In a world where most things are enhanced or outright faked, I don’t know why I’m surprised—nor why anyone else is. The “big guys” have been playing this game forever. Today, in the information age, it’s just a lot harder to get away with the charade.
The truth is, Giacomo has been on my radar for years. My crazy uncle—the one who gifted me my first rock albums—sent me Giacomo’s videos and asked for my opinion. Amazing songs, amazing videos, amazing production value. I assumed he must be using playback sometimes, but that most of the time he was playing live. Boy—was I wrong.
It turns out Giacomo is the guitar world’s Milli Vanilli, and that is no exaggeration. A few months ago he was invited onto one of my favorite YouTube channels: Rick Beato’s. Beato, one of the most respected music‑analysis YouTubers in the world, called the young “prodigy” over for a talk—and a guitar jam session. The interview made it online… but the jam? Never surfaced.
To add insult to injury, Giacomo can’t play anywhere near the level he displays in his tricked‑out videos—and those aren’t even his songs. Stealing someone’s music and claiming it as your own is despicable. Giacomo scoured the world of tiny guitarists and small creators, copied their songs and licks note for note, and used them in his videos—never once giving credit.
But he wasn’t done. “Entrepreneur” Giacomo then tabbed out these stolen compositions and sold the sheet music on his website—keeping every single dime. Does it get more scummy than that?
Another YouTuber I follow, Danny Sapko, exposed the scam—and Giacomo’s house of cards collapsed. He lost sponsorships, special deals, even his signature guitar vanished from the D’Angelico website. A little karma—FAFO, as people say.
And it doesn’t stop there. It turns out this “mastermind businessman” also cut shady deals with luthiers—yes, with my people. They’d send him guitars to review, hoping for honest exposure. He’d film a thirty‑second unboxing video, then turn around and sell the guitar to his fans—and never respond to the builder’s emails again. Talk about a back‑stabbing move.
He’s already posted the obligatory “I’m sorry” apology video, but nobody’s buying it—and I don’t think they should. There’s a world of difference between being sorry because you hurt someone and being sorry because you got caught.
Can Giacomo recover from this? I wonder. Honestly, I don’t think so—and part of me hopes he doesn’t. The world needs a little justice, and seeing a bad actor finally get called out feels like a tiny push toward cosmic balance.
MenO
