There is a sentence that, read today, sounds like an alarm bell for the entire Italian cultural system: “Music risks becoming a job for the rich.” This is not a provocative slogan, but the bitter summary of what emerges from an investigation by L’Espresso devoted to the Accademia Stauffer in Cremona, one of the few “happy islands” in an increasingly elitist sea. A place of excellence that, precisely because it is an exception, lays bare the rule: to study music at a high level requires ever-greater financial resources, and talent alone is no longer enough.

L’Espresso portrays Cremona as a musical ecosystem unique in the world: the capital of violin making, a UNESCO heritage site, a city where the Violin Museum, nearly two hundred artisan workshops, and an institution such as the Accademia Stauffer coexist. Here, music is not just tradition, but a complex productive and educational system—ancient and at the same time thoroughly modern. And yet, even in this virtuous context, a deep fracture running through Italian musical education emerges with striking clarity.

Studying music is expensive. Instruments cost money—often tens of thousands of euros—as do maintenance, lessons, advanced courses, travel, and sheet music. Above all, it costs time: years of intensive study with no guarantee of economic return. Those from wealthy families can afford to “hold on” longer; those without solid financial backing are often forced to stop or to choose alternative paths, abandoning a potential artistic career.

In this scenario, the Accademia Stauffer appears—L’Espresso calls it—“an almost anachronistic exception.” Founded in 1985 by the Walter Stauffer Foundation, it offers free advanced training courses and scholarships, relieving students of tuition fees. A fully private model which, as director Angelica Suanno explains, allows for greater autonomy and flexibility compared to the public system. Yet it is precisely this autonomy that highlights a paradox: the quality and accessibility of musical education today seem to depend increasingly on philanthropy and ever less on a structured public vision.

The risk, as the reportage clearly shows, is that of an “economic selection even before an artistic one.” Classical music—and more broadly music as a profession—ceases to be a possible horizon for anyone with talent and discipline, and becomes a path reserved for those who can afford it. It is no coincidence that comparisons with abroad are stark: “In Far Eastern countries,” Suanno tells L’Espresso, “young people arrive with an impressive level of technical preparation and already many concert experiences behind them. Systematic investment has been made in them from early childhood.”

The problem, therefore, is not only Italian, but in Italy it takes on particularly critical contours. The lack of robust support policies, the fragmentation of the educational system, rising costs, and the precariousness of the musical profession are turning art into a luxury—a luxury for those who study it and, increasingly, also for those who listen to it.

L’Espresso captures this point well when it also gives voice to the governance of the Stauffer Foundation. Alessandro Tantardini speaks of the “incredible luxury” of being able to think in the long term, of being able to make mistakes without the constant fear of economic survival. But can music really rely only on those who have this luxury? Can a country with Italy’s musical history accept that the future of its performers depends on the luck of being born into the right family or being selected by the right institution?

If music becomes a job for the rich, we do not lose only individual talents: we lose plurality, diversity, and the possibility of telling different stories. Because art, when it ceases to be accessible, also ceases to represent society as a whole. And so the Accademia Stauffer, with all its excellence, is not only a model to be celebrated, but also a mirror that forces us to look at what does not work elsewhere.

The question that remains hanging after reading L’Espresso’s article is simple and unsettling: do we really want a future in which music is no longer a possible vocation, but an inherited privilege?