giovanni. Also for the picture, let that be clear.
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