He sways, kicks, sweats, and takes it all: the stage and the applause. And then he bends his legs, removes his hat with the feather, and then steps sideways, backwards, and moves his hips. Four minutes past 11:00 PM, Fantastic Negrito appears on the Lazzaretto stage: "Goodbye, good evening, thank you, people of Sardinia." And once again applause and shouts. And he's truly fantastic, this American who brings to Sardinia three Grammy Awards and the power of a blues that, under the Cagliari moon, can make even the stars sing and move. He moves, and he doesn't hold back. Everyone moves. It's voice, music, and power. Fantastic! With a slightly mystical aura and wafts of marijuana that create a choreography and blend with the fake smoke.

He, Negrito, who has more mimicry than any mime, is a spectacle within a spectacle. Black and white pants, vertical stripes, a diamond-patterned jacket, a white ethnic-style necklace, and that hat with the large feather that makes him a character, a little Alpine. And when he takes it off, his braids pop out. He's bluesy, contemporary, to the nth degree. But he's also something else. He's fantastic, Fantastic Negrito, who sings, plays, acts, and takes it all in the way only the greats can. Those who carry three Grammys on their shoulders with ease, and once you hear them, you understand why. And then he even picks up the microphone stand, bows back, runs his hand over his body, bends, kicks, and sweats.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Sardinia..." And they celebrate anyway, even though it's no one's birthday; at least there's the mistral wind to cool them down. He takes care of the warming, with his hopeful green guitar and the young woman in the front row shaking and wriggling. "Fantastic!" shouts a male voice from the audience. "Fantastic," repeats another, like an echo. Stereo effect, music blaring from the speakers that amplify the power of it all. He goes to the keyboard, sweats again, and then bluffs. "Thank you so much everyone, goodbye."

He leaves the stage at midnight, like in the Cinderella story. They cheer him on, they want him back. Half a minute later, he returns—with both shoes and without the carriage—and the show resumes. The show must go on. Hundreds of eyes and hands dance to the rhythm of the blues, contemporary blues, which is also rock, soul, and so fantastical and captivating that even the tall buildings of Sant'Elia, piercing the sky, seem to be dancing. And in the middle is the moon. The moon of the Cagliari sky, with the stars that seem even brighter if you look closely. Below is Negrito: "The people of Sardinia are very nice." He takes out his phone and takes a couple of selfies; a couple Sardinian-style. Fantastic, the show is Negrito.

Sara Marci

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