Luigi Grasso rubbed shoulders, when he was twenty, in New York. He then fed on all those artistic possibilities that thrive in the big apple, and bit into it with full teeth, with fierce greed. Jazz was already flowing in his veins, and he was going to enrich this impetuous river of multiple confluences, which he discovered in the prolix underground of the city universe. Meetings, musicians, friends, artists, approaches, differences, additions, mergers, the Italian had found his America for the best and for the sake of it. In words and music. As in Greenwich Village, where he would find a refuge nest in 2O14. In the heart of Manhattan between Soho, Broadway, Chelsea, Hudson. This once bohemian neighborhood, where trees thrive at the foot of red brick buildings, is more often called "the village". Here the young saxophonist from the south of Italy will pose his audacity and his appetite. He will quickly fraternize with the best, in this refuge for artists where gospel, rock, rap, soul and, above all, reign supreme, reign in gospel, rock, rap, soul.