Today's reflection stems from something I find almost comical. Yesterday at the Agnata in Sardinia, at my grandfather's house, the Jazz Festival concert in his honor was held, like every year, with the slight difference that this year Matteo Salvini was in the front row.
This is how the video by Alice De André, granddaughter of the Genoese singer-songwriter, begins: "This sentence could easily end here, because I don't know exactly what Salvini managed to understand from my grandfather's lyrics. Maybe the music? Maybe the la la la? Because obviously we had some trouble understanding the lyrics ." "To say that their thoughts, their values, and their idea of society are diametrically opposed is an understatement," she continues.
"But the masterpiece comes later," he continues. "A girl gets up and protests against Salvini's presence at the concert. And controversy erupts. Because of the girl. Not because Salvini was in the front row at a De André concert. Because of the girl who protested him." "At this point, I begin to suspect that De André has become a kind of national saint. The one we all listen to, we all celebrate, we all quote. As long as no one dares remember what he actually said. Because then that becomes rude. Divisive. Out of place."
"A girl protesting against a politician at a De André concert isn't out of place; it's perhaps one of the most coherent things that happened all evening," he claims.
"My grandfather would stop concerts because of protests. He'd stop the music, talk, argue." And precisely for this reason, according to his granddaughter, Salvini could have reacted differently: " So if we really want to talk about respect, yesterday Salvini could have stood up and responded. Not been outraged by being protested. Not sought shelter by the polite silence of an audience. He came to celebrate someone who cared very little for polite silence ."
“You want Fabrizio De André?” he asks. “Then take him all. Not just the songs that look good at commemorations. Take what he thought, too. What he protested. And above all, take the fact that He closes by quoting a line from “La Domenica delle Salme”: “The minister of storms in a blaze of trombones. He hoped for democracy with the tablecloth in his hands. And his hands on his balls.”
