It is my homage to the Masters who taught me the Art of Feelings: because emotions have a precise sound, they have precise words but to recognize them, you must learn them.
I was born in Naples in 1951. For those of my generation it was like drinking from a magical spring. That extraordinary period between the end of the 19th century and the 1900s or thereabouts – which had gathered the knowledge of so many poets and musicians on a genre that we define as “Classical Neapolitan Songs” – was already at dusk but strong and alive were the emotions that it had left imprinted in the hearts of men. Those songs had been in the youth of our parents, had educated and inflamed their loves, had comforted their adolescence torn by the war. Our mothers sang them as they rocked us or to comfort us after a desperate cry. For me, it was like living immersed in an open-air theater where I could read the roots of my life at any moment of the day. When at the age of only three I had a toy accordion in my hands, it was natural to play by ear the only repertoire I knew, and I certainly was not aware that I was attending a school of life that would influence my whole future. Then the music around began to change with the war came the Americans with jazz and rock which in Naples became Renato Carosone; at home, Uncle Vincenzo, my father’s brother, writes the verses of “Luna rossa” but Vian’r music is already an African- American inspired beguine. I too have walked in the contaminated sounds of my time but “that invisible guide” has always been at my side, like a loving and wise teacher who is now part of your thinking.KEEP READING