As I promised, I’ve finished translating the interview with Gianluca conducted by Luca Maggitti, a journalist and longtime friend of Gianluca and the entire Ginoble family from Abruzzo.

It’s a very long chat with many interesting questions and answers. It’s certainly not the usual interview, nor are the usual questions.

Some may find it too long and too literary and philosophical, but I’m sure many will appreciate Gianluca’s profound knowledge and cultural expertise.

The story also includes many beautiful old photos of Gianluca that I’m sharing with you.

HORIZONS FROM MONTEPAGANO

A conversation between Luca Maggitti di Tecco and Gianluca Ginoble.

The goal is to introduce everyone to Gianluca Ginoble, the man who inspires the artist.

Gianluca, choose a dominant color for each of the three decades of your life and explain why…

“I see the first decade as white, the color of innocence and discovery. It’s the time when we live immersed in the present, without filters, without superstructures, with a primal wonder that is the true essence of childhood.

White is the sum of all colors, an infinite potential that has yet to take shape, and somehow I believe I have preserved that light over the years.

I associate the second with yellow, the color of the sun, of vital energy, of the creative explosion. These were years of momentum, of affirmation, in which my passion became my language in the world. Yellow is also the color of gold, of visibility, of a success that allowed me to transform my emotions into something tangible, shareable.

Today, however, it is the time of blue, deep as the sky and the ocean, the color of awareness. If yellow is the light of day, blue is twilight, the moment when we begin to look beyond, to ask bigger questions, to seek a broader meaning. It is the color of thought, of reflection, of that inner vertigo that leads us to question who we are.

Perhaps it is the color of my soul at this moment: a vast space, open, full of questions, and finally some answers.”

Living in the ancient village of Montepagano means, metaphorically, standing on the shoulders of a giant and looking down on things.

What does Gianluca Ginoble see on the horizon as a man, now thirty years old?

“Living in the ancient village of Montepagano, in fact, is like standing on the shoulders of a giant who supports me and roots me in the past, allowing me at the same time to look far ahead. It’s the awareness that my roots are not only a starting point, but also an inner compass that guides me, a safe haven to return to.

Montepagano taught me the value of community, of recognizing oneself in the eyes of those who watched you grow, of greeting each other on the street without the need for formalities.

It’s a small world where the love of my family is intertwined with that of my people, a simple and sincere affection that I’ve always felt around me. Of course, in small towns there’s no shortage of shadows of envy, but the light of cordiality and a sense of belonging always overcomes them. And so, having turned 30, I look to the horizon with the same humility that has kept me steadfast, without ever losing myself.

I see a path that continues to evolve, made of research, questions, and new perspectives to explore. I see the desire to expand without forgetting where I come from, to touch the sky without losing touch with the earth. Because only those with deep roots can truly allow themselves to fly.”

And what does singer Gianluca Ginoble see instead?

“The singer is a fragment of me, one of the many identities that inhabit my being. As Pirandello said, we are “one, none, and a hundred thousand,” and often we spend a lifetime understanding who we really are and which part of ourselves deserves to emerge.

The singer is a mask, but not in the sense of a disguise that conceals, but rather of an expression that reveals. He lives immersed in confusion, in a constant dialogue between what has been and what could become. He questions himself, doubts, experiments. He wonders how far he can go and what his true boundaries are, aware that only by recognizing his own limits can he truly overcome them.

The Gianluca singer of today is no longer the one of yesterday. I have gone through different artistic phases, I have worn clothes that sometimes fit me perfectly and other times were too tight. Now I find myself in the midst of a profound metamorphosis, a necessary transformation to reach a more authentic awareness.

I look to the future with the desire to be ever more faithful to my essence, to find a voice that is not just technique and expression, but truth.

Because singing, ultimately, is nothing more than a way to reveal yourself to the world.”

(Gianluca con Luca Maggitti)

Have you since set aside your desire to study acting, or is what didn’t rain down still in the sky, waiting for the next storm?

“I believe my calling is to communicate deeply, to translate my inner self into a universal language capable of touching the soul of those who listen. Singing was my first love, the voice through which I gave form to my most intimate emotions. But every artist, in their journey, feels the need to explore new horizons, to expand the boundaries of their expression.

Writing has already become a refuge, a way to decant the flow of thoughts and emotions that pass through me. And acting is one of those dimensions in which I would like to lose myself completely, to let myself be traversed by lives and stories that are not my own and then find myself, more aware, more true.

Because art, like love, is an act of pure giving: it offers itself without expecting anything in return, it strips away the ego to become something greater, something that can touch and transform others. And in this, perhaps, lies the deepest meaning of what I seek.”

From the cobblestone streets of Montepagano to the entire world. You are the embodiment of the word “global,” born more or less around the time of your birth.

Il Volo has fully enjoyed globalization. 

Looking at the two-faced Janus from the side of localism, what have you brought to this project from your “wild native village,” to quote Giacomo Leopardi ? (Italian poet).

“From the cobblestones of Montepagano to the entire world, my journey has been that of someone who, despite starting from a small village, has always felt an inner restlessness, a need to look beyond. Comparing myself to a Roman god seems excessive; perhaps, given my place of origin, I could define myself as more pagan.

And it is precisely in this pagan dimension that I find my strength: the rejection of dogma, the rebellion against immobility, the need to deconstruct in order to rebuild.

Montepagano was my first horizon, the cradle of my certainties, but also the first limit I hit. I loved the province, but I also hated it, because everything that imposes an absolute and indisputable truth is, for me, an obstacle to self-discovery. In another era, I would have been a heretic, or perhaps Zarathustra’s child: someone who, without denying his roots, has the courage to empty himself of received beliefs to build new ones, born only from his own experience and his own inner search. If we were to draw on Leopardi, I would say that yes, the village inspired me and kept me with my feet firmly on the ground, but it was my rebellion that gave me wings. And with these wings, I discovered that beyond the border there was an immense world to explore.”

(Gianluca and Grandfather Ernesto in the square in Montepagano after his victory at Sanremo)

Does he still have dreams, a singer who performed in front of nearly a million people, in the presence of the Pope, in 2019 in Panama on the occasion of World Youth Day? And if so, which is the most important?

“Life has given me so much, and if there really is a law of attraction, it means that everything I’ve experienced has somehow been called, desired, awaited. I deeply believe that when you channel all your energies in one direction, the universe responds. But over time, I’ve realized that my greatest dream has never been tied to external goals or material recognition.

What I really want is to dig deep inside myself until I reach my most authentic essence. To go on stage without masks, without superstructures, with the complete truth of who I am in that moment. Being naked before the music and the audience, letting every note, every word, be a part of me. Because only in that emotional nakedness is something true created, and only what is true can touch the soul of the listener.

This, more than anything else, is the dream I continue to chase.”

Does a singer who toured at seventeen with Barbra Streisand and sang the immortal melodies of Ennio Morricone still have any desire to collaborate? And if so, what would be the first one you’d like to do?  

As you know, my journey is tied to a group, and the desires of Il Volo follow a trajectory quite distinct from my more intimate and personal ones.

For Il Volo, my dream is to continue bringing Belcanto to the world, to make it resonate in every corner of the planet, making it ever more alive and relevant. But if I talk about Gianluca, the man beyond the artist, the desire takes on a different nuance. More than a simple musical collaboration, I imagine an artistic encounter that goes beyond the confines of voice and melody. I dream of sharing the stage with a great actor, of merging music with storytelling, of
experiencing art in its entirety. And one day, perhaps, of finding myself inside a Sorrentino film (Italian director), in that universe suspended between poetry and reality.”

Thirty years of life, fifteen of which have been an artistic career. What didn’t you enjoy about your adolescence?

“I believe the concept of normality is a fragile construct, often illusory. It’s an idea that changes over time, with society, with the conventions we take for granted. The biggest mistake is to think of normality as a universal parameter, when in reality, each individual holds their own unique and unrepeatable truth. Perhaps I belong to a minority, to that small group of adolescents who, rather than enjoying the years of school and their first daily experiences, found themselves catapulted into a completely different world, made of stages, travels, extraordinary encounters.

I could say I didn’t enjoy some experiences that many take for granted, but that would be an unfair comparison. This has been my life, my adolescence, and I wouldn’t trade it for any other.

I’ve had the privilege of traveling the world from a very young age, of learning languages, of experiencing different cultures, of experiencing emotions that few can experience. I’ve never missed a “normality” that didn’t belong to me.

I created my own normality, a life that has been and is an extraordinary journey. And if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

(Gianluca, Ignazio and Piero wins Sanremo 2015)

What gifts has success brought you?

“Success is an elusive concept, often misunderstood. If you pursue it as a goal, it risks becoming a prison, an illusion that only fuels the desire for approval. I believe that true success is a consequence, and not in numbers, applause, or recognition, but in the ability to authentically express oneself, to leave a mark on the soul of those who listen.

The greatest gift that success has given me has been precisely this: the ability to create deep connections through music, to resonate with people, sharing emotions and thoughts that would otherwise remain unexpressed. But it also taught me a fundamental lesson: as rewarding as it may be, success does not define my value. What really matters is learning to be self-sufficient, not to depend on the opinion of others to feel complete.

Success can boost self-esteem, but true strength lies in detaching from all that is ephemeral, in finding an inner balance that is not dependent on external factors.

Only in this way can one live and create in total freedom.”

Ennio Flaiano (Italian writer), whose maternal grandmother, Rosa Di Bonaventura, was from Montepagano, quipped in one of his aphorisms: “If people knew each other better, they would hate each other more.” Is it time, then—according to the cycles of history, as Vico recalls—for a future built on walls rather than bridges, given what has unfortunately been happening on our planet in recent years?

“We live in an age where walls seem to prevail over bridges, and this is the reflection of a profound illusion: the idea that to welcome others, we must necessarily mirror ourselves in them, find similarities, confirmations, and reassurances. It is an unconscious mechanism, rooted in our ego, which often transforms love and understanding into a form of collective narcissism: we accept what resembles us, reject what challenges us.

But true openness is not recognizing ourselves in others, but rather welcoming what we don’t understand about them, what is foreign and even irreconcilable.

Loving others means loving their freedom, what escapes our control, accepting that not everything must be assimilated in order to be respected. Yet, today’s society seems oriented in the opposite direction: dominated by egocentrism, the need for affirmation and superiority, it takes refuge in closed identities and the illusion of protection offered by borders, whether physical, cultural, or ideological.

Populism and sovereigns are merely manifestations of a deeper fear: that of not being enough, of not knowing how to live in the world without a leader to tell us what to think, without a group to give us a pre-packaged identity. But the truth is that we are neither better nor worse than others; we are simply unique.

Only by acknowledging this uniqueness—ours and others—will we be able to overcome the fear of the unknown and build bridges instead of walls.”

Dream with me of a perfect moment. And the good version of the “King of the World,” to quote Franco Battiato (Italian singer-songwriter), who brings peace to this little blue planet, inviting you to sing just one song, broadcast worldwide. Which one would you sing?

“Dreaming of a perfect moment means imagining a humanity that, for an instant, manages to transcend its limits, its fears, its divisions. A humanity that, as Battiato wrote, frees itself from the illusion of power and matter to rediscover itself in a greater harmony. If the “King of the World” were to finally bring peace to this small blue planet, it would mean that humanity would have found the courage to awaken from its slumber, the one described by Ouspensky and Gurdjieff: a condition in which we live mechanically, repeating patterns and habits without ever questioning our true nature.

This awakening would require an inner journey, silence as a tool for understanding, the ability to look within without being distracted by external superstructures—culture, religion, ideologies—that often separate us more than they unite us. In this scenario, I would choose to sing Battiato’s “The Sacred Sinfonie of Time,” because it is a hymn to the mystery of existence, to the search for truths that are not found in prepackaged answers, but in the journey itself. It is a song that invites us to look beyond the visible, to recognize the infinite within us. If the world were ready to listen to it, it would mean we have finally understood that peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of awareness.”

(Gianluca and the singer Giorgia)

If you could open a hole in space and time, annihilating current knowledge and pushing beyond the known, which era would you like to visit—past or future—and why?

“Time is an illusion created by our linear perception of reality, and perhaps the past and the future coexist in a single instant that we fail to grasp. I’m reading “The Star Wanderer” by Jack London, a book that explores the idea that consciousness is not bound to a single body or a single existence.

The protagonist, forced into a life sentence and subjected to the cruelest torture, finds the most powerful escape within his own being: through states of trance and regressive hypnosis, he relives fragments of past lives with incredible lucidity.

This reading made me reflect on how fascinating the idea is that our soul has traversed time, inhabited other bodies, experienced other eras. And that our traumas, our deepest fears, are not always rooted only in this life, but are karmic debts waiting to be resolved so we can finally be free. If I could open a space-time portal, rather than choosing an era to visit, I’d like to remember where I’ve already been. Perhaps I’d discover that I was a Frenchman who, in the 1950s, gathered in salons with Camus and Sartre to discuss existentialism, freedom, and the meaning of life.

Or perhaps I’ve already lived in a time yet to come.

The truth is that the greatest journey is not so much through time, but within ourselves, into the mystery of our own existence.”

Have you ever considered that the air we breathe and the water we drink, despite their constant transformations, are the same as they were in the time of Julius Caesar, for example. And if so, what synaptic domino effect does this thought unleash in you?

“There’s something dizzying in thinking that the water that today touches our lips, that flows in rivers or rises into the air in the form of vapor, is the same water that quenched Julius Caesar’s thirst, that bathed the face of Leonardo da Vinci, or that landed on the hands of an anonymous medieval traveler. That the oxygen that fills our lungs has already passed through billions of bodies before us. It’s a thought that dissolves the illusion of separation and restores us to the eternity of becoming.

This is the great miracle of life: the fact that, although our existence is an infinitesimal fragment in the flow of time, we are part of an endless cycle, a cosmic breath that spans the ages.

And so, perhaps, our only duty is not to waste this passage, not to take for granted what surrounds us. To observe a sunset as if it were the first, to marvel at lightning as if we were seeing it for the first time, to breathe as if it were the first and the last. Because if it is true that the air and water of today are the same as they were then, then our dreams, our thoughts, our intuitions could also continue to travel through time, leaving invisible traces in those who come after us.

And perhaps this is precisely the meaning: to live so authentically that our existence becomes an echo that resonates in the future.”

Some stars we see in the sky may be dead, but their light still reaches us. This poignant metaphor of life continuing through light at approximately three hundred thousand kilometers per second prompts me to ask you: what would you like to leave behind for posterity of your commitment as an artist?

I am an artist who draws on nostalgia as a creative force, an energy capable of crossing time and giving life to the present.

We all, artists and otherwise, go through imitative processes; we are the fruit of the experiences that have shaped us. Even if the past is no longer among us, it continues to shine in its absence, reaching us like an unexpected visitation, similar to the light of dead stars that reaches us years late. I quote the great psychoanalyst Recalcati: “Looking at the starry sky, we admire a presence made of absence, or an absence that becomes present.” This also happens with the great artists of the past: although no longer alive, they remain eternal. The light of art, in fact, always comes from an ancient time.

Humanists teach us that one can be truly modern only by immersing oneself in the ancient, reinterpreting it, and allowing its light to shine through us. Nostalgia, therefore, is not a brake, but a way to illuminate our present with the depth of the roots from which we come. I would like all this to remain of me.”

(Gianluca with starred chef Davide Pezzuto)

In 30 years of life, you’ve seen many things change around you. Tell me something that used to be there that you miss today, and why?

What I miss isn’t something that has completely disappeared, but what still exists and, inevitably, is no longer the same. It’s the square I saw transform, the childhood café that’s now closed, the pine forest next to the bell tower where I used to run with friends, now quieter, as if it held secrets that only time can understand. It’s my grandfather’s voice, which once resonated strong and confident, and which today carries with it the sweetness and fragility of the years. It’s my parents’ gaze, always the same, but with a few more wrinkles, reminding me that time passes without asking permission.

I miss, deep down, the childhood illusion that everything could remain unchanged. But perhaps the meaning of life is precisely this: accepting change, embracing it without fear, learning to find beauty not in the static, but in becoming.

Because what we love never truly disappears, but transforms, and it’s up to us to continue recognizing it, even in new forms.”

One thing you’re glad isn’t there anymore?

“The fear of not being good enough (and I’m still working on that).”

At what age did you begin reading rigorously and continuously, and in response to what need?

It was the time of Covid-19, a time when the world stopped, and with it our certainties. The forced closure created a collective destabilization, pushing many to abandon themselves to inactivity, to live everything passively.

I, however, felt the opposite need: to reinvent myself, to rediscover myself, to give meaning to that suspended time. It was then that reading became an essential companion. It wasn’t just a way to fill my days, but a refuge, a door open to other worlds, other lives. Every page I turned fueled my desire to understand, to question, to seek answers to questions I had never asked myself until then. The need that drove me to read was discovery, but above all doubt—that silent engine that forces you not to settle for prepackaged truths. Thanks to books, I understood that critical thinking is an achievement, not a gift. And that only those who continue to question the rules of the world can truly attempt to understand them.”

Recommend an author and explain why.

An author I particularly love is Hermann Hesse. Not only for his extraordinary narrative ability, but because his works contain something that goes beyond literature: a profound call to the soul, to inner exploration, to the journey that each of us is called to undertake within ourselves.
His words are imbued with spirituality and a rare awareness: that the mind, however powerful, is always limited. We delude ourselves that we possess answers, that we have certainties, but in reality only when we abandon them, when we accept our loss, can we truly find ourselves. Hesse teaches us that growth comes through crisis, that enlightenment comes only after the shadow. Reading ”Siddhartha,” “Narcissus and Goldmund,” “Steppenwolf,” or “Demian” means immersing yourself in a journey within yourself, a journey that offers no easy answers but leaves open questions. And perhaps this is precisely the greatest gift an author can give: not telling yourself what to think, but to push you to seek your own truth.”

Recommend a book and explain why.

Mikhail Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita,” a novel with something magical, rebellious, eternal. It was enlightening for me because it is not just a story, but an extraordinary interweaving of reality and fantasy, criticism and dreams, love and damnation. Through his visionary writing, Bulgakov recounts the Russia of those years with a cutting irony, revealing its contradictions, hypocrisies, censorship.

But what struck me most was his relationship with the divine, with destiny, and with love: a tormented, impossible love, yet so powerful that it defies every law of logic and morality. Margarita is the embodiment of courage: a woman who chooses not to bow down, who rebels against the world and against herself in order to fully experience what she feels.

“The Master and Margarita” taught me that we must fight tooth and nail for what we most desire, even at the cost of defying everything and everyone. And that true freedom, perhaps, lies precisely in not being afraid of one’s own shadows.”

(Gianluca in Montepagano)

Music that revolves around, to quote Ivano Fossati (Italian songwriter), in the age of post-dematerialization, what function do you think it plays in people today?

“We cannot stop evolution nor pretend that values remain immutable over time. Music, like any art form, adapts, changes, dissolves in the speed of the present, sometimes risking becoming merely background music, a distracted echo in a world that flows endlessly. But its essence remains intact.

Music continues to be an invisible bridge between people, a universal language that speaks directly to the soul, beyond time and technology. What changes is the way we choose to listen to it. We can consume it fleetingly, letting it pass through us without truly holding on to it, or we can rediscover its primordial power, that instinct that makes us vibrate to the sound of a melody, that makes us feel less alone, that allows us to rediscover parts of ourselves that we didn’t even know we had.

There’s no one music that’s better than another, because music is a reflection of the listener. Everyone finds their own truth in a note, in a voice, in a fragment of text that resonates with their own experience. And perhaps this is precisely its greatest task: to remind us who we are, even in a world that changes too rapidly.”

The Sanremo Festival has become a hub for conversation among Italians on social media. Don’t you think the songs are lacking, compared to the modern-fiction narrative and eccentric looks?

“This debate reflects our attachment to tradition, to that idea of Sanremo that lives in the collective imagination as an immutable institution. But nothing can truly remain as it was.

Time changes values, and what scares us is not the change itself, but our inability to interpret it with the tools of the present. Italian music has undergone radical transformations, and perhaps today we find ourselves in a transitional phase.

We live in an era in which appearances play a predominant role, where aesthetics often surpass substance, and the Festival is a reflection of this. But change is not necessarily a loss: it is a fracture necessary to rebuild new values and redefine a tradition that can speak to new generations.

I quote Gustave Le Bon (French anthropologist), who in his essay -The Psychology of Crowds- says:

“Without traditions, that is, without a national soul, no form of civilization is possible. The greatest occupations of man, since his existence, have been two: to create traditions and then to destroy them, when their beneficial effects have ceased. Without stable traditions, there is no civilization; without the slow elimination of traditions, there is no progress.”

Image has always had an impact in music, because beauty attracts, impacts, creates identity. The problem arises when appearance becomes a surrogate for content.

History teaches us that those who rely only on the ephemeral are destined to fade, while those who combine image and talent leave a lasting mark. Perhaps it’s not the songs that are lacking, but the way we choose to listen to them and recognize their value amidst the noise of the present.”

In a world where the gap between the very rich and the very poor widens every year, what values could we try to unite, for a new experience of global citizenship that can transcend the increasingly popular democracies that are increasingly gaining ground in response to the fears of various peoples?

“We live in an age where the gap between those who have everything and those who have nothing is widening, and collective fears are often exploited by leaders who pose as saviors, but who in reality fuel the cycle of inequality and division. I believe it is crucial to recognize that geopolitical balances are much bigger than us, and that every ideal of justice and fairness inevitably clashes with the greed and thirst for power that have always dominated human history.

Today, money has become the new God, and more and more young people are growing up with the idea that success is measured exclusively in material wealth, without asking deeper questions about who they really are and what their purpose in the world is. But wealth, if devoid of meaning, can turn into a form of existential misery. History teaches us that populism has often prevailed, that the masses, in their vulnerability, are seduced by simplistic narratives and charismatic leaders capable of manipulating consensus, and Orwell’s prophetic book, “1984,” is a striking example. A true awakening of consciences seems almost utopian, a distant dream.

Yet, every small gesture counts.

We cannot change the world alone, but we can be the seed of a greater change, inspiring with our example and seeking to spread values that unite rather than divide.

The future is in the hands of the new generations, and perhaps the true revolution will be an internal one, one that leads people to rediscover the value of community, awareness, and authentic freedom.”

(Gianluca in his home)

We risk—due to the combination of big tech and artificial intelligence—finding ourselves, in a few years, as consumers, only able to choose products managed by the Amazon of the moment. This means that the very existence, as well as the memory, of diversity in nature will be erased, for many things and for many products. Does this scare you?

“The real challenge is controlling desire, because that’s precisely what the system leverages. We live in an era in which consumerism is no longer just an economic issue, but a psychological one: we are bombarded by stimuli that push us to believe that we need more and more things, often useless, while technology is increasingly refining our ability to predict and influence our choices.

If we allow large companies to monopolize the market, not only will we find ourselves with an increasingly standardized offering, but we will also lose the sense of authentic choice. This is why the first step is awareness: learning to distinguish between a genuine desire and an induced need, between what truly enriches our lives and what is merely a passing illusion. The greatest risk is not only the disappearance of commercial diversity, but the loss of our autonomy of thought.

If we can escape this logic of compulsive consumption, we can still defend spaces of freedom, creativity, and authenticity in a world increasingly governed by algorithms.”

We’re moving toward a world of driverless cars. So, in your opinion, who is right to choose the algorithm that will make them decide whether—in an emergency situation—to save the driver or sacrifice him, perhaps to allow two unwary children to cross the road unexpectedly and recklessly? Should it be a world authority, the manufacturer, or someone else?

“This question raises a profound ethical dilemma, reminiscent of Philippa Foot’s famous tram experiment (English philosopher – the “trolley dilemma”) and itsvariants. In that case, as in this one, we are faced with a tragic choice in which each option entails a loss of human life. The difference is that, in the case of self-driving cars, it will not be a human being who decides in the moment of emergency, but an algorithm programmed in advance by other human beings. Who should have the power to establish these criteria? A global authority, a manufacturer, or someone else? Perhaps the issue is not who decides, but what ethical principles the decision is based on. Entrusting a choice of this magnitude to a probabilistic calculation means accepting the idea that human life can be quantified and hierarchized according to pre-established criteria. But who has the right to say that one life is worth more than another? Perhaps the real question isn’t whether the algorithm should sacrifice the driver or pedestrians, but whether we’re truly ready to delegate ultimate responsibility for matters of life and death to artificial intelligence. How far do we want to go in allowing technology to make ethical decisions for us? And, above all, are we sure we understand the consequences of this choice?

Personally, today I would ask myself not only who should program these algorithms, but also how willing we are to cede control of our existence to a machine.”

Albert Einstein said: “I do not know with what weapons the Third World War will be fought, but I know that the Fourth will be fought with sticks and stones.” Meanwhile, today we’re fighting a global conflict involving hackers and actual wars conducted by electronic systems. Do you also think there’s little way to defend yourself from someone who can spy on you through your phone or vacuum cleaner camera?

“We live in an age where privacy has become an almost romantic concept, a bit like writing letters by hand or developing photos in a darkroom. The reality is that we are all tracked, observed, profiled, and yes, maybe even the vacuum cleaner knows more about us than we’d like. Could we rebel? Sure, but at what cost? Giving up technology today means cutting ourselves off from the world, and the truth is that convenience almost always wins over paranoia.

In the end, we have only one option left: to take it philosophically. If someone wants to spy on us, let’s at least give them a good show.

Worst case scenario, let’s smile at the camera. Maybe the algorithm will appreciate it.”

You can call three people—the number is free at Il Volo—around a table to try to turn the tide of war, which has engulfed the world and even old Europe for over three years.

Who are you calling and why?

“If I could gather three people around a table to discuss the topic of war, I would choose someone who could embody three fundamental perspectives: philosophy, action, and conscience.

I would call Søren Kierkegaard (Danish philosopher), because war arises first and foremost in the human soul, in the conflict between fear and freedom. He would help me understand how individual anguish and desperation transform into collective violence. He would tell me that every war is first and foremost an illusion, the belief that the enemy is outside and not within us.

Then I would choose Mahatma Gandhi, because he demonstrated that the greatest resistance is that which needs no weapons, that the only true revolution is the internal one. I would ask him if today, in a world dominated by speed and disinformation, it would still be possible to win without fighting.

Finally, I would call Stanislav Petrov (Russian military), the man who in 1983 saved the world from a nuclear apocalypse by deciding not to trust a computer that was signaling a missile attack. He represents the weight of individual responsibility in the face of collective madness. I would like to know what he felt in making that decision, if he ever feared he had made a mistake, if he ever wished someone else would choose for him.

Perhaps this is precisely the problem: we always delegate the biggest choices to someone else, to a leader, an ideology, an algorithm. But war is a slippery slope that feeds on every small daily decision we make, every time we choose fear over understanding, anger over listening, possession over freedom.

The true revolution, perhaps, is understanding that every war begins within us and that, if we want to stop it, we must first be willing to change ourselves.”

(A very young Gianluca)

You wake up in the morning and take a shower. The first song that comes to mind to sing?

“ – La verità – by Brunori Sas (Italian songwriter), at the top of your lungs.”

Invite a deceased great from antiquity to dinner and tell us why.

“I would invite Simone de Beauvoir (French writer) to dinner, without a doubt.

First of all because I’ve always had a weakness for brilliant and indomitable minds, those who don’t bow to conventional wisdom and who, if need be, prefer to die on their feet rather than live on their knees. And then because, in a world where male power has always tried to cage women in pre-packaged roles, she has demonstrated that intelligence and knowledge are genderless.

I imagine the scene: at the table with her, while we sip some wine (because a genius like her certainly didn’t drink water, on principle), I’d ask her how one lives with the fear of being too ahead of one’s time. She would probably smile with a certain sarcasm and reply that fear is a
luxury that those who seek the truth cannot afford.

And let’s face it, men have always had a certain fear of women like her, because women are a mystery that cannot be grasped, and when you can’t control something, you try to destroy it. But the true strength of a free woman isn’t in rebelling for the sake of it, it’s in her ability to choose, not to be defined by the need for a man, but to want him without possessing him.

So yes, dinner with Simone de Beauvoir. And then, if you have time, maybe one last question:

“Tell me, how do you imagine love in a world without chains?”.”

Choose a superpower and justify your choice.

“I’d like to have omniscience, to know everything, to grasp every nuance of reality effortlessly. But, if you think about it, it would be a curse, because it would take away the meaning of the search, it would extinguish the fire of desire that drives us to explore, to ask questions, to make mistakes and then start again.

Perhaps the secret of life is precisely this: not being able to know everything, accepting mystery, allowing there to always be something to discover. It’s the emptiness that keeps us moving, the sense of incompleteness that makes us alive. In the end, we’re not made for perfection, but for the journey. And that’s okay.”

I’m the genie of the lamp, even if I’ve gained weight, so I won’t go through the spout. However, tell me your three wishes and I’ll make sure to grant them…

“The first desire is to know myself deeply, to see every corner of myself without fear, without veils, until I grasp the most authentic essence of who I am.

The second is to learn to truly love myself, not with ego, not with the illusion of being something special, but with that quiet acceptance that needs no validation.

The third is to conquer the fear of death, because perhaps it is only the fear of not having lived long enough. And if I succeeded in the first two desires, the third would dissolve on its own.”

(Gianluca with his father Ercole and former footballer Leo Junior.)

The very long interview is over. I hope you enjoyed it; it definitely showed us a different Gianluca.

I look forward to your comments!

Daniela 🤗

Credit to owners of all photos.