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| Vito Luprano and Céline Dion as they embark on a phenomenal journey of success. |
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Vito Luprano’s It’s All Coming Back to Me Now arrives not as a victory lap, but as a reckoning. Fast-paced, candid, and emotionally unsettled, the book reads like a man finally allowing himself to tell his version of a story long dominated by larger-than-life figures and corporate narratives. It is not a polished myth of success, nor a confessional steeped in self-pity. Instead, Luprano offers a restless memoir shaped by ambition, proximity to greatness, and the lingering ache of having been essential yet ultimately expendable.
The book opens far from red carpets and recording studios, beginning in Bari, Italy, where Luprano was born into modest circumstances. These early chapters establish an important emotional baseline: hunger. Not merely financial hunger, but a hunger for movement, recognition, and escape. Luprano portrays himself as a young man driven less by entitlement than by instinct, propelled forward by curiosity and an unshakable belief that life could be larger than the one he inherited. This grounding gives credibility to the whirlwind that follows. When fame and power arrive, they do so in sharp contrast to the restraint of his beginnings.
At the center of the book is Luprano’s account of Céline Dion’s transformation from a visibly awkward, raw-talented teenager into a poised international superstar. These chapters are among the most compelling, not because they recycle well-known milestones, but because they focus on process rather than mythology. Luprano emphasizes evolution over destiny. Image, repertoire, presentation, confidence—nothing, he suggests, was inevitable. Choices were debated, risks were taken, and identities were shaped deliberately. His pride is evident, but it is not triumphalist; it is tinged with a quiet frustration that these contributions were later minimized or reassigned.
This frustration crystallizes in his depiction of René Angélil. Luprano does not deny Angélil’s brilliance or devotion to Dion, nor does he attempt to dismantle his legacy. Instead, he frames their relationship as one defined by tension, rivalry, and imbalance. The “push and pull” between them is presented as both creative and corrosive. Luprano believes Angélil unfairly claimed credit for decisions and transformations that were, at minimum, collaborative. What emerges is not a villainous caricature but a portrait of two powerful personalities operating in overlapping territory, where acknowledgment was currency and silence was strategy.
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| A good example of Céline Dion and René Angelil before the style redefinitions brought about by Vito Luprano who signed the duo to CBS records where he was an artistic director. |
One of the book’s strengths is its refusal to simplify emotional outcomes. Luprano’s sense of betrayal is palpable, but it coexists with admiration, gratitude, and even lingering affection. His ultimate gratitude toward Céline Dion—expressed subtly but persistently—anchors the narrative. The decision to title each chapter after a song reinforces this emotional architecture. It is a structural homage, but also a reminder that music, more than people or institutions, is the constant thread through his life.
Luprano’s personal life is addressed with surprising bluntness. His three failed marriages are not explored for scandal, but as evidence of imbalance. Success, he suggests, did not ruin his relationships so much as distract him from tending them. These passages are spare and unsentimental, conveying regret without theatrics. The emotional throughline is absence: being physically present but psychologically elsewhere, always oriented toward the next project, the next crisis, the next negotiation.
The most jarring moment in the book comes with Luprano’s firing from Sony in 2009. He recounts this episode with genuine astonishment, portraying it as a rupture that shattered his sense of professional identity. The corporate logic behind the decision remains opaque, and perhaps that is the point. In an industry where loyalty is often rhetorical, Luprano confronts the reality that past success offers no immunity. His subsequent depression and feelings of betrayal are described plainly, without melodrama, lending these chapters an uncomfortable authenticity.
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| As I read the book it seemed clear to me that the tensions, the dynamics, the extraordinary talents of all three creators: René Angelil, Vito Luprano and especially Céline Dion, were all essential parts of the immeasurable success they brought to the world. |
From 2012 onward, Luprano positions himself as an independent figure with Lupo One Productions, fully aware that his most influential years are behind him. This acknowledgment is one of the book’s most mature elements. Rather than chasing relevance, he reflects on legacy—what remains when proximity to power fades. There is melancholy here, but also clarity. Luprano no longer measures worth by charts or titles; instead, he measures it by memory, impact, and endurance.
One of the book’s quieter pleasures is its gallery of artists from music and cinema, many of whom have since passed away. These appearances are brief but evocative, functioning like snapshots rather than full biographies. They reinforce the book’s central theme: impermanence. Fame, relationships, institutions—all dissolve over time, leaving behind fragments that must be actively remembered if they are to survive.
Stylistically, It’s All Coming Back to Me Now favors momentum over depth. Chapters move quickly, sometimes at the expense of introspection. Readers seeking extensive psychological analysis or industry exposé may find themselves wanting more. Yet this speed feels intentional. The book mirrors the pace of the life it describes—always moving forward, rarely pausing long enough to heal. Beneath the brisk surface, however, there is a clear sense of deep emotional wounding, never fully articulated but consistently felt.
In the end, this memoir is less about settling scores than about reclaiming voice. Luprano does not ask for absolution, nor does he demand recognition. He simply insists on being part of the story as it is remembered. His final gesture of gratitude toward Céline Dion underscores this humility. Whatever conflicts existed, the music—and the journey it enabled—remains sacred.
It’s All Coming Back to Me Now is a compelling, imperfect, and honest account of a life lived adjacent to greatness. It reminds readers that history is rarely owned by a single narrator, and that behind every polished legend are contributors whose stories are still waiting to be told.
The book will be available on January 12, 2026 on Amazon.
All the images in this article are from archives found through Google searches.
