Twenty-five loyal readers who follow my blog know that occasionally I do not like talking about myself, my "career" and that they are artistic and rest songwriter by vocation and passion (for what can or should do much more for survival, scugne holy curiosity or o. ..), because it seems really ridiculous and vulgar unscrupulously to promote themselves, how are so fashionable in our times.
Good.
Today I will reluctantly neck exception to the rule because it happened to me Saturday, October 2 an absolutely unexpected and, for me, still unexplained: one of my songs, I vues Diu , masterfully played by Megan Stefanutti (thanks, .., Megan!) won the Song Festival Friuli 2010 ( http:// www.festivaldellacanzonefriulana.it/ ), a show born in the '60s (mythical? mah ...), continued for over a decade with mixed success, to run out in 1986 and then be reborn this year with new and promising projects.
I think I have already written somewhere in this rambling blog that I feel deeply furlan , but not furlanist in the sense that is commonly associated with this term. Lately, the drift of certain extremist fringes "Taliban" of the Friulian language and culture are causing me more than a rash and, for this a long time not writing more songs in the Friulian language, because I abhor the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing associated to comfortable and rewarding mental short circuit - beloved by some journalists of my acquaintance - the definition cjantautôr furlan in the sense that the local media generally give to this term.
And then, some of you rightly ask, who the hell were you doing, hypocritical and ballista that you are nothing, with your piece in Friulian Friulian Song Festival 2010? moreover presented dall'immarcescibile Dario Zampa, an icon of some stale and formulaic "Friuli", accompanied and supported in their noisy parade of gags from un'ammiccante female partner who practiced Friulian language as I shwaili ( and Jere cuss emozionade which cjaminave Up and ju: A Fat and a groove there Daur from stage!)?
What was I doing? Now I try to explain.
I am human and I have my weaknesses too: Compatible, if you can.
The fact is that he asked me to participate in this festival a person and a musician to whom I estimate I have an immense and unconditional Valter Sivilotti. A musician with furlan takes to fly high in the sky of contemporary composition and arrangement, but in my opinion, too low and because Sotan be openly recognized chenti his musical sensitivity and his ability technical (do not worry, there's also others: exempla gratia, Glauco Venier).
Nemo propheta etc. at home. etc..: OK, but every so often, let me turn, however, opposed to spin ...!
Nemo propheta etc. at home. etc..: OK, but every so often, let me turn, however, opposed to spin ...!
Here, it is very simple: If Walter asked me to write a song for the Festival content of smoked and drunk Gonzicco Lower , intended to be prepared and arranged by him, are convinced that eventually, after some initial grumbling sound it to him to write. Because the character is able to transform un'emerita crap (there were also some significant track us on the evening of October 2) in a decent and listenable track, however, arranged and performed with professional expertise and impeccable.
So rebus sic stantibus snobbishly allergic to and how events "type Sanremo" with mechanisms for selecting and awarding "national-popular songs in the running, however I decided to participate in this 'event'.
Ma .. I had to write a song with the text in the Friulian language and, lately, I did not feel the need, nor is the urgency. Until I read the local press and national news of a disgraceful episode that happened in Paderno (see eg. http://cerca.unita.it/data/PDF0115/PDF0115/text2/fork/ref / 101083rp.HTM? key = Muslim + girl + paderno & first = 1 & orderby = 1 ) .
E 'born that way, between Mago and despair, anger and hope,
I vues Diu
Timp and tiaras, and Crosa cjâr
cjante if you mancje the mê vos
Aiara, fairs, FIAR is Fros
volucimi tun Sium ledrôs
Miezelune, Gnote avril
Gnote that is no pues Durma
jenfri the voli dai curtîi
Miezegnot, lune di îr
in spiete di cualchi bon intîf
o nome di murî sancîr
Anin cun me cence pôre
là che polsin i vues di Diu
là che no si colte smare
e la fuee de tiare
e pare i siums dai fiis.
Anin cun me la disdivore
there that none fasarès NIT
dula and the Gnote insiore
the latter bore
from windows TIMP scunît ...
Devant Daur in bands and achi
Count s'al is Avondo ancje cuss
VUE or tomorrow, or never Passaniti
inceimi that you ancjimò viodarai
Miezelune, Gnote of avril
Gnote that no one scuen Durma
jenfri from the real curti
Cros moons, floc ir
looking for other bon intîf
name or walls sclusîr ...
Anin cun me rags pore
there that the gangarin vues Diu
that there is no bridge, the hours
and Strite de Core
to you by the auditor FIIS.
Anin cun me la dì di fieste
là che nissun bramarès un sît
là che l’aiar si moreste
e la puare creste
dal nestri timp scunît…
Anin cun me la disdivore
là che gjoldin i vues di Diu
là che no si conte smare
e la fuee de tiare
and it seems from the siums dîs ...
Anin cun me the day of fiesta
there every Scric Tornari to know the nit
dula that no je int forests
but a flat of the sad par ducj FIIS ...
(BONES OF GOD
time and earth, meat and cross
if you miss my singing voice.
Air, fever, iron and twig ,
shroud in a different dream ...
Crescent, April night
night that you can not sleep
eye in the middle of the courtyards
midnight, moon yesterday
in waiting for good opportunity cualche
sincere or just die of (sober)
Come with me without fear
where lie the bones of God
where not cultivated resentment
and the leaf of the earth
defends the dreams of children.
Come with me on weekdays
where no one would make the nest
where the night embellishes
the last embers
of our time exhausted.
front of the back (back) side, and here
tell if it's quite so well;
today, tomorrow, tomorrow or never
accecami still see you ...
Crescent, April night
night that sleep is not mandatory
in the middle of the glass of the courtyards
Cross moon, bow Yesterday
tasting another good opportunity
to die or just ignorant ...
Come with me without fear
where shudder the bones of God
where no one keeps time
and the direction of the crow
mocking eyes of children.
Come with me on the day of celebration
a place where no one would want
where the wind subside
arrogance and poor
of our time spent.
Come with me on weekdays
where they have the bones of God
where it is cultivated resentment
and the leaf of the earth
defends dreams by day.
Come with me on the day of celebration
robin where each will return to its nest
where nobody is a stranger
there is a soup spoon polenta
for all children ...)
"The song" I vues Diu " was inspired, unfortunately, from a true story happened a little over two months ago and that is the unfortunate story of the Muslim girl who died a few months the hospital in Udine, where the burial area reserved for the dead in the Muslim cemetery Paderno has aroused the indignation and outrage of some local politicagnolo looking for notoriety, low alloy, accompanied by the petition (migliaia. ..!) and, possibly calling nonsense supposed loyalty to "Christian principles". If you defend your "identity" is to deny burial to the children (and not only) of other ethnicity and religion, then there is very little to defend.
The author of the piece, however, continues to naively think, along with the good soul of Blanche Dubois, who "would be nice to party together."
It seems to me that there would too much wit to trace the true story that inspired the song and, therefore, I have never cultivated illusions scorrettuccia a political song about a Muslim girl that invites to accompany it without fear that there gangarin vues of the IHL, "ie, out of poetry and metaphor in the cemetery where buried, it seems that it can hope to reach the podium in a Song Festival in Friuli, in addition to presence of a (surprise: large!) above the average public-wing voter and perhaps lover of green and blue?
Maybe you yes, but I just did not expect, and to be honest, even a little 'I felt sorry for the talented Megan Stefanutti I had "forced" to sing a song like that, that does not offer any kind of realistic chance.
Instead ... the unpredictable: the first place!
I have yet to properly metabolize it all, but when the assumptions that I have to move are twofold:
1) The carefree public, who rushed to assist legitimately without too many expectations and prejudices in a beautiful evening of music and songs, has not understood the meaning of the text (indeed, in the operating room, the organizers have carefully refrained from incorporating an Italian translation of the text or a short presentation of the same people who had prompted the authors), but fascinated by the beauty and intensity of the arrangement, execution and interpretation and voted accordingly.
Benedict misunderstanding and nothing new, after all: it Licet parva, something similar happened at the time also to Roberto Vecchioni with Samarkand, which has since become and remains, like it or not, his most acclaimed flagship. A song dedicated to the theme of death and inspired by the painful story of her father was "exchanged" by the public, thanks all'indovinata alchemy of the arrangement, a perky and catchy ballad inconfondibilli movements by country.
2) The public understands all too well, did not let "make a fool of" appearances and introductions politically correct and low profile of the feet (Dario), which contained the song muttering embarrassed about something who would not allow in our cemeteries to bury the children of other religions (and here is an unexpected and unusual party applause that made me jump on the chair), but he ate the leaf and has awarded a song that expressed the malaise of those who are fed up with ignorance, stupidity, of the 'wickedness' in the sense etymology of some alleged political culture of our times and places, and insists that to dream of a better future and different for her and our children.
If the second hypothesis is true, then this song was the greatest "success" of my artistic life, but remains above all an affectionate, and perhaps not altogether out of time and unnecessary, a sign of love for the small unknown child buried in a Muslim cemetery in Paderno: the vues Diu .
sw
Songwriter 
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