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The '70s were ending, and we looked down on Naples from above. And it was a geographical high, certainly not a moral one. We, down north, had boundless admiration for this beautiful, sunny, smiling, entertaining city, which unfortunately we visited (at least I did...) too little and too rarely. And we were happy that from our parts emerged that Paolo Conte who didn't even the score but at least put us back in the game... Naples had been expressing a great culture for an immemorial time. And the one that was experienced then was still splendidly alive and lively.
Totò and Peppino were a not-too-distant memory, and Murolo was still alive and active, although not yet fully re-evaluated. There were also Merola and D’Angelo, but they were the other side (the more, if you will, national popular) of a medal of great value and significance. There was Bennato, the singer-songwriter who managed to combine Dylan, Battisti, a wide series of high-level blues references, and the purest Neapolitanness. There was the whole circle of Napoli Centrale. There was James Senese with that black face and that saxophone with a wonderful sound, there was Avitabile, also with a worthy saxophone and a handful of beautiful records, and there was a school of percussionists and drummers to impress and envy any kind of competition: De Piscolo, Esposito, Jermano, Marangolo, just to name the greatest masters. And then there was a phenomenon as stupid as it was brilliant and funny, a symbol of one of the many sides of Naples and the South, the carefree, absolutely undisciplined and irresistible one: the Squallor. And there was the adopted Arbore...
And then there was him. Pino. Pino Daniele. And he debuted with this album with so much tradition and some small appetizer of that Blues that will inhabit, being the most welcome guest and perhaps the master of the house, his immediately following albums. The beautiful and brilliant ones that will mark the transition from the '70s to the '80s. And inside this album, which was "Terra Mia", there was a splendid song, which will become a classic of Italian song, at times denatured, violated, and certainly abused like all classics. A beautiful and non-trivial harmony, a voice of Neapolitanness proven beyond any reasonable doubt, and a grandiose text, as Pino's texts knew how to be grandiose when they were dialectal and, forgive me, when they were qualifiable as texts and not as Perugina chocolate kiss notes. And "Napule è" spoke of this Naples that we imagined as we imagined it, of a thousand colors, full of children's voices that don't make you feel alone. A city of deep humanity. True and alive. Then, slowly, due to excessive success and because, in the end, one always rests on their laurels, Pino disappeared along with everything else. A few angry swan songs arrived with Almamegretta and 99Posse, to delude us that the liveliness was still there, even though unfortunately it had definitively lost its smile. Then, not even them anymore.
Today, still from here, down north, one sees a leaden Naples, sad, without even the strength to be angry anymore. And certainly with no desire to laugh. In the hands of criminality and too often on the side of criminality. On the radios, the music of D'Alessio and Tatangelo. Naples, do everyone a favor and see to return. And someone tell me it's a nightmare.
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