Lucio Corsi at Sanremo

I am preparing dinner. I cut the zucchini, which, after being sautéed, will become the side dish for the turkey pieces sizzling in the pan. It's a simple, almost mundane dinner, but tonight, the company in the kitchen is special: the songs of Lucio Corsi.

I sing at the top of my lungs, letting myself be carried away by his music. I move lightly between the pots and stop singing only when I sip a glass of Coda di Volpe. The melodies envelop me, and as I close my eyes, I imagine myself as a passenger of a wise Native American crossing the mountains between Liguria and the Great Plain. When the train stops, I step off to take flight toward the Moon, where I speak with a hare that deceived both Russians and Americans, landing there first.

Then I return to the beach in search of shells with Lucio. “What are they made of?” we ask each other in unison. Perhaps they come from the Island of Elba, the wind whispers to me.

I love Lucio Corsi. His genius transcends the rules with which I grew up. His music is a revolution for my heart, a code that unleashes my imagination. Thanks to him, I feel a bittersweet nostalgia for the Me Child, who forcefully claims his joyful presence. His sun-kissed hand, scented with sea salt, offers me a colorful shell from a woman on the Island of Giglio, and I am moved by such a simple yet unexpected gesture.

This week, Lucio Corsi will perform in Sanremo. His song is titled "Volevo essere un duro", and I can’t wait to hear it. I wonder how it will be received by an audience whose ears have hardened over years of lament and anger, trying to silence kindness and empathy.

These people have locked their Inner Child in a storage room, confining it to a dark corner. They grew up with the myth of strength and success, convinced that showing vulnerability is not a viable option. Why this fierceness?

For years I’ve talked about Lucio Corsi to my friends, sharing his music with passion and enthusiasm. Yet in return, I receive only expressions of indifference and stunned gazes, as if I were an alien. None of them has ever bothered to listen to even one of Lucio Corsi's songs.

My armor has broken a long time ago. In its place, I’ve built a pair of wings to soar high.

My dear friends, the view from the Moon is wonderful. You have no idea what you are missing.