by Salvo Di Bartolo
Libertarian, non-conformist and extremely politically incorrect. An uncomfortable and unconventional artist, never predictable, but always coherent and faithful to his ideas. Always disliked by the communist left, so much so that he often paid the price, even in artistic terms, he was a friend of Bettino Craxi and then a supporter of Silvio Berlusconi. He himself, when asked what his political orientation was, did not hesitate for a moment to define himself as an ‘anti-communist liberal’. And on the other hand, rereading his lyrics one cannot fail to grasp the authentic and visceral love that he, a passionate ‘urban’ man, had towards that freedom of his, so sought after, defended, sung about.
Today, in the era of single thought and rampant political correctness, the Caliph would in all likelihood be labeled at least as sexist, misogynistic, patriarchal, and his texts would certainly spark the indignation of feminists and champions of civil rights, so progressive and transgressive in words, so animated by uncontainable outbursts of bigotry that return in deeds.
In reality, like it or not, Franco Califano has always been light years ahead of the bizarre moralism and hypocrisy typical of today’s feminist activism, and, although sometimes unscrupulous to the point of excess, the Roman singer-songwriter was still an incurable romantic who he loved women deeply. Just like his freedom. An inalienable value, the most important of all for a true liberal like the Caliph, a sublime and disenchanted poet, at times melancholy, a lover of beauty and life. Today, eleven years after his death, his beloved Rome pays homage to him with a square of its own, Piazza Franco Califano, and who knows whether he, who never ruled out a return, might experience this moment, even just for five minutes, to then be able to tell it, to be able to savor a few damn moments of those few that really matter. Because then, you know, everything else is boring.
Do you like this article? Share it on your social profile.
