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Rossano, singer Bari - '60-'70

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Dear Santa

A letter about the recent disappearance of music in high schools

C aro Santa Claus, I am writing this letter to tell you that this year will have stolen the music. If they are taken away from high schools and in return the children hanno lasciato l’ora di religione cattolica.

Un bel giorno questi qua, gli hooligans facenti legge, si sono visti al bar sotto Palazzo Chigi e, tra una birra e l’altra, hanno tirato fuori la storia che basta con la musica nella scuola. Bisognava tagliare: personale, classi e materie inutili. Una riforma epocale, l’hanno chiamata: ed è stata fatta dagli stessi che dicono “la cultura non si mangia”. Quindi, per fartela breve, in Italia ora ci sono solo dieci classi di liceo musicale e una di liceo coreutico. Ovvero, da quest’anno scolastico non più di 300 ragazzi, tra i 500.000 che usciranno dalla scuola media, potranno scegliere di studiare musica in un liceo: gli altri, il karaoke.

Caro Babbo, da queste italiche parti, se a uno studente gli viene voglia di iscriversi a un liceo musicale è meglio che si compri un gratta e vinci, che almeno ha più possibilità di successo. Questo è quello che Il Consiglio dei truzzi ha deliberato; e c’è da scommettere che, al momento della firma, tra i ministri presenti si sarà levato pure qualche rutto di soddisfazione.

“Questa riforma perché il nostro Paese ha una straordinaria tradizione musicale che andava valorizzata, non andava perduta” ha dichiarato la Gelmini presentando il decreto, ma si vedeva che le veniva da ridere. Tutti gli altri si sono invece dati una grattata alle parti basse e poi sono scesi subito giù al bar a farsi un aperitivo, che dice avevano bisogno di rinforzare l’appetito per i prossimi impegni di governo in programma.

Visto che ci siamo, volevo anche farti sapere che lei, la Musica, c’è rimasta male: senza parlare poi di tutte le volte che è tirata in ballo con la scusa dei talent show, dove ogni volta la fanno nera. Ora ci mancava anche questa cosa che l’hanno sbattuta fuori dalle scuole. Dice: ma anche altre nazioni adorne di progrediti e illuminati governi – l’Iran, per esempio – hanno proibito l’insegnamento della musica in tutte le scuole. Là il divieto di insegnare musica, già in vigore negli istituti public, has been extended to 16 thousand private schools enrolling more than one million children. "Playing musical instruments is contrary to our values," said the agency 'Bloomberg' chief of staff of the Ministry of Education Iranian Ali Bagherzadeh, friendly Mariastella.

So, to avoid being overcome by those left four Taliban, the Palazzo Chigi tarabubbi have seen fit to show how the degree of civilization of the West Po is higher than that of Islam. And then, because maybe you had to do, went down heavy with the Gelmini decree of, er, school reform. That both in Italy just go on television with the grin, and people just believe it now.

Dear Santa, seen how things have gone, please, next year you could make these four ultras in double-ministerial leave feel the music, which combined have enough already? And while you're there, you could also take away all the television that we constantly spewing tons of at home juke-box living for which the only artistic talent is required is the tanning?

Is there anyway to say that she, too, music has its faults. Why does not rebel, even lends itself indifferent to everything, ineffable. The music did not react when, for example, lui, Il losco berlusca, Il lesto berlusco, Il fosco berlosco - il Caporozzo insomma - ha tirato fuori questa storia dei tagli alla scuola e Mariastella, tanto per non sbagliarsi, prima ha detto subito sì e poi ha ripreso a sfogliare il fotoromanzo che si era portato da casa.

Invece proprio in quel momento esatto la Musica avrebbe dovuto irrompere nella stanza e sbattere i pugni sul tavolo. Reclamare i suoi diritti usando argomenti di convincimento vari e pressanti quali, a es: 1) improvvisa materializzazione di Ozzy che si divora un pipistrello e intanto canta Paranoid per 777 volte consecutive; 2) obbligo per tutti i presenti di assistere, con contestuale privazione del sonno, alla tripla esecuzione integrale di Vexation di Satie; 3) ascolto continued, with headphones and a very high volume, the entire discography, including bootlegs, of Impaled Nazarene, followed by a 666 songs compilation of the most important groups of Finnish trash metal. As for the Gelmini, you know that she has nothing to do as a medical certificate attached, as he hears the word "culture" is at once the low blood pressure, poor star.

Dear Santa, do you understand what they were able to combine, while you waste time blow your nose to the reindeer? These here have pork, as well as the music, even an entire category of teachers of music education in high schools. About 500 temporary teachers indeterminato con una media di venti anni di servizio a testa: di loro, del loro futuro, se ne parla poco. Non sono nemmeno “precari”. Solo seri professionisti da buttare via. La Musica, si sa, non fa rumore.

E quindi, se quest’anno devi portarti via qualche altra cosa, portati via questi teppisti in auto blu al Polo Nord, abbandonali su qualche iceberg alla deriva verso mari infestati di pescecani, e che di loro non se ne sappia più niente.

Poi, visto che ci sei, perché non ti porti anche tutte le centinaia di giga di musica che accumuliamo e non riusciremo mai ad ascoltare neanche se dovessimo vivere dieci vite? E prenditi anche le vuvuzela, il waka waka e il bunga bunga, per piacere.

Dear Santa, I also wanted to let you know that next year there would be nice if you did have some 'of silence. The music needs it: it is tired of being teased and consumed, raped, torn.

Here, here, there would be enough but a few essential things: Troath Singers of Tuva, for example. The iPad that no thanks. The smell of books and the sound of paper between his fingers, Steve Jobs has yet to invent it and who knows if we will succeed in the next millennium. I, meanwhile, promise to be good. Where possible, clear that if I were to happen in the hands of the latest CD Pausini do not know how it could end up. To now anyway thanks and greetings to the Lady: Tell her this year with the coal will have to make extra trips because there is so much to deliver. We, for our part, we'll get it in our socks and there is only room for instruments that they play songs of freedom and so many kisses.

Dear Father Christmas, Happy New Year. To you and all of us.

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GUIDE TO OUR SAINTS / Circle Jerks

S this group, called their first album

14 tracks for a maturity of less than 15 minutes.

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Flowers

(Fiori - with water-soluble crayons)

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to Tweety

Thanks for giving us your friendship.

You'll always be in our hearts.

"Those who have never owned a dog does not know what it means to be loved."
- Arthur Schopenhauer -

What Should I Expext To Pay For Faucets

Sicily havi na Rosa

Rosa Balistreri, voice, ancient and young heart of his land.

A twenty years after his death, since its inception nearly fifty, Rosa Balistreri remains indispensable item of Sicily. As an undercurrent of lava across the entire island and then suddenly re-emerge hundreds of miles away from the source, his memory, his hand through and vivify the popular music of this island. His small body of women, and through that resonates from his land to give it voice, real, deep, very human, full of passion and ability to use a layered language over the centuries. Rosa is ancient voice, dark, fiery Sicilian.

a Sicily that imprisoned, imprison and, like a sea without fish, "poor" - the poor, the innocent, the last, the drowned - whose fate in the end is always the same: go to fund. "I did evenings for returning emigrants - says Balistreri -. The squares were filled: I was happy to sing for them. They were songs of protest, songs of sulfur miners of prisoners, people exploited and humiliated. I was a little like them. " Rosa scream that invaded his personal story of pain and will reread the scars and wounds, even deep and fierce, as if the wounds and the entire history of an island, its. "His voice seemed to come out from the parched earth of Sicily" she says Ignazio Buttitta.

"Rose is a drama, a novel, a film without an author ..."

The encounter with the pain, to tell this his life is strong, scarnificante. As in a Greek tragedy, part of his family will be overwhelmed by a wave long, dark, bloody. There's a disc of 1967, the only place where Rosa Balistreri become storytellers. In the cover photo of the billboard behind it describes the terrible story of "an unhappy marriage": that of his sister Mary killed her husband and their father's suicide from the pain. Dressed in black, Balistreri sing this ballad in the streets of Florence. It will be you, Rosa-witness and victim-survivor, that is intended to describe this tragedy that is also his.

"You want to know about my life? - Rosa said in an interview in 1973 - You have to understand is this: where does a woman like me, born in a small town hungry, forced to go to the streets to pick up orange peels to eat or go to begging not only for me but also for others (...) The courage that I had, and I still have, and are happy to have that courage, even if I suffer, even if it costs me, and if I pay him bitterly, because my life has been paid bitterly. But I'm so happy, because the suffering may be able to understand many things, it's better than going to school, look. One life touches it with his hands. (...) My pain, the pain of my land, exploitation, poverty on the other hand ... I come from this, I'm this, I come from all those wounds. I am a deep wound in Sicily, which is also mine. " Like every hero, its origin is unknown to all the poor, violence, imprisonment, family tragedies.

Lei è “un dramma, un romanzo, un film senza autore, un personaggio che cammina su un filo di cotone. Un cuore giovane per la Sicilia di Vittorini e Quasimodo, un cuore giovane per la Sicilia di Guttuso e Sciascia” dice Buttitta di Rosa nel 1984.

“Rosa è sempre attuale?”

“Rosa è sempre attuale?” chiede un giornalista alla Balistreri in quella che è forse la sua ultima intervista televisiva. In quel 1990, quando Rosa morì, la musica popolare, il “folk”, dopo che negli anni settanta era diventato genere di moda, quasi non lo si ascoltava più. Nel 1964 Rosa Balistreri è honored along with Joan Daffini festival of folk songs of Salerno will be the first in a series of awards. Follow the theater with Dario For, TV shows, the toured abroad, recitals in theaters alongside international artists like Amalia Rodrigues, Odetta, Maria Bethania, Vinicius De Moraes. But this is not enough: in the late eighties his person - what it represented - and his voice - for what he was singing - had become difficult to hear. The request of the journalist on current Balistreri glimpse of the beginnings, though already far advanced, change, mutation anthropology - as he would call Pasolini - of an entire nation and that, under the lash of the media, will increase even more in years to come. Broke into cries too strong, instupidenti against which became increasingly difficult to be heard. Years were those where slavery was known how to pass off as a new lifestyle. Intuits, in this question, the reasons for a defeat that still lasts.

"I am not a singer to those who need slit skirt - the Balistreri responds to the reporter that did this provocative question -. I'm not even a singer, I am a storyteller and a cuntastorie. I learned from the people, I immediately all this love. Rosa Balistreri you will understand when I'm dead. But as long as I live, ever. Why protest, and I have reason to protest. " "Triggering" Rosa Balistreri is like ripping the bandage from a wound that bleeds.

The Legacy of Rosa

"The best Sicilian tradition of folk song in her, in his acute sensitivity increased by a life of toil and bitterness, and disturbing family drama that marked the its existence. (...) It 'only natural then that the repertoire of Rosa Balistreri the projection of feelings excavated in pain and anger. The songs are poignant emigrants, those vibrant sulfur miners and peasants, the distress of the prisoners. And gentle lullabies that denounce poverty and frustrated hopes, and impetuous protest, and prayers that sound like curses, curses of those who live in the small circle of old injustices. " Orazio Barrese writes on the liner notes of a disk of Balistreri. We should listen, Rosa, when she sings an old lullaby, "ancestor", one of his finest performances, as delicate as a jasmine flower newborn. It 's a little Balistreri you know, that's where this song is not hard to imagine and voice that shapes, but one that is in one of his most important works, which means even more beautiful: "We are prisoners in hell," a collection of songs from the prison that still shines as one of its interpretations powerful and intense. "The anger I sang, but also the pleasure, the lullabies, love songs," says the self Balistreri.

In his songs, often, the Balistreri speaks of himself being able to transform his personal history in poetry and giving musical expression to their feelings. As in any poetic story that thanks to its universality is able to become archetypal collective its spectacle, its abuse, manages to transmute into its opposite and complementary: Myths and sterile performance. Rosa Balistreri, thus, has also been a feeling, a slogan, a stereotype, a label.

In the twenty years since his death in so many have ventured in the footsteps of Balistreri. Films in production, books, tributes, concerts, CDs, entire directories. Many, perhaps too many, it is irresponsible on what for them was just a name to be recycled, turning it into a brand and being so stuck like flies on flypaper of folklore. About some folk singers, so the Balistreri In an interview with Kris Mancuso, 1973: "The speech, the flame that we have inside is different and you can not change, when it is born and grows in a way." details of the differences, even with the great performers with whom he was often compared, Rosa continues: "I do, I also argued with Amalia Rodrigues, when he says that the world can not change it with songs. And that the world is destiny. It is not true. The farmer, who is dying of hunger is not destiny, the farmers are starving because 'it takes all things u Patruno him, and that is not destiny. I'll tell you to do that at last I said Rodrigues' you my Figs with all the respect that I, for me you know who you are? Neither fish nor fowl. " Rose could sing, and knew what he was singing.

Nature and / or Culture

E 'nature, the voice of Balistreri, and any modern reading of "culture" may be just a dim memory of the original power. Perhaps this' misunderstanding between "nature" and "culture" is the distance that separates Rosa Balistreri by almost all of its interpreters. The "nature" of Balistreri may be reproduced by the "culture", its vocations seance, its distorting mirrors, by looking at the finger instead of the moon.

La sua è una voce di coltello dove la violenza del timbro, l’asprezza, il disprezzo con il quale canta certe parole – nobili, padroni, mafiosi, preti – nel ricordo vivo che contengono diventano terribili; e musica. Cosa che fece Rosa quella notte a Gibellina, quando cantò “Avò”:

“Ho fatto tre tragedie di Carmelo Isgrò, a Ghibellina – racconta Rosa - dove ci sono i morti “arrivucati” (sotterrati) sotto le macerie. Noi a recitare sopra e sotto c’erano i morti. ‘N mezzu i morti, non tra i ruderi. ‘Nmezzu i morti arrivucati dal terremoto. Mentre recitavo mi veniva la pelle Goose, 'u friddu I was, and it was August. And when I sang Amuri, Amuri miu you vogliu goods (AVO), the singing of the dead under my feet. The singing voice free, without guitar, screaming singing it (...) The screaming, his chest that I would burst. " "What does not learn to swim ever by a treaty of swimming. What it means to swim only teaches us the plunge into the river, "said Martin Heidegger.

E 'a land cleared of stones, the voice and the memory of Rosa Balistreri. A land strong, hard, cleared of stones from their bare hands, with nothing on but his passion, and every stone wall that must be able to keep and make fruitful the land dark, bitter, fragrant. A land where they can sink their roots to feed, fertilize, take nourishment and life. And push their roots ever deeper to throw up, and music. That music, in other words, the more tied to the notion sometimes generic, a little 'nebula, tradition, folklore, ethnic, folk, in short, to Sicily. Idea synthesized in some people who buy symbol, by dint of being exhibited as "representation" of nature, the characteristics of trees and rivers inhabited by nymphs: mythic images, so deep in nature to embody it. For the deep heart of Sicily, Rosa is one of these shared symbols, his voice a sign in which recognize, his life a possibility of rebellion of slaves to their fate.

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.. and go with the rhythm and blues !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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South Park Francais Free

Is there life before death?

C ome everyone knows, the ritual involves bathing in the summer as his place of choice to the beach - something neighbors foaming with sunshade, stereo systems ball of establishments, karaoke and shameful, not too far away, braying television and sadistically smarmittati scooters. Everyone forgets, or rather its stracatafottendosene of any sleep-wake cycle, and the soundscape of silence.

For these and other reasons, you should then go to the beach holding, as a noble shield, a book. Advancing from the beach, their smelly creams and desperate umbrellas with logo of local supermarket, the 'paper objects can cause a scandal, it's true: the fact is looked upon with disgust by most, and for this we must flaunt the book, as is done with the 'garlic for vampires.

But once you have settled on the sand, and credits, unless, you just opened the volume may appear-and in fact seems tragically - he and the other: a voter, signed from head to toe, obtusely expert gossip, talk, talent and tamarri television shows. The voter who is a guard around, then scraped with a pensive lower parts, and then stretch the fabric of the Ferrari and then turn on the radio. Which radio, asking for a volume that not even the bass amplifier Uzeda, immediately notify the entire coast imbalances deejay songs dedicated to the summer of contempt of grammar, diction and logical thinking in general. All within a few meters from the look of your aff.mo horrified, or siblings.

Perfect synchronicity of the world: "... the hoarse voice of an idiom trombazza impossible, that nobody talks about (it would be the lesser evil), no one thinks, or by contacting him or his girlfriend or to God "was indeed written in the book I was reading, author an engineer from Milan who wants to be left in the shadows.

I was then barricaded behind these words, when the radio OF THE PRODUCER votes in pants Bathroom - invariably tuned to playlist question of taste - has left the hit of summer 2010 : Alealealealejandro (Roberto) and what tristemente segue. Una macchina evocatrice di bestemmie all'ultimo sangue che sarà capitato di sentire anche a voi e ai vostri cari, magari mentre guardavate rapiti le silenziose stelle d'estate o, più in generale, attendevate ignari ai fattacci vostri.

Immediatamente, cercando un appiglio al quale aggrapparsi per non sprofondare nel fetido gorgo da lavandino della suddetta canzone, il pensiero del Vs. aff.mo è corso alle lucertole del suo giardino che, immobili, con le loro lunghe code verdi vibranti, ascoltano solo musica telepatica. E anche per questo se gliela staccano, la coda, quella gli ricresce subito. Cosa notoriamente impossibile ad ogni votante con telo da spiaggia della Ferrari e radiolina a palla. Psychoacoustics: then one says.

just that, at this point, you will need to name names and surnames: in our sad case Lady Gaga, questionable stage name of an Italian-American boy who hides misery behind eighties music (*) summarized in a cumbersome and predictable source of inspiration: Madonna. The real one, not the other, the fictional character who spoke with the pigeons impregnated. Lady Gaga: a star with millions of records, a global star, a frozen to an end soon. That is, wanting to be polite, a good example di replicante multistrato, affastellante tutto l'armamentario che, a detta dei cretini del marketing, non può mancare in ogni supermercato che si rispetti. E quindi la nostra esibisce, oltre ad un naso restio a qualsivoglia rinoplastica, balletti sconclusionati, mitra che le escono dalle tette, ingoi di rosari, croci, culi e frustini in un’insalata sè-dicente trasgressiva. Luoghi comuni buoni per adolescenti illusi e stravendite di porcherie alla moda: la musica, quella è un'altra cosa. La domanda finale, comunque, è: che succede al buco, quando è finito il formaggio?

(*) To those, then, insist on revival confused with memory, enough to recall the soundscape of the sea. Which now provides barely remember its sound - water, wind - embalmed with words that retain only the name of what's been permanently removed from the modern noise pollution from beach. Invasion sound full of trendy resurgence, and some of these sold as "revival", a sort of exoticism that instead of going to space, time favors. Africa, Asia, the Far East to be replaced by "decades", the sixties, seventies, eighties. With the stench of putrefaction from wisps, so, the recent plague of Eighties rampant cattle in the park: it is our time of recession, where more and more raw materials become scarce, and where he returns stronger intention to smoke opium of nostalgia.

In this connection mention should be "The Vaselines: a band of misfits that if it were not for Kurt Cobain, who had named as one of her favorites, now does not recall anyone. Our men, in their recent album "Sex with an X," have made an important contribution to the ongoing discussion about this revival that now infects us by calling one of their song "I hate the 80's" hate the eighties.

And speaking of nostalgia and revival, after the Vaselines, mention should be moved to another, the infamous Vaneigem: "(the show) with his mummified museum objects and makes a mockery of the Living Dead increasing the number of traces of lived with unceasing archeology of the past and present, thus enriching the gallery of stereotypes offered to all roles in the jungle. " Inevitable at this point, the question: is there life before death?

The Beauty Of He Game

Damiano, Catania talented 13-year