Three Strokes of Luck

I have three strokes of luck, in my view. Among others, mind you; and then think about it: I’m a man, white, heterosexual, western, bourgeois in practice, and there are millions of people in the world who can’t afford to have strokes of luck. I get to grumble, plenty of others don’t. Anyway, I was saying, I’m lucky. I’m lucky because in my life as a listener of alternative Italian music, from his very first album, I grew attached to listening to Caparezza¹. And I’ve seen many of his concerts since then.

And on top of that, I had the luck that several years ago (nearly twenty now), in yet another one of my lives, I worked in music. In that period, I barely remember how or why, Michele’s² number ended up in my hands for work reasons. Since then, there having never been the occasion, I never called or contacted him. I kept it like a relic, because it was my luck, and luck wasn’t to be squandered.

Last Saturday Caparezza held the closing concert of his tour in Caserta. I’d bought the tickets the moment they came out, fifteen months ago. Only last week, moved by the fact that my daughter adores him and knows essentially all his songs by heart, did I decide to send him a message asking to meet for a hug, a handshake, and a photo. And he answered that yes, there would be no problem.

Here, this isn’t my third stroke of luck. The third stroke of luck is that Michele is an anti-diva, a person out of the ordinary, of exceptional humility and availability. And he’s an enormous artist, one who moves you, makes you laugh, think, get emotional, and moves you again within the space of a few minutes. With Michele we took a photo and shook hands³. I didn’t hug him. I didn’t have the courage: seeing him so available I felt caught off guard. But it was beautiful all the same.

The concert was powerful, wonderful, exhausting, and full of imagination. As beautiful as the ones I remembered. Maybe more beautiful, given the presence of at least four generations of spectators – in that other life of mine, instead, we were just boys and girls no older than thirty.

He asked, from the stage, to be let go at the end of the concert, because he doesn’t know if he’ll come back to play again, due to personal issues. And we’ll let him go. But we’ll be waiting for him with open arms, whenever he wants to come back.