Sanremo Snore Festival

This past week marked the incredible SANREMO Music Festival, The music competition which tries to create an ‘American Idol’ of the Italian music scene. Unfortunately, unlike American Idol, it’s viewership was down to levels unseen since the 1970s.

That’s because they seem to have forgotten that first MTV, and then YouTube do a much better job in bringing out fantastic new artists and actually allowing them to be presented by young, hip people who have a clue about music and listeners today. Despite their multi-million euro budgets, even no-cost SecondLife avatars do a better job strutting their stuff.
In Italy’s Sanremo, its EighthLife that seems to be the operative word.

Year after year, they roll out their 3-piece suit-clad octogenarians (this year, in the form of a multi-dentured Pippo Baudo and 60-something comedian Chiambretti), side by side with sexy sidekicks (this year, exceptional show girl, Michelle Hunziker – who just so happens to be Swiss, but, who’s counting?). But even wonderful Michelle couldn’t save the show.
She probably wasn’t wearing enough skimpy outfits to satisfy the eye-candy viewers who seem to identify in some weird way with the presenters, who think, “Hey, maybe I can get a hottie if I tuck my tummy inside a 3-piece suit and toss on a brown hairpiece!!’

Unfortunately, this is not quite what the X-geners (or even the Baby Boomers) seem to be interested in these days.
I swear that if it weren’t for these TV presenters, the 3-piece suit would be a centerpiece in Archeological Museums by now. Ditto for the hairpieces. They’re so ubiquitous on prime time, I’m surprised that the RAI isn’t actually fully sponsored by a Como Silk Factory – or, Six Feet Under.

As for me? As much as I love Italian music (and especially Italian rap), until they pull off the octogenarians and put actually talented dancers in clothes, I’ll save my viewing time for watching the snooker championships instead.

I would, of course, make an exception to my personal boycott:
If they started offering deals like, “No TV Tax for anyone who puts up with watching octogenarians ogle nearly-naked dancers while popping Viagra” – I would suffer through 8 days of Sanremo.
Or, maybe if they offered Homer Simpson the presenter’s job…After all, he might even look good in a 3-piece suit.