The Long Farewell to Peppino di Capri: The Departure of an Icon of Great Italian Music by Carlo Coppola
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One can still hear them echoing in memory: those Stereo 8 cassettes that clicked decisively into the car radio, evoking even today the full warmth and spirit of an entire epoch—an era that found in Peppino di Capri one of its most distinctive and beloved voices.
This morning, at Villa Castiglione, Giuseppe Faiella—known to the world as Peppino di Capri—passed away at the age of 86. He would have celebrated his eighty-seventh birthday on 27 July. The phrase “long farewell” is far from mere rhetoric. Following the death in 2019 of Giuliana Gagliardi, his devoted companion for nearly four decades, Peppino’s health had steadily declined. Yet his passion for music never waned: even in the final stages of his illness, he continued to sit at the piano. As recently as last summer, he surprised those present by performing “Champagne” in the cloister of the Certosa di San Giacomo.
A child prodigy, Peppino possessed an extraordinary intuition. He fused the emerging rhythms of American rock with the deep-rooted tradition of Neapolitan song, demonstrating that modernity need not betray cultural memory but could instead renew and elevate it. This was, first and foremost, a cultural achievement—one that anticipated today’s discourse on identity as a living, evolving process rather than a frozen relic to be guarded in isolation.
His repertoire constitutes a small yet enduring canon of Italian music: “St. Tropez Twist,” “Malatìa,” “Voce ’e notte,” “Luna Caprese,” and “Non lo faccio più,” which secured his second triumph at the Sanremo Festival in 1976. Equally memorable is “Roberta” (1963), a tender dedication to his first wife, Roberta Stoppa, whom he met on Ischia. However, 1973 remains the pivotal year in his artistic journey: the year of “Champagne” and “Un grande amore e niente più,” his first Sanremo victory. The latter was born from a fruitful collaboration with Franco Califano. The “Califfo” provided a text that Peppino initially returned several times—perhaps sensing it was too bold for his own expressive register—until, after five intense nights of refinement, the song emerged as what he himself would call “the perfect song.”
One must also remember his numerous international collaborations and the historic occasion when Peppino di Capri opened the Beatles’ first concert in Italy. On 24 June 1965 at Milan’s Velodromo Vigorelli, he and his Rockers performed before both the afternoon and evening shows by the Fab Four. Selected by impresario Leo Wachter as the leading Italian artist on the tour, he shared the stage with Fausto Leali and the Novelty, and Maurizio and the New Dada. That Milanese engagement marked only the beginning: Peppino di Capri went on to open all three Italian dates—in Milan, Genoa, and Rome—enchanting audiences and couples across the world with his melodic charm.
For those who have dedicated their lives to exploring the interplay between memory and cultural identity, this passing invites broader reflection. Neapolitan song, of which Peppino was a masterful interpreter, remains a vital bridge among the peoples of the Mediterranean: a language of the heart that transcends borders and generations, resonating deeply even with those who have never set foot in Naples. Herein lies the true measure of an artist’s greatness—not in the abandonment of one’s roots, but in their creative transfiguration into a universal gift offered to humanity.
The funeral services will be held in the former cathedral of Santo Stefano on Capri—the island that Peppino di Capri, through the power of his voice, helped transform into a symbol of an entire luminous chapter in the history of Italian song.
Carlo Coppola
