I always feel a certain embarrassment when I read that a showman, with a public profile, wants to take a clear and unequivocal stance on international issues (wars, etc.) because the entire world around us needs to be carefully analyzed. A proclamation thrown down from a stage or even written in an appeal leaves me rather indifferent. Artists who want to raise awareness among their audiences... but why? Aren't they sensitive enough themselves? Is there any need for Bruce Springsteen to tell them he's against the Trump administration? I don't think so: it's a role I don't feel comfortable sharing.
These are the words spoken by Francesco De Gregori on May 26, during a press conference introducing a series of concerts. The tone, up until that point, was fairly relaxed but also bitter: "It's been ten years since I felt inspiration bubbling inside me. I'm sorry, but I don't make a big deal out of it."
Another journalist dwelt on the theme of commitment, and De Gregori, piqued, doubled down: "I raise awareness, despite myself, through the songs I write, not with what I say. I don't feel superior to anyone, to be able to dictate what position to take on Gaza, Israel, or Iran. I'm confused, too (...) my thinking isn't totalitarian, I don't want to give or take lessons from anyone, especially not from a singer or a filmmaker: what qualifications do they have?"
On January 13, 1898, a long editorial appeared in the French newspaper Aurore , titled J'Accuse...! It was signed by a writer considered the most important novelist alive today, Émile Zola . That article ushered in one of the most famous cases in modern culture, aimed at violently challenging the unjust conviction of a French soldier and, more generally, a widespread anti-Semitic prejudice, a prejudice from which even the left was not immune (in fact, not even libertarians). What made that article truly memorable and explosive, however-beyond, of course, the impeccable arguments and the ingenious title that reversed the concept of accusation from the condemned man to his judges-was precisely that it was signed by an artist and not a journalist, a lawyer, a politician... in short, not a specialist. There had certainly been notable precedents, as old as society itself, of poets, musicians, and painters who had taken a stand on issues that did not strictly concern their own fields. But in this case, the widespread and rapid dissemination of the article, Zola's notoriety, and his charisma made it a turning point: with that article, the figure of the committed intellectual was born. Zola faced serious troubles: trial, conviction, exile... and some argue that even his tragic death (carbon monoxide poisoning in a closed room) was neither accidental nor unrelated to that event.
The figure of the committed, self-aware artist, the "fellow traveler" or the "useful idiot" (two definitions popular in Marxist-Leninist circles) has undoubtedly been a cornerstone of that dichotomy that brings together the politics of culture and the culture of politics. In the twentieth century, forms of mass culture-popular literature, comics, cinema, and song-often interacted with the dissemination of social ideas. Indeed, some militants were interested in these forms of communication precisely because they were particularly suited to rapidly spreading counter-current ideas and stories from the bottom up. Anarchism, in particular, is well represented by its songs, to the point that one of the most famous and beloved organizers, militants, and revolutionaries in its history-Pietro Gori-is also one of its greatest singers: a unique case, I would say. Songs are a flexible and readily usable means of propaganda; they can be improvised at an event and sung in a few hours, they are quickly learned, and every listener can become a channel for them in turn. It is particularly elusive to censorship: how do you muzzle a whole crowd singing a song in chorus?
A hybrid of poetic writing, musical composition, and song, song-among the widely distributed forms of popular communication-despite having been a key player in the record industry and mass entertainment, has retained a fundamentally oral vocation, transmitted beyond all control and in defiance of any commercialization. I believe it is for these reasons that the socially charged song, the socially charged song, the political song is the art form most closely linked to the history of the labor and revolutionary movement... indeed, we could say that in many cases, some militants have become singers to spread ideas. It doesn't take much preparation or talent to learn a few guitar chords and describe a revolt in more or less crooked verse... and it's not at all certain that these four chords and this urgency won't generate a song as beautiful, or even more so, than those written by professionals in the genre. Social song has also had its heroes and martyrs, like Joe Hill and Victor Jara.
When the widespread phenomenon of songwriting arose in Italy in the 1960s, with musician-poets performing their own songs, and when this phenomenon became prevalent in the 1970s, it was entirely natural that many of them-belonging to a generation for whom political participation was central-would advance, each with their own unique flair, this fusion of poetry and commitment. Sometimes, perhaps even shirking the burden of the world and its hardships in every verse: it's not a crime of class conscience to write a love song. Edoardo Bennato-we might say-wrote the manifesto of this refusal to accept commitment with songs like " Sono solo canzonette" or "Cantautore ." A funny contradiction: the more one wants to avoid exploitation, the more one risks ending up hostage to indifferentism, one of the most rigid and reactionary of political thought. "You can't make revolutions with songs," Guccini might shout, but we can also note how, since the storming of the Bastille, no great revolution, and often even a small revolt, hasn't spawned his songs. In my opinion, the most beautiful songs, the most necessary.
Francesco De Gregori is a singer-songwriter of extraordinary talent and longevity, whose artistic origins lie in the Folk Studio, a Roman venue strongly characterized by the symbols of the revolutionary left (it seems that every evening there began with the sound of the Internazionale) . He was the young guitarist of that monument of social (and anarchist in particular) singing, Caterina Bueno, to whom years later he dedicated the beautiful Caterina . He is a connoisseur and lover of popular and militant repertoire, to the point of returning to that repertoire in his later years with a highly successful album and tour, Il fischio del vapore, a duo with Giovanna Marini. He has also peppered his songs of all time with fairly transparent references to social struggles, emigration, and war: L'abbigliamento di un fuochista, Generale, Pablo, L'impiccato ... and that almost Brechtian-sounding phrase: Tu da che parte stai? / Are you on the side of those who steal from supermarkets / or of those who built them, by stealing? written in an era in which disengagement had become the norm.
De Gregori was also a staunch advocate of the right to ambiguity in language, its lack of transparency, and the artist's unwavering independence from any constraint. This belief led him to be the victim of one of the most infamous episodes in the history of Italian song: on April 2, 1976, during a concert in Milan, he was abducted from his dressing room by a group of workers' autonomy activists and (apparently at gunpoint) forced to undergo a popular trial on stage, during which he was accused of having become rich (his album Rimmel the previous year had been a huge success), of not writing militant enough songs, and was even urged to commit suicide (even!). It was undoubtedly a very stupid and crude act, fortunately ended without drama. But it was also a strange mix of brutality and faith in the possibilities of art. People naively convinced that songs could influence history, hamper power, stop wars, suspend death sentences. Today, however, we know it's all pointless and we can sing whatever we want, as long as no one will be disturbed: even the most beautiful songs of revolt are lost in an inconsistent and fleeting background noise. I think, deep down, even De Gregori, despite the trial, was having more fun before.
Alessio Lega
https://umanitanova.org/non-si-canta-per-cantare-note-a-margine-di-una-polemica-sullarte-impegnata/
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Source: A-infos-en@ainfos.ca
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