I met Ezio Bosso while walking around.

I had heard of Ezio Bosso, but I had never taken the time to get to know him and his music (assuming knowing music and composer is feasible).

As is often the case, music comes suddenly and, tenacious, does not leave you until you have given yourself time to listen to it, explore it and decide whether or not to make it your own.

This is what happened with Ezio Bosso: my partner proposing to listen to him on the way back from a trip. The composer came right away, right into my heart. I sensed how much was there in his works, how much he was able to communicate. Then everyday life, with its priorities, and Bosso’s music remained there, waiting to be discovered.

Then came the time for a walk, in my hills. The best time to discover and enjoy good music, and there I met Ezio Bosso.

I think I met all his passion for music, experienced as a gift, not as a property: “Music is nobody’s. It belongs to Bach who wrote it, it becomes Ezio’s when Ezio plays it, and then it belongs to Paolo who listens to it. Music is an act of love, made for the listener.” 

I heard him say more or less these words in a broadcast. Listening to him, it indeed brought me and trying to know more about him, and here the net came in handy, especially in this case where, alas, I came late.

Listening to him aroused a kind of awe in me, because I think that songs like “Rain, in your black eyes” have the ability to grab you and drag you into the depths of your self. I think they trigger feelings and questions, they awaken those things that our unconscious prefers to keep dormant, because maybe it’s not time. We are not ready.

“Music teaches us the most important thing: to listen and hear ourselves.”

It is almost impossible to say no. And so we might as well try to get carried away, let it drag us down deep down into the meanders of our inner self and perhaps its suffering. Only to be lifted up in a flight of butterflies, like that of “Emily’s Room.”

“From the moment I listen, I am no longer afraid.”

I think Bosso’s music is a vortex, absorbing you and returning you somehow changed.

I think one cannot remain indifferent to his production, much less to him as a person. It is hard to understand how fate decided to deprive us of such humanity and greatness. Transparent in the interviews is the dignity in dealing with the disease, but also the anger toward those who selfishly asked him to continue playing, for the pleasure of hearing him, without considering the suffering it would cause him. 

“Esteem and affection bring respect.”

Respect for the suffering, for the greatness, for the humility of this person. Respect for music, which still allowed him to smile and give smiles, despite everything.

And what a thrill to hear him state something I have always maintained: “Music does not come by chance. It exists apart from us, in birdsong….” 

“It is music that chose me, because I needed it more than others.”

Music is refuge, friend, counselor, escape valve, sum form of expression, way out, welcome, a bridge to others. Music is power, an eternal message, it is immortality.

Ezio Bosso composer is, in my opinion, universal: he makes an impression even in the hearts of children.

Ezio Bosso was so much more, in my opinion: conductor, Maestro of music and life. And this is evidenced by what he wrote shortly before he left us his legacy. A poem that has perhaps been used a bit overblown and a tad clumsily, but even this indicates the power of the man and the musician. 

I am not and do not wish to stand as a music critic or make a petty exegesis of the person, I just wish others would not miss the opportunity to get to know this person. Fortunately I gave myself the time to do so, fortunately Ezio Bosso’s music found me, and with it took the whole Bosso world.

I know them the tomorrows that never come

I know them the tomorrows that never come 

I know the narrow room And the light that’s missing to look inside

I know them the days that pass the same 

Made of sleep and pain and sleep to forget the pain

I know the fear of those distant tomorrows 

That it seems binoculars are not enough

But these are the days to remember 

The good things done 

The fortunes experienced 

The smiles exchanged that are worth kisses and hugs

These are the days to remember 

To correct and play 

Yes, play to imagine tomorrows

Because tomorrow the one with the real sun comes 

And we’ll have to imagine it better To build it up

For tomorrow we won’t have to rebuild 

But to build and building to dream

For to be born again means to build Together one by one

Now, however, stay at home thinking of tomorrow

And building is beautiful 

The most beautiful game Let’s begin…

By Cinzia Costi

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