Omnipresence has a name, a surname and an infinite collection of covers. Laura Pausini is everywhere: on Spotify, on Instagram (even if she pretends not to be there by taking a scientific break every now and then), on TV, and from 24 to 28 February she will also be on all five evenings of the Sanremo Festival. A Festival that already does not promise miracles and which with this choice risks turning into a long nostalgic karaoke of the 90s. We already see her anticipated entrance from the clip with Baudo which presented her in bangs and an oversized jacket.

Laura Pausini’s problem isn’t a lack of talent – she certainly has that. A voice that is certainly extraordinary and capable of rivaling very few other prima donnas of international music. The problem is that someone around her stopped telling her “no”. And so, perhaps due to faults that are not entirely hers – but also those around her including agents, management and press offices – we will see her in Sanremo ready to launch “Io Canto 2”, a covers album dedicated to Italian singer-songwriters. The first “Io Canto” in 2006 was already an exaggeratedly commercial operation disguised as a tribute. Twenty years later, the script repeats itself. With an aggravating circumstance: the original texts – if it is a tribute – are paid homage. And they don’t retouch.

The cover that blew everything up

The latest controversy – actually the last of a long series – concerns the reinterpretation of “Due vite” by Marco Mengoni, transformed into “La Dernière Chanson” and sung in tandem with Julien Lieb, finalist of a French talent whose existence, at least no one here here, knew but very useful for conquering the French-speaking markets. The cover came out and it was a massacre on social media: fishing copy and paste from the pile. “But can you do this song of your own now?”, “Mengoni has no equals, zero comparisons please”, “Why do you only do covers lately?”.

Legitimate criticism? If they are polite they always are. Expressed poorly? Yet, unfortunately, social media is teeming with self-centered patients who are now worthy of a psychiatric study in search of any antidote.

But the response – we prefer to think of Laura Pausini’s staff and not of her personally – was worse than the criticisms themselves. Instead of letting it go or responding elegantly, someone – it seems – from his team decided to wage war in the Instagram comments. “Before writing the way she wrote, as if our most successful singer for more than 30 years was an ordinary person to be addressed without respect, perhaps it is better to find out.” Now, that’s the point. Laura Pausini is not “just any person”, but not an untouchable monument either. She is an artist with so much merit, so much honor. But demanding preventive “respect” for a questionable cover of a very fresh song released less than two years ago is very, very forced. As if reinterpreting “Two Lives” – a song from 2023 – was a cultural operation comparable to Bob Dylan rereading the Delta blues.

The paradox of the international artist who is no longer convincing in Italy

Laura Pausini has sold 75 million records worldwide, won a Grammy, five Latin Grammys and a Golden Globe (the only Italian singer to have it at home). Abroad they adore her, they call her to be a judge in talent shows, heads of state ask her for autographs, invite her to dinner. In Italy, however, they tolerate it. And it’s not envy – or at least not only. It’s called overexposure.

Pausini works abroad because it is exotic and represents the Italy that people like. They don’t know who Checco Zalone is, they wouldn’t even understand. But Pausini is like Ferrari and tortellini, Opera, prosecco and amatriciana. Not necessarily in order or all together. But Americans, who insist on imitating everything, recognize it when they see an original. And they make him a God. And if Variety writes that Pausini is Sophia Loren who sings – perhaps exaggerating – for the average Italian, especially for the social media army that loves Mengoni but gets high on trappers who also call their father Bro, she is a singer affected by an obsessive compulsive presence. who has been singing the same ballads for thirty years, the one who… let’s take it from

In reality that’s not true. Laura Pausini has written at least a dozen successful songs and has written lyrics and music for some of them: to name just a few, “La happiness” (lyrics and music), “Sono noi” (lyrics and music), “I wanted to tell you that I love you” (lyrics and music), “My biggest mistake” (lyrics and music), “Invece no” (music based on lyrics by Cheope, Mogol’s son). And others. Loneliness was written by maestro Pietro Cremonesi (yes, Fiorello’s) and Federico Cavallo who wrote practically his entire first album.

Is the album “Io Canto 2” going well? Perhaps. Maybe better abroad than in Italy, where certified sales are half a million copies.

Sanremo 2026: perfect lightning rod for a gray edition

And we come to Sanremo. Carlo Conti chose Laura Pausini as co-host for all five evenings. A choice that has caused discussion since the announcement. “Boring”, “obvious”, “conservative”: this is how it was branded. Not because singers capable of hosting were lacking: nor because potential co-hosts were in short supply. Claudia Gerini, Diana Del Bufalo, Sabrina Impacciatore, Francesca Fialdini, Vittoria Puccini, Paola Cortellesi, Cristiana Capotondi, Valentina Lodovini, Serena Rossi.

So, why Laura Pausini and only Laura Pausini in Sanremo? The more cynical – and probably truer – answer is that it serves as a lightning rod. An edition that doesn’t promise to be memorable, with a cast of big names that doesn’t seem like a miracle, it needed someone – really Big – to unload tensions on. And who better than Laura, used to taking blows (and responding badly)?

The suspicion is that Conti thought: better a solid, reassuring presence, which will deal with the controversies, leaving him free to concentrate on the race. The problem is that Laura Pausini is not like that. Not anymore. She is not “the girl from Solarolo” who has remained humble: she and her staff demand the reverence that is dedicated to an untouchable diva.

The staff that causes more damage than controversy

And here we get to the heart of the problem: Laura Pausini’s management seems run by people who live in a bubble. Instead of moderating the artist’s presence, they multiply it. Instead of picking the right battles, they respond to every single negative comment as if it were a personal attack. The staff replying to fans on Instagram is not an act of defense, it’s an own goal. It is proof that there is no one around Pausini capable of telling her: “Laura, perhaps it is better to let it go”. And so here she is, in December announcing that she wants to “detox from social media” and then having her team respond to every criticism, fueling the very negativity that she says she wants to avoid. The case of Grignani’s cover last summer should have taught us something. But no: same dynamic, same inability to manage dissent, same victimhood.

Success as guilt (or as an excuse)

It is said that “everything is forgiven except success”. Nice slogan, too bad it doesn’t hold up. Laura Pausini’s success is not in question: the numbers bear witness to it, the international recognitions prove it. The point is another: does that success justify everything? Does it justify five evenings in Sanremo? Does it justify an album of covers because the authors are now producing industrial things that are not suitable? Does it justify press office tones in public defence? The truth is that Laura Pausini has become the symbol of an Italian music industry that prefers to bet on the safe rather than take risks on the new. Social media asks for traps: and therefore tons of traps circulate between reels and hashtags. And Laura Pausini – who will still fill people up and who will still be talked about by bringing audiences everywhere and everywhere – will do covers.

And so we find ourselves with a thoroughbred singer who at 52 continues to sing as if she were 23, who publishes covers as if they were original masterpieces, who accepts every available stage as if it were the last. Without filters, without measures, without someone who tells her: “Laura, maybe this time it’s better not to”.