And the Queer Prize goes to...

 I'm back home from my trip to France. I went away partly to avoid the chaos of the Sanremo Music Festival which makes life impossible in this area. Don't take my word for it: Meri the checkout lady at the supermarket, Laura my friendly newsagent and our condo porter were all grumbling today about the restrictions on movement last week and how the council can spend millions on this show every year yet the pavements remain in need of repair. So as the city centre becomes a ghetto for music executives, pop fans and TV cameramen, the rest of us have to put up with the inconvenience. Nice fairy lights, though.

Anyway, this years winner was Sal da Vinci (no relation to the Renaissance genius) who wins (in increasing order of importance) the "Golden Lion" trophy, first refusal on representing Italy at the Eurovision Song Contest, a bunch of local flowers (to be treated with reverence as our winter flowers are the pride and economic mainstay of this, the Riviera of Flowers), and a brass drain cover with his name, song and year that will grace the lengthening line of covers in the centre of the high street.

 

The idea is that when it rains, the water plus any leaves, cigarette butts and other detritus flowing down the grating should make sounds that mimic your song. A cover version, if you will.

It is possible that I made that last paragraph up.

Anyway, to get to the point, there is now a Sanremo Queer Prize, instituted last year by various LGBT organisations, to note and reward the most LGBT-friendly Festival artists, songs or messages. This year's festival wasn't anything like as camp, queer or gender flexible as other years, as it happens. So the Queer Prize was given to Dittonellapiaga for what the jury described as the most "Prideable" song, her Che fastidio! (How annoying), which won third prize overall and which describes everyday frustrations like fashion choices, snobs, politicians, tax forms and (with irony) spiked drinks that give control of you to someone else. Not strictly LGBT themed yet it resonated with the strictly LGBT jury who saw her discomfort with losing bodily autonomy as something that many queer people can identify with. Her choice for her duet evening song, The Lady is a Tramp, made famous by Frank Sinatra, describes someone who accepts her own way rather than the conventions of supposed respectability. There were other honourable mentions among other contestants, too. 

This is her performance on the first evening. I love her makeup ... and what legs! Not sure about the skirt, though ... it makes her lower half look like a mushroom! (OK, that's enough catty remarks, Sue!)

 

 

Sorry, I can't find an English translation yet. Here's The Lady is a Tramp with TonyPitony. Great drag queen wig ... and those legs again.

 

The one thing I will say about the Sanremo Music Festival is that it shows European popular music is alive and healthy. More out of laziness and cheapness than desire, Europe has been importing US films, music, foodstuffs, style and other cultural items but I think the interest is rapidly wearing thin thanks to the current crass US regime. Native productions and produce, which have often taken a back seat these last 80 years, could well move back to the mainstream here. If the US wants to keep exporting its stuff, it needs to change its tune. I think the interruptions of the English text in this number with Italian dialogue is one sign of this change, as well as a bit of the artists' characteristic irreverence.

 

March 1st

I was suffering from hay fever and I forgot to exclaim "White Rabbits!" on waking, which is supposed to bring a lucky spring. Never mind. As part of my series on odd local customs, I'd like to point out that in the mountain village of Calizzano near here, March 1st is heralded by anyone who has a horn, trumpet, shell or other item that can make noise. Half the village goes up the mountain and greets the day by tooting as hard as they can from there, with the other half of the village replying from the settlement below. Traditionally, it's supposed to encourage snowmelt and fertile fields over the growing season. 

So I missed my annual white rabbit ceremony but I did see the first butterfly of the year, a little pale blue/lilac thing. In many European traditions, the colour of the first butterfly indicates the mood of the summer to some. I'm not sure I've ever seen this colour in my first butterfly before so I don't know what it signifies. Maybe it will just be a pretty year. As Tove Jansson, in that most beautiful of children's books, Finn Family Moomintroll (original title, Trollkarlens hatt), put it:

 And suddenly they caught sight of the first butterfly. (As everyone knows, if the first butterfly you see is yellow the summer will be a happy one. If it is white then you will just have a quiet summer. Black and brown butterflies should never be talked about - they are much too sad.)

Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden spot a golden butterfly. This can only mean the best possible summer, as it turns out. They've already found some tame clouds to float on.

Meeting Moomintroll in London. Happy butterflies in my tummy.

Sue x