Our concert

In the past, attendees would simply pay, go, listen, and return home satisfied. Today, attending a concert is a complex undertaking that demands logistical skills even Bertolaso might struggle to match. Controversies, exorbitant prices, and weather disasters now lie in wait for the unsuspecting audience member. We had barely recovered from Salvini’s controversial outburst at the concert in memory of De André when another row erupted, this time involving Ed Sheeran and Palestine. Sheeran is the redhead famous for the song ‘Shape of You’, better known as ‘oa-oa-oa-oa’; well, the redhead from ‘oa-oa-oa-oa’ ran into trouble during his US tour because the singer who was opening for him, a certain Macklemore, said something in support of Palestine and was thrown out by the stadium owner, a certain Kraft (who’s got nothing to do with the cheese slice people, but is nonetheless very pro-Israel and didn’t take kindly to it).

And before that, there had indeed been the concert for De André in August, in Sardinia, where a young woman had stood up, saying she felt offended by the presence of the League’s Deputy Prime Minister. Dori Ghezzi had then spoken out: “I’ve always been on the left. But it’s right to foster dialogue. Music must unite us”. It is not known who was singing, because other things matter now – first and foremost the controversies, which were once the preserve of the May Day concert: where nobody could recall the singers from the various years, but online there are plenty of articles and lists such as ‘The ten most famous controversies of the May Day concerts’; here’s a medley; at this year’s event, the singer Delia was criticised for changing the lyrics of ‘Bella Ciao’ (from ‘o partigiano’ to ‘o essere umano’, which I’m not sure how that could have worked metrically, but it’s the message that counts).

In 2021, Fedez—still in his role as a left-wing prophet—attacked the Lega for opposing the Zan Bill (which was subsequently rejected on the grounds that it restricted freedom of expression). Today, those who opposed the Zan Bill are pushing for the Anti-Semitism Bill. But which are more common: attacks on Jews or on homosexuals? Or could it be both? Who knows. In any case, in 2014, Piero Pelù called Renzi ‘Gelli’s boy scout’; in 2003, Daniele Silvestri attacked Berlusconi, then Prime Minister, over his clashes with the judiciary (the following year, to avoid further similar incidents, Rai broadcast the concert with a 20-minute delay). Rai has had its hands full with these controversies surrounding the big concerts: in 1991, Elio e le Storie Tese performed a reworked version of ‘Cara ti amo’. Announcing ‘a red herring for Rai officials’, they included the names of politicians of the time (from Giulio Andreotti to Francesco Cossiga to Rai president Enrico Manca). Security then interrupted the show, and Vincenzo Mollica promptly took to the stage to interview Ricky Gianco. The moment went down in the history of television (and music).

By now, however, the traditional May Day concert has been replaced by the large-scale shows of Jovanotti, the de facto leader of the centre-left among the over-50s: in Rome, he was accompanied by Mayor Gualtieri on guitar. Slimmer and looking absolutely smashing, Gualtieri joined Jova in a rendition of ‘Samba della Rosa’, reworked as ‘Samba di Roma’. Rome, after all, is becoming better than Rio, the capital of concerts, and the city administration is now a boy band. There was Ultimo’s concert, with the singer arriving by helicopter at Tor Vergata (the only means of transport, in fact, by which one can get there), whilst the councillor for major events, Ridge-Onorato, posted reels (“and now I’ll take you backstage”). The crowds who turned out for Jovanotti’s concert were not scattered across Rome’s suburbs as they were for Ultimo’s, but were able to enjoy it at the Circus Maximus. A VIP stand offering freshly cooked risotto for journalists, politicians and actors was accessible via special wristbands (Jova is the last remaining bastion of the left, and perhaps the wristband even contained a chip for voting in the primaries).

Quite rightly, the centre-left is investing in music, because the right either lacks it or has less of it, at least officially: whilst Salvini is a huge fan of De André and Giorgia Meloni has always loved (though unrequited) Guccini, I don’t think there is a counterpart on the right (apart from Battisti, but that’s a complex issue).

For a more upmarket centre-left experience – let’s call it ‘broad-based prestige’ – a few weeks earlier, during one of the summer’s highlights, the unsuspecting audience at a mini-concert by Katy Perry (dressed as a sailor girl) at the Hotel Cala di Volpe on the Costa Smeralda were treated to the appearance of her new boyfriend, former Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau, and Matteo Renzi (tickets reportedly cost 5,500 euros for the show, including seating, food, drink, and the presence of Trudeau and Renzi).

Because concerts have now become a fierce class struggle. It is no longer sufficient merely to purchase an expensive ticket; instead, buyers find themselves confronting a complex maze of fare categories—more intricate even than the Emirates A380, with its economy, premium economy, business and first class options. ‘Dynamic’ pricing structures, which rise as demand increases, are already in place. On top of this, ticket touts swiftly snap up available inventory. For Oasis’s concerts in Rome next year, a lottery system has been announced: it is not enough simply to pay for the tickets (from 92 euros); buyers must first register on the official website, and the platform will then determine who is eligible to purchase them – a procedure not even required for the building Superbonus, nor for reserving a table at the Milanese restaurant Trippa (perhaps Oasis’s elaborate system was devised by a Milanese restaurateur).

In fact, the term ‘concert’ now encompasses a wide range of meanings. Singers rarely perform their own songs anymore: instead, they host guests, unveil surprises, offer lavish prizes and stage party games; Jova, for instance, has long delivered a high-end piano-bar repertoire, ranging from Brazilian tunes to ‘Anema e core’. At concerts, however, the atmosphere increasingly resembles that of Capri’s ‘Anema e Core’, where the specific performer becomes less important than the audience’s participation and enjoyment. Kanye West, the artist who frequently changes his name and image—currently still known as Ye—is launching ‘Listening Parties’, i.e. events where he simply plays the music. His wife, the scantily clad Bianca Censori, is there – ‘the artist is present’ – but she doesn’t do a thing (prices from 138 euros). According to a previous Vogue article, Ye stands there playing the songs in a ‘North Face’ down jacket; his daughter, named ‘North West’, is also present, and it is no longer clear who is wearing the jacket and who is the daughter amid the concert organisers’ aggressive marketing campaign.

Kanye-Ye mainly performs songs that aren’t his own; in short, he’s the American Alessandro Ristori. For those unfamiliar with him, Ristori is a genius, the king of the piano bar – a singer whose look is a cross between Celentano and Elvis, swaying his hips in flared trousers as he flits between Forte dei Marmi and Dubai and all manner of luxury resorts, tacky and super-tacky, with his band the ‘Portofinos’, for concerts that you would at least listen to while eating your lobster and paccheri, perhaps with a bib bearing a slogan like ‘I’m a foodie!’. In this age of global regression, all singers are like Alessandri Ristori, and it is better to sit down to a meal and listen to old classics than to venture off to remote locations to hear your favourite star, because you never know what might happen.

You go to see Jova and end up with Gualtieri. You go to see Katy Perry and there’s Renzi. You pay to see Bad Bunny in Milan, and the Puerto Rican’s show is swept away by a storm. You book a ticket for Ye in Reggio Emilia and it gets cancelled (deemed too Nazi and anti-Semitic). Yet the drama can begin even before the show, as in the case of particularly despicable scams involving parents who take their children to concerts, even those far out of town. In fact, following the mums’ chat groups, all my friends who have children now have a new bogeyman: the big concert out of town. Eager to spend ‘quality time’ with their sullen teenager – in the hope that they might actually speak to them instead of the usual grumbling – they embark on gruelling journeys, sometimes covering hundreds of kilometres. A friend of mine had travelled all the way to Bologna to accompany her daughter, who was determined to see Radiohead at any cost, but once there – having taken the high-speed train, then checked into the hotel, then taken a taxi (enormous expense and hassle) – upon arriving at the remote stadium, it turned out that the QR code didn’t work; fake tickets and fake websites are becoming increasingly common. The teenager had a meltdown, the mother was utterly exhausted, and the ticket touts were rubbing their hands with glee.

If, on the other hand, there is no scam and you manage to get into the concert, you are immediately faced with the ruthless token system – physical or virtual ‘tokens’ – the only currency with which you can buy a beer or a sandwich, usually with a minimum spend of 10 euros; you are then left with any change, but you cannot spend it at any other concert. All of this—between the tokens, anxious mums, mayors with rhythm in their blood, and scams—generates a massive economy.

According to recent research, the global music tourism market is worth $129.5 billion in 2026 and is forecast to reach $363.8 billion by 2033. Furthermore, according to other research, 8 out of 10 Italians are willing to travel to see their favourite artist. Live music in Italy generates over 11 million overnight stays and has an estimated economic impact of 4.3 billion euros.

So here come the ‘music-crazy’ tourists. To get tickets for Taylor Swift, the world’s biggest pop star – loved by Italian fifty-somethings almost as much as Jovanotti – loads of Americans have come to Europe because the tickets were so expensive back home that it was worth taking the transatlantic flight (just as we go to Albania for a dentist’s appointment or to Istanbul for a hair transplant). Consequently, in our already crowded cities—already hosting drunken Scots in kilts for the Six Nations rugby tournament and Americans lazing about in golf buggies—we will now also see an army of leisure concert-goers.

For those who’d rather not tackle the musical ‘Camel Trophy’, the programme includes a concert on your doorstep. Three years ago, alongside her never-ending ‘Eras Tour’, Swift also released a concert film, which could be watched in the comfort of your local cinema; 168 minutes of entertainment for the modest sum of $19.89 (€19.89 in Europe). The incongruous price was chosen because the figure corresponded to her year of birth. It remains a mystery why, in the hunt for global billionaires—with the super-rich, subject to wealth taxes and taxes on second homes, becoming the new targets across the globe—no one is storming the villas of these individuals.

Perhaps because, in any case, they’ve got a hard life of their own. With the end of physical records and the dematerialisation of LPs, their earnings have also vanished, so even reclusive and shy singers, whose concerts were once a rare treat, are now on the road all year round, touring arenas and stadiums, performing just like so many Bagginis – for the younger generation, Gigi Baggini was an exceptional character from an exceptional film, “Io la conoscevo bene”, by Antonio Pietrangeli (father of Paolo, the singer-songwriter behind “Contessa”), in which, at a classic 1960s Roman party, a ruthless film producer forces an old, failed actor – Baggini, to be precise, played by Ugo Tognazzi – to perform, purely for cynical amusement, a tragic act that leaves him exhausted and humiliated in front of everyone present.

Macklemore is a Baggini too, poor chap: sacked for his pro-Palestine outcry, which he may well have thought, in good faith, would perhaps even boost his career, or at the very least was simply a matter of common courtesy – an outcry that, after all, resounds – quite rightly – on every red carpet, from Cisternino to Papua, but instead he stumbled into the wrong arena. He has now announced that he will donate $1 million to the Palestinian cause and has challenged Kraft (not the one that makes cheese slices) to do the same. In short, a real mess for everyone. When you go to a concert, be kind to those who sing, shout or play the music: they are fighting a battle you know nothing about.

The most dreadful concert nightmare is, of course, the ‘sold-out’ scenario, just as with pizza, where the masses crave nothing but the overcrowded pizzeria with a queue a kilometre long (probably created specifically by the influencer pizza chef), a concert will only be considered a success if it’s sold out – heaven forbid there should be a single centimetre of empty space – hence the enormous stress among artists, between those who fill stadiums and those who don’t. Fedez occasionally cancels concerts, sometimes citing medical reasons; on other occasions, some cynics claim that his venues are half-empty.

Ultimo claims to have sold the most tickets (250,000) in a single go in Italian history, but to achieve this he rallied all his fans as one. “Music must unite us,” Dori Ghezzi had said. He really did unite them, all crammed into the same huge field at Tor Vergata, and not even Gualtieri turned up. Some attendees even managed to return home afterward.