Pino Daniele… So stay, stay with me.

On January 4th, 2015, I was in London when a friend sent me one of those messages you never want to read: Pino Daniele had left us…
100,000 people gathered in Piazza del Plebiscito to sing his songs in commemoration. And as I listened to his music again, I began to write…

So stay, stay with me.

In Western cultures, mourning is usually associated with the colour black, but for you, Pino, it’s a “half-black.” You, with your music—a mix of blues, rock, jazz, and Neapolitan tradition—brought your land, full of freedom, everywhere. A “dirty card” that, thanks to your songs, the whole world knows.

Your gaze was always attentive to a city where we pushed forward, amidst rumbling stomachs, while instead of helping us, they filled us with coffee. Every lyric contains a piece of our story, where buildings crumble, and we feel the strain. Just as yesterday, money was still scarce, but we had to get by.

You, Pulcinella with a guitar, narrated the passing of time in this fleeting life. And last night, you might have wondered: “Is paradise peaceful, without anyone to boss you around?” You walked through the streets speaking of freedom, and all you needed was a sunny day to give us the magic your chords could invent.

You, Latin scoundrel, lived through “the cherry season that’s over”. You painted Masaniello with a black face, but you weren’t just crazy.
You were a poet who made the wind, sun, air, and sea speak. Your table was a staff of bread and musical notes, your music all you had—and you gave it to us.

You taught us to want more without grovelling to be respected, to silence those intellectual speeches lacking honesty that we “couldn’t take anymore.” For all the times when only anger and curses came to mind, you, like a good friend, advised us: “Listen, do this: don’t listen to anyone, mind your own business, but if you have to suffer, endure it.”

You, like us, dreamed of seeing the night pass. You asked the darkness to make room for this day, for those we are waiting for.
You had long understood that life is a bite that no one will give you willingly, and when your heart troubled you, there was always an acoustic guitar ready to beat in your chest.

With you gone, it’s not just a bad day. It’s the same pain we felt when your friend Massimo left us. With him, we had already learned that “life can hurt,” but “you know how the heart works when it’s in pain.” Fortunately, beyond the heart, there’s a soul that helps you endure what surrounds you, that sometimes makes you think, even when you feel like letting go.

If you’re watching us from above, maybe you’re wondering, “What’s this sadness about?” And following your words, “in front of others, we’ll laugh to hide it.”

A blues singer like you cannot truly leave us.
You’ll continue, together with Troisi, to tell the story of Naples—a Naples that doesn’t forget “every cockroach is beautiful to its mother.”

Keep watching over this city that never keeps its promises, a city made of gossip, photos of Maradona, and of Sofia.

A safe corner of heaven surely awaits you. And with your head among the clouds, alongside the music of great artists who are waiting for you, we will continue to navigate.
A single song of yours will be enough to make us feel halfway better. And so, it’s not so tragic if, for one more day, stay, stay with me.