Teresa De Sio
Teresa De Sio

Even at night, Naples is sunny. From Santa Maria to Marechiaro, it seems as though the city is laid out on a waterbed, pampered by the shimmer of the gulf and the luminous reflections of the moon. Who knows, instead, further on, in the alleys of this city, what's happening. I return when I feel an irresistible urge to be there and not miss it. Even so, in the small space in front of a little church, spending an hour or maybe three with the decaying company of those who always want to manifest a popular aristocracy that no longer exists.

The memory is intact of when, as a child walking along Via Pignasecca, I heard music coming from inside a strange shop/bazaar of musical items. I stopped and asked for a copy. I was taken literally. They told me, "Come back in an hour." And after an hour, I was there, and I had a cassette copy of what, more than an album, to me represents the spirit of a passerby by chance in the heart of Partenope. With a Walkman, moreover, buying water in a small shop in Forcella where I forgot to take the change. I was chased. I wasn't scared. The lady returned the coins to me, how kind.

It was the late eighties. A few years later, at Piazza del Gesù, I noticed that the pizzeria was the same, but the owner was no longer the same, the one with the margherita and the steaming mozzarella, from when I used to go with my grandfather to get film for the cinema. Today, even the path that leads to Suor Orsola is no longer the same, it's the people who are different, today it no longer seems like the memories of those who spent the '60s university years there, today they look at you more suspiciously and sometimes give you an "O' frà". And they want something. But it's alright with me, with 10 euros in my underwear, some crappy jeans, a shirt without pretensions. Those I only have inside. In particular, I have the intention to enjoy it all, every time I want.

In my own way, this is the "Voglia e turnà". Teresa De Sio, in 1982, was not yet the one accompanied by Eno and probably wasn't yet the one corrupted (in a good way, mind you) by experimental musical contaminations. Her singing is that of an impertinent sparrow that observes you from the window and then flies away free, with the mind a fa' bbene, wandering over a fantastic caldron, considering it as a whole and in its details.

Even when immediately noticing a vast musical difference from today's offerings, on this September night in Marechiaro, a cunning naiveté emerges from the gulf, typical of the early '80s. Teresa was entering a prominent male context, among various Senese, Daniele, Esposito, occupying a still-empty box: that of a pop just beginning to interweave with folk and something beyond. Melodic Neapolitan singing, in a situation like this, is fantastic, light and deep at the same time, participatory and carefree, standing out in any environment where it is listened to, decisive and unusual. Participation that also goes beyond the classic scheme of national female singing, more often than not interpreted up to those years.

Musically speaking, one could talk about a vibrant and world Naples, of an artist who already shows a great understanding of local and international influences, of a being, let's say, unfledged but determined to leap into the void to flap its wings. Is three not much? Perhaps not? I don't know. Three doesn't mean sufficient, it doesn't mean "it'll do". Three is because today everything is different, starting with her music, and her city. And because it's three, the person next to me says. Who tricked me. It's actually four, but he wanted to spend a little more time here. Did four slip away from me too, in the end? This city always gets me.