Sal Da Vinci's victory is annoying: The truth about the controversy

The victory of Sal Da Vinci al Festival of Sanremo It wasn't simply a musical victory. It became something more: a reflection of the cultural tensions that permeate Italy when success comes from Naples and the South. But some people didn't like it.

First his song was dismissed as a song.
Then it became a wedding song.
Then they moved on to making fun of Sal.

And as if that weren't enough, some even tried to accuse the song of describing a "toxic love," going as far as to evoke femicide. Yes, that's been said too.

With the latest release of Aldo Cazzullo We've reached a new level: no longer just music criticism—which would be legitimate—but a true cultural offensive that ends up hitting Naples, the South, and, in fact, half of Italy.

Because by now the issue is clear: it's not the song that's annoying.
That's what it stands for.

Il Festival of Sanremo, especially in recent years — from the cycle of Amadeus to Fiorello, up to the conduction of Carlo Conti — has slowly begun to return to what it should be: a mirror of the real Italy.

No longer just the self-referential salon of a certain cultural elite.
No longer the festival of “snobbish respectability”, where often ephemeral phenomena were presented as generational masterpieces only to disappear within a few months.

Because in the end, music has a simple rule:
If people like it, they listen to it.
If you don't like it, forget it.

So perhaps this is precisely the problem: a festival that becomes popular again, that speaks to everyone, that manages to bring together different languages, sensibilities, and cultures.

A festival that truly represents Italy once again.

And this is where the short circuit occurs.

For years, we've witnessed a musical narrative filtered through a certain cultural critique—often ideological—that dictates what's "high" and what's "low." But when audiences, ratings, and even judging panels overturn this narrative, someone loses their monopoly on the narrative.

And he also loses a certain position of power.

There's a detail that makes the whole controversy even more paradoxical: Sal Da Vinci's victory also came thanks to the press and the experts. In the televoting, in fact, the public had given more weight to Sayf.

So the question arises spontaneously:
If the press played a decisive role in Sal Da Vinci's victory, then what are we talking about?

Would the same press Cazzullo is addressing really have decided to crown a song “for a Camorra wedding,” as he himself defined it?

The truth is that this controversy speaks to something much older: the unease of a part of Italy when Naples and the South return to prominence.

And it wouldn't even be the first time.

Even Domenico Modugno, now considered one of the greatest artists of Italian music, was long opposed by some critics. He too was regarded with suspicion: too popular, too Mediterranean, too far from the canons of "respectable Italy."

Yet that same Italy still sings today In the blue painted blue.

But this attitude has also caused other illustrious victims.

Just think of Nino D'AngeloFor years, he was treated as an "outsider" of Italian music. Someone to be tolerated, invited perhaps because the public demanded it, but never truly accepted into the elite circles of culture.

Ultimately, the problem is always the same: artists like Nino D'Angelo, like Sal Da Vinci and like many others reach the real masses.

And when that happens, the cultural narrative changes.

And controlling the narrative is no small feat.

Behind the cultural narrative there are enormous interests:
business, advertising, companies, sponsors, cultural industries.

Money.
Lots of money.

When public tastes change, the economic and media balance also changes.

And it's not just about music.

In cinema, for example, Toto For years, he was treated by some critics as a mere caricature, almost a minor phenomenon. Today, he is universally recognized as one of the greatest actors in Italian history.

The same fate, in different forms, was met by giants like Vittorio De Sica, Steno, Vittorio Gassman e Walter chiariMany of them became “great” in the eyes of critics, especially after their death.

Previously they were often looked upon with suspicion or condescension.

And then there is an even more bitter page in our media history: that of Enzo tortoraWhen the judicial scandal that engulfed him erupted, a section of the press believed the accusations without asking too many questions, without lifting a finger to defend one of the most beloved faces on Italian television.

History later demonstrated how unfounded those accusations were.

The writer's position also fits into this climate Maurizio de Giovanni, who commented with surprise on Cazzullo's words.

De Giovanni recalled that Sal Da Vinci is an extraordinary artist with a forty-year career, proudly popular and capable of filling theaters and stadiums. And he added a question that made many smile:

“I wonder how many Camorra weddings Cazzullo attended to define that song in that context.”

A phrase that ironically dismantles the malicious association between a popular song and organized crime.

The writer also underlined a central point: the equation between popular and low quality It's an old Italian cultural habit. An intellectual shortcut that has often led to the underestimation of artists capable of truly speaking to the country.

And De Giovanni also recalls another fact that makes the controversy even more curious: Sal Da Vinci he didn't win the televote, so it is clear that his victory also passed through the vote of the artistic jury and the experts.

In short, he too was rather surprised by Cazzullo's mischievous outburst.
And he probably didn't mean to slip up like that.

Even the best of us make a stupid mistake every now and then.
There is an old ironic statistic that every man, sooner or later, will say or do something stupid.

This time—let's say it with a smile—perhaps it was simply Cazzullo's turn.

Because the real question always remains the same:
Why is a Sanremo Festival that truly represents Italy once again so scary?

Maybe because it changes the balance.
Perhaps because it takes the "soup off the plate" of those who for years have controlled the cultural narrative of the country.
Perhaps because it brings something that, paradoxically, scares more than anything else: novelty.

The new that arrives and sweeps away the old.
The new that breaks the mold.
The new one that doesn't ask anyone's permission.

To conclude, it is almost natural to recall a phrase from Benedetto Croce which seems to have been written just for moments like this:

“Freedom is never granted: it is earned.”

And perhaps even the freedom to sing—and to win—without asking permission from the elite.

And speaking of salons and power, some of our readers recalled a beautiful image from Neapolitan cinema. In the film The gold of Naples, Eduardo De Filippo explained the meaning of that ancient and liberating gesture: the fart, not a simple raspberry, but an act of ironic rebellion against the powerful man in the neighborhood.

Well, maybe Cazzullo's exit deserves one of those wonderful raspberries.

As one of our readers wrote commenting the journalist's editorial Sebastian Vangone: sometimes the most elegant response to engineered controversies is not anger.

It's a laugh.
Or, to put it in Neapolitan, a big liberating raspberry.