I born in Sicily, but my city is Piazza Armerina. Very small, maybe 16,000 people. My parents live with my sister now in Tuscany. My dad is old, 77, with pacemaker. I am 47. Born 1977.

I sang in a piano bar in Sicily at 16 years old. I love singing. We play for example song of Riccardo Cocciante, famous Italian. Imagine this guy plays piano, he is professional, and he is jealous because the people clap for me. It’s crazy!

I went to school to study accounting. Numbers. I don’t like this, but I finish for the diploma, but nothing I work for this! I work in restaurant and other jobs. I don’t know why I study accounting! My father, maybe. He is a professor of Mechanical Engineering. My mom works for the government. Nobody has music, but I love to sing. I wanted to leave Sicily. No work. No money. So much problem with Mafia in this epoch.

After school, I work for Sueno Caribe resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. In Italy, you have different companies looking for young people. I speak French and Italian, so I get the job contract for 8 months. I was an animator on the animation team to teach aqua gym and dancing, like salsa and merengue. I teach stretching, water aerobics and other things to the customers. This job was so fun. Work six days and one day off. Food, apartment, alcohol all free. And so much tips. The tourists give big tips. It was crazy! I once saw Juan Luis Guerra playing guitar on the street in Santo Domingo. I saw this nice guy playing guitar. I didn’t know who is Juan Luis Guerra. It was crazy. The Dominican people were crazy there. I loved Dominican Republic. I think when I am old, I go to finish my days in Dominican Republic. The beach was paradise. I worked two years for this company in Punta Cana, then Sharm El-Sheikh, Egypt for 8 months, and 6 months in Djerba, Tunisia. Tunisia was more open than Sharm El-Sheikh. Sharm El-Sheikh had a lot of Russians. Very strict. No drugs, no alcohol. My ex-girlfriend was French. I met her working in Sharm El-Sheikh. Then, we go to Tunisia. Then, we go to France.

I go to Liege in Belgium for learn cooking with a Sicilian family connection. Then, I go to Paris in 2000. I work in an Italian restaurant as a cook. My life was different because Paris is so much expensive. For restaurant it was good salary – 3000 francs. But I leave Paris in 2010. Why? Because my relationship finish with my girlfriend, and I’m very tired of this fuckin’ weather in Paris. Rain, rain, cold, cold. So much expensive. I was tired of this fuckin’ life in restaurant because no life. Work, work, work. Work on Christmas, work every festival. Twelve hours a day. Very tired of this. I think, “OK, I change my life.” This is not my passion. So, I say, “OK, I go to Spain for vacation.” And wow! Málaga. Wow, lovely! I love Málaga the first time I come. The best for me is Andalusia. Quiet. Friendly, No violence.

First, I live in Toronto, Canada for 8 months. My Italian friend lives in Toronto. He told me, “You want to work? Very good money.” I say, “Ok!” I work in restaurant as cook $200 for one day. So much good money. In cash. But so much expensive and my god, so cold! Twenty-five centigrade minus!

After Toronto I take 6 months in Valencia. I play in the center. It’s fantastic! The police no problem, but I love the south of Spain. The mentality and weather is the same as Sicily. I love this. Valencia cold and rain. Barcelona cold. Málaga no much rain.

I only start to play guitar in 2005. I sing before this, but I never play guitar. I think maybe I can accompany myself, so I learn guitar. I love the piano, but too big to carry! Complicated! In 2005, I start to play on the street a little with my friend. He said, “Come on. Come on. Play with me,” So I go with him. I was terrible. Shit. Slowly, slowly, slowly the people like it. Then I start my own composition in French and Italian. My first song, you hear in the tunnel, Yo Ti Amo (Filippo sings this to me.) In Paris, the people love the Italian style. The girls love it. At this moment so many girls. They take my number. Crazy.

I come in Málaga, my apartment was fantastic. Cheap price and big apartment. 400 Euros for month. I played on the street every day. So much money. In this epoch, every corner had music or painter. Fantastic. I make 100 Euros every day. And people say, “Oh, today in my apartment I have a party. Can you come and play?” I ask, “How much?” They say, “50 Euro each hour,” “Ok, no problem,” I tell them. So much money. So many good days. I play in the Picasso Bar and people throw money on the table. Fantastic. Good life. Ten years was very good. But where you have so much, you also have so little. Let me tell you. I cry when I think it is finished.

Coronavirus killed everything. And the government shut down music. The government fucked it all. I make nothing. No money. In pandemic, my friend from Amsterdam helps me every month with 500 Euros. Without his money, I would live on the street.

I like to play on the street. You look and see if people like or they don’t like. You can see if you are good or no good. Some people think I’m good. So many people cry. I am surprised. They are so emotional. So much. Girls or men. Everybody. Direct relation with the people. I have 14 years in this tunnel. I like the clubs but not easy. Most I play solo. I played in Roadhouse bar, ZZ PUB in Malaga center, with bass and drums. Fantastic. I loved it, but no money. Just fun.

I get work in the tunnel too. December 31 last year, one girl from Finland contacted me. Her husband open art gallery. Two hours, one hundred Euros. Very nice. I make many contacts. All the people from the world I meet in the tunnel. Dubai, Brazil, North Carolina. The tunnel is my first home. It’s my space. I love it. The police usually nice to me. I’m quiet. No amplification. But not always nice. Two months ago, the police took my guitar. I was playing in the bar. The police come, “Hey, Málaga no authorization. We take the guitar. Not possible.” I say, “It’s not a Kalashnikov. It’s a guitar.” 100 Euro fine and 100 Euro to get my guitar back. Not a good guitar, so I said, “Fuck it. Keep the guitar.” I buy another guitar for 70 Euro. In Málaga, you have police local and police national. Police national is very good. Police local is shit, shit.

Crazy here with the government and music. I go to ask for permit. No. Impossible. Cannabis legal, but music illegal. You smoke one joint in the street, no problem. You play one guitarra, 100 Euros fine! It’s crazy. Sevilla, Granada is open no problem. I play three months in Sevilla. It is very good, but no beach and cold in the winter, so hot in the summer. No people. Málaga is good.

Fifty Euro once in the tunnel from one guy. The most. But now, it’s not so good. Fifty Euro for three hours in the tunnel. Yesterday 45. Today, so little. I have to go back in the afternoon.

But it’s difficult now because I stay in a hostel for 20 Euro a day for the last month. I lost the apartment when I end relation with my last girlfriend. Maybe I borrow money from my friend to get an apartment again. I have to pay 2 months rent to get apartment, maybe 800 Euros I have to pay for 400 Euro apartment room.

My guitar now is no good. My guitar before was very nice. It’s Paco Castillo guitar. Amazing. You hear in the tunnel, fantastic. Last summer, I slept on the beach sometimes because I love it. I sleep on the sand under the palm tree. I love it. The fresh air. The stars. Two guys come while I’m sleeping and fight me for my guitar and my bag with all my documents. They steal the guitar. I go to the police. They see I have blood, but never find the guitar or documents. I cry for my guitar. Oh, I cry.