Arpeggiare refers to playing the notes of a chord in succession rather than simultaneously, creating a flowing, harp-like effect. It's a beautiful musical term that isn't commonly found in everyday conversation or many song lyrics.
In "Musica È," Eros Ramazzotti uses "dolce arpeggiare" (sweet arpeggiation) to describe the gentle, flowing nature of music and how it resonates within him. This word perfectly captures the song's essence of music as a profound and intricate part of life.
Eros Ramazzotti opens this duet gently, almost whispering it: "Musica è / Guardare più lontano e perdersi in se stessi" (Music is / looking farther and losing yourself inside). Then Andrea Bocelli takes the second verse somewhere more specific, back to a real childhood on a real street: "Le voci della strada dove son nato" (the voices of the street where I was born), his mother calling him in, kids racing barefoot through dusty courtyards under a hot sun. Neither man treats music as an abstract idea for long. It's his mother's voice, rain on a roof, a friend who shows up when you feel alone.
By the last third the song widens out, almost defiantly: "Più siamo in tanti e più in alto sale" (the more of us there are, the higher it rises), a choir loud enough that "Anche del cielo han bucato la pelle" (they've even pierced the skin of the sky). It closes on the plainest line in the whole song, no metaphor left standing: "Ogni cuore anche il più piccolo è un battito di vita e d'amore" (every heart, even the tiniest one, is a beat of life and love). Two very different voices, Ramazzotti's grain and Bocelli's tenor, singing the same four words back at each other until they mean it.