Le nuvole: Le nuvole - Clouds

Vanno vengono ogni tanto si fermano e quando si fermano sono nere come il corvo sembra che ti guardano con malocchio Certe volte sono bianche e corrono e prendono la forma dell'airone o della pecora o di qualche altra bestia ma questo lo vedono meglio i bambini che giocano a corrergli dietro per tanti metri Certe volte ti avvisano con rumore prima di arrivare e la terra si trema e gli animali si stanno zitti certe volte ti avvisano con rumore Vengono vanno ritornano e magari si fermano tanti giorni che non vedi più il sole e le stelle e ti sembra di non conoscere più il posto dove stai Vanno vengono per una vera mille sono finte e si mettono li tra noi e il cielo per lasciarci soltanto una voglia di pioggia. Le nuvole © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Mauro Pagani For the opening song of the album, De André chose to have the lyrics recited by two women, one old and one young, who "represented Mother Earth." But the clouds are not intended to be clouds in the sky. "They are these intrusive and damaging characters of our civic, political and economic life that I'm trying to describe in the first part of the album, along with some of their victims. These clouds are the figures who hold power, with all of their arrogance, as bad examples. I was inspired by Aristophanes. . . . My clouds are all those who are terrified of the new, because the new could subvert their positions of power."

They go, they come, every so often they stop, and when they stop they are black like the crow. It seems they’re giving you the evil eye. Certain times they are white and they run and they take the form of the egret, or of the ram or of some other beast. But this they see better, the children, who play at running after them for so many meters. Certain times they warn you with noise before arriving and the earth trembles and the animals stay still. Certain times they warn you with noise. They come, they go, they return, and maybe they stop for so many days that you no longer see the sun or the stars, and you don’t seem to know any more the place where you are. They go, they come. For every true one a thousand are fake and were put there between us and the sky to leave us with only a longing for rain. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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Le nuvole: Ottocento - The Eighteen Hundreds

Cantami di questo tempo l'astio e il malcontento di chi è sottovento e non vuol sentir l'odore di questo motor che ci porta avanti quasi tutti quanti maschi , femmine e cantanti su un tappeto di contanti nel cielo blu Figlia della mia famiglia sei la meraviglia già matura e ancora pura come la verdura di papà Figlio bello e audace bronzo di Versace figlio sempre più capace di giocare in borsa di stuprare in corsa e tu moglie dalle larghe maglie dalle molte voglie esperta di anticaglie scatole d'argento ti regalerò Ottocento Novecento Millecinquecento scatole d'argento Fine Settecento ti regalerò Quanti pezzi di ricambio quante meraviglie quanti articoli di scambio quante belle figlie da sposar e quante belle valvole e pistoni fegati e polmoni e quante belle biglie a rotolar e quante belle triglie nel mar Figlio figlio povero figlio eri bello bianco e vermiglio quale intruglio ti ha perduto nel Naviglio figlio figlio unico sbaglio annegato come un coniglio per ferirmi , pugnalarmi nell'orgoglio a me a me che ti trattavo come un figlio povero me domani andrà meglio Eine kleine pinzimonie wunder matrimonie krauten und erbeeren und patellen und arsellen fischen Zanzibar und einige krapfen früer vor schlafen und erwachen mit der walzer und die Alka-Seltzer für dimenticar Quanti pezzi di ricambio quante meraviglie quanti articoli di scambio quante belle figlie da giocar e quante belle valvole e pistoni fegati e polmoni e quante belle biglie a rotolar e quante belle triglie nel mar. Ottocento © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Mauro Pagani In "Ottocento," De André sings in the style of opera buffa and the song ends with Tyrolean yodeling, the idea being to describe 20th century society in 19th century style. He explains that "it's a style of singing falsely cultured, an approach suggested to me by the pomposity of a character who, more than a man, is a vacuum cleaner: he breathes in sweet sentiments, affections, vital organs and objects in front of him to which he displays a single mental attitude: the possibility of buying and selling them. . . . Here is painted a portrait of the bourgeoisie, in the exact moment of its affirmation of power: the world of the protagonist is dominated by money and by huge quantities of merchandise." The phrase "bronze of Versace" calls to mind the Riace Bronzes, a nice contrast between the superficial and fleeting beauty that pop culture craves and the more enduring beauty of past treasures of art.

Sing to me about this time, the hatred and the discontent of whoever is downwind and doesn’t want to smell the odor of this engine that carries us forward, almost everyone - males, females and singers - on a carpet of cash in the blue sky. Daughter of my family, you are a marvel, already mature and still pure like papa’s vegetables. Bold and handsome son, bronze of Versace, son ever more capable of playing in the markets, of raping while in motion, and you, wife of big sweaters, of many desires, expert in old junk, silver boxes I will give to you. The eighteen hundreds, the nineteen hundreds, fifteen hundred fine silver boxes of the late seventeen hundreds I'll give to you. How many spare parts, how many marvels, how many articles of exchange, how many beautiful daughters to marry, and how many good valves and pistons, livers and lungs! And how many pretty marbles to roll, and how many fine mullet fish in the sea! Son, son, poor son, you were handsome white and vermilion. Which shady business lost you in the waterway? Son, son, only mistake, drowned like a rabbit to hurt me, to stab my pride, to me, to me, who treated you like a son, poor me, tomorrow will go better. A little pinzimonio, wonderful marriage, sauerkraut and strawberries and limpets and clams, Zanzibar fishes and some donut early before sleeping, and waking up with the waltz and the Alka-Seltzer for forgetting. How many replacement parts, how many marvels, how many articles of exchange, how many beautiful daughters for playing, and how many good valves and pistons, livers and lungs! And how many pretty marbles to roll, and how many fine mullet fish in the sea! English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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Le nuvole: Don Raffaè

Io mi chiamo Pasquale Cafiero e son brigadiere del carcere oinè io mi chiamo Cafiero Pasquale sto a Poggio Reale dal '53 e al centesimo catenaccio alla sera mi sento uno straccio per fortuna che al braccio speciale c'è un uomo geniale che parla co' me Tutto il giorno con quattro infamoni briganti, papponi, cornuti e lacchè tutte l'ore cò 'sta fetenzia che sputa minaccia e s'à piglia cò me ma alla fine m'assetto papale mi sbottono e mi leggo 'o giornale mi consiglio con don Raffae' mi spiega che penso e bevimm'ò cafè A che bell'ò cafè pure in carcere 'o sanno fa co' à ricetta ch'à Ciccirinella compagno di cella ci ha dato mammà Prima pagina venti notizie ventuno ingiustizie e lo Stato che fa si costerna, s'indigna, s'impegna poi getta la spugna con gran dignità mi scervello e mi asciugo la fronte per fortuna c'è chi mi risponde a quell'uomo sceltissimo immenso io chiedo consenso a don Raffaè Un galantuomo che tiene sei figli ha chiesto una casa e ci danno consigli mentre 'o assessore che Dio lo perdoni 'ndrento a 'e roullotte ci tiene i visoni voi vi basta una mossa una voce c'ha 'sto Cristo ci levano 'a croce con rispetto s'è fatto le tre volite 'a spremuta o volite 'o cafè A che bell'ò cafè pure in carcere 'o sanno fa co' à ricetta ch'à Ciccirinella compagno di cella ci ha dato mammà A che bell'ò cafè pure in carcere 'o sanno fa co' à ricetta ch'à Ciccirinella compagno di cella preciso a mammà Qui ci stà l'inflazione, la svalutazione e la borsa ce l'ha chi ce l'ha io non tengo compendio che chillo stipendio e un ambo se sogno 'a papà aggiungete mia figlia Innocenza vuo' marito non tiene pazienza non chiedo la grazia pe' me vi faccio la barba o la fate da sé Voi tenete un cappotto cammello che al maxi processo eravate 'o chiù bello un vestito gessato marrone così ci è sembrato alla televisione pe' 'ste nozze vi prego Eccellenza mi prestasse pe' fare presenza io già tengo le scarpe e 'o gillè gradite 'o Campari o volite 'o cafè A che bell'ò cafè pure in carcere 'o sanno fa co' à ricetta ch'à Ciccirinella compagno di cella ci ha dato mammà A che bell'ò cafè pure in carcere 'o sanno fa co' à ricetta ch'à Ciccirinella compagno di cella preciso a mamma Qui non c'è più decoro le carceri d'oro ma chi l'ha mai viste chissà chiste so' fatiscienti pe' chisto i fetienti se tengono l'immunità don Raffaè voi politicamente io ve lo giuro sarebbe 'no santo ma 'ca dinto voi state a pagà e fora chiss'atre se stanno a spassà A proposito tengo 'no frate che da quindici anni sta disoccupato chill'ha fatto cinquanta concorsi novanta domande e duecento ricorsi voi che date conforto e lavoro Eminenza vi bacio v'imploro chillo duorme co' mamma e co' me che crema d'Arabia ch'è chisto cafè Don Raffaè © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Mauro Pagani/Massimo Bubola "Don Raffaè" is based on the Italian crime boss Raffaele Cutolo, who has spent most of his life in prisons since 1963. Through his charisma and relational skills he was able to build and control a crime organization from within prison, and was also able to lead a remarkably comfortable life, complete with a personal chef to supply him his daily meals of lobster and wine. The chorus makes reference to Domenico Modugno's 1958 paean to coffee, "'O ccafe'", and to the importance of coffee in the cultural life of Naples.

My name is Pasquale Cafiero and I’m the prison C.O. Sergeant. My name is Cafiero Pasquale, I’ve been at Poggio Reale since ’53. And by the hundredth deadbolt of the evening I feel like a wet rag, lucky that in the special wing there’s a brilliant man who speaks with me. All day long with four villains – robbers, pimps, bastards and lackeys – all the hours with this rottenness that spews threats and that rags on me. But in the end I seat myself pope-like, I unbutton, and read me the paper. I consult with don Raffaè. He explains my thinking, and we drink coffee. Ah what great coffee – even in jail they know how to make it, with the recipe that cellmate Ciccirinella’s mama gave to him. Front page, twenty news items, twenty-one injustices, and what does the State do? It’s dismayed, it’s indignant, it makes a pledge, then it throws in the towel with great dignity. I puzzle over it, dry my forehead, luckily there is one who answers me. Of that man, immense and most refined, of don Raffaè I ask for his consensus. A gentleman, who has six children, requested a house and they gave advice, while the alderman, may God pardon him, raises minks inside these trailers. From you, one move, one voice is enough, for this Christ they take away the cross. With respect, it’s three o'clock, do you want the juice or do you want the coffee? Ah what great coffee – even in jail they know how to make it, with the recipe that cellmate Ciccirinella's mama gave to him. Ah what great coffee – even in jail they know how to make it, with the recipe of cellmate Ciccirinella, exactly like mama’s. Here there’s inflation, devaluation, and the stock market has it, whoever has it, I don’t hold a sum save for that salary of mine and two lottery numbers if I dream of papa. Add my daughter Innocenza. She wants a husband, she has no patience. I don’t beg for mercy for myself. Do I shave you or do you do it by yourself? You hold a camel hair coat that at the Maxi Trial you were the most handsome, a brown pinstripe suit, so it seemed on TV. For this wedding, I pray of you, your Excellence, lend it to me to make a good appearance. I already have the shoes and the vest, do you like the Campari or do you want the coffee? Ah what great coffee – even in jail they know how to make it, with the recipe that cellmate Ciccirinella’s mama gave to him. Ah what great coffee – even in jail they know how to make it, with the recipe of cellmate Ciccirinella, exactly like mama’s. Here there’s no more decorum, the prisons of gold - but who ever saw them, who knows? These are crumbling, for this reason the bastards keep their immunity. Don Raffaè – you, politically, I swear it, you'd be a saint. But here inside you have to pay, and outside these others are amusing themselves. Speaking of which, I have a brother who for fifteen years has been unemployed. That one’s done fifty competitive exams, ninety applications and two hundred appeals. You who give comfort and work, Your Eminence I kiss you, I implore you: that one sleeps with mama and with me. What cream of Arabia this coffee is! English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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Le nuvole: La domenica delle salme - Corpse Sunday

Tentò la fuga in tram verso le sei del mattino dalla bottiglia di orzata dove galleggia Milano non fu difficile seguirlo il poeta della Baggina la sua anima accesa mandava luce di lampadina gli incendiarono il letto sulla strada di Trento riuscì a salvarsi dalla sua barba un pettirosso da combattimento I Polacchi non morirono subito e inginocchiati agli ultimi semafori rifacevano il trucco alle troie di regime lanciate verso il mare i trafficanti di saponette mettevano pancia verso est chi si convertiva nel novanta ne era dispensato nel novantuno la scimmia del quarto Reich ballava la polka sopra il muro e mentre si arrampicava le abbiamo visto tutto il culo la piramide di Cheope volle essere ricostruita in quel giorno di festa masso per masso schiavo per schiavo comunista per comunista La domenica delle salme non si udirono fucilate il gas esilarante presidiava le strade la domenica delle salme si portò via tutti i pensieri e le regine del ''tua culpa'' affollarono i parrucchieri Nell'assolata galera patria il secondo secondino disse a ''Baffi di Sego'' che era il primo -- si può fare domani sul far del mattino – e furono inviati messi fanti cavalli cani ed un somaro ad annunciare l'amputazione della gamba di Renato Curcio il carbonaro il ministro dei temporali in un tripudio di tromboni auspicava democrazia con la tovaglia sulle mani e le mani sui coglioni -- voglio vivere in una città dove all'ora dell'aperitivo non ci siano spargimenti di sangue o di detersivo – a tarda sera io e il mio illustre cugino De Andrade eravamo gli ultimi cittadini liberi di questa famosa città civile perché avevamo un cannone nel cortile un cannone nel cortile La domenica delle salme nessuno si fece male tutti a seguire il feretro del defunto ideale la domenica delle salme si sentiva cantare -quant'è bella giovinezza non vogliamo più invecchiare – Gli ultimi viandanti si ritirarono nelle catacombe accesero la televisione e ci guardarono cantare per una mezz'oretta poi ci mandarono a cagare -- voi che avete cantato sui trampoli e in ginocchio coi pianoforti a tracolla vestiti da Pinocchio voi che avete cantato per i longobardi e per i centralisti per l'Amazzonia e per la pecunia nei palastilisti e dai padri Maristi voi avevate voci potenti lingue allenate a battere il tamburo voi avevate voci potenti adatte per il vaffanculo — La domenica delle salme gli addetti alla nostalgia accompagnarono tra i flauti il cadavere di Utopia la domenica delle salme fu una domenica come tante il giorno dopo c'erano i segni di una pace terrificante mentre il cuore d'Italia da Palermo ad Aosta si gonfiava in un coro di vibrante protesta La domenica delle salme © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Mauro Pagani "La domenica delle salme" is one of De André's most political songs, full of references not easily discernible. The second verse refers to a Milan retirement home resident who was discovered dead under mysterious circumstances. The third verse may refer to a series of murders by a neo-Nazi duo who tagged themselves as Ludwig. The fourth verse refers to the Polish refugees who came to Italy after the fall of the Soviet Union and who worked the streets cleaning car windows (i.e., redoing the makeup of the capitalists heading off to the beach). The fifth verse refers to businessmen looking to profit from the opening of the countries of the former Soviet Union, and the sixth verse refers to the neo-Nazism that subsequently raised its head. The seventh verse may refer to the need for another visible symbol for members of the left and the right to use to close their ranks after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. The eighth verse depicts a state that controls its people not with guns but with a false sense of happiness. Later in the song, Renato Curcio was a founder of the radical group Red Brigades and is referred to as a "carbonaro," a member of the Carboneria, secret revolutionary societies in 19th century Italy. Curcio did not in real life have his leg amputated; that reference is to an event in a 1968 television production of an 1832 autobiographical novel, My Prisons, by Sylvio Pellico. The amputation was done without anesthesia, and afterwards the amputee gave the surgeon a rose. There's a reference to the Brazilian poet Oswald De Andrade, whose work De André admired for its anti-conformism and its sense of irony and sarcasm. You see references to the distant past (the Lombards), to a Roman Catholic religious institute (Society of Mary), to the death of communism and anarchism ("cadavers of Utopia"), and even to De André's tribe, singer/songwriters, who are cast as opportunists whose powerful voices have lost their relevance and whose message has devolved into a crude "fuck off!" In short, this song is a rich and mordant pastiche of images that create the picture of an Italy as a ridiculous tragedy where a coup d'etat of capitalism has resulted in a "terrifying peace." Note also how the title is a gruesome turn on Palm Sunday (La domenica delle palme), the celebration of which involves a procession of the faithful carrying palms. One can imagine instead a procession of the erstwhile foes of capitalism carrying the corpses of their vanquished brethren, yet ready to protest again.

He made a break for it on the tram around six in the morning, from the bottle of orgeat where floats Milan. It wasn’t difficult to follow him, the poet of the Baggina. His fired-up soul sent out the glow of a light bulb. They torched his bed on the road to Trent. He managed to save himself by the hair on his chin, an attack robin. The Poles didn’t die immediately and, bowed over at the last traffic lights, they redid the makeup on the whores of the regime launching off towards the sea. Traffickers of soap bars fattened themselves to the east. Whoever converted in ‘90 was excused in ’91. The ape of the fourth Reich danced the polka on top of the Wall, and while it clambered up we saw its entire bare ass. The pyramid of Cheops wanted to be rebuilt on that day of celebration, boulder by boulder, slave by slave, Communist by Communist. Corpse Sunday – no gun shots were heard, laughing gas was defending the streets. Corpse Sunday carried away all thoughts, and the queens of “it's your fault” filled the hair salons. In the sun-drenched state prison, the second prison guard said to “Greasy Mustache,” who was the first, “It can be done tomorrow at daybreak.” And emissaries were dispatched, infantrymen, horses, dogs and a donkey, to announce the amputation of the leg of Renato Curcio, the Carboneria member. The Minister of Storms, in an exultation of trombones, wished for democracy with a napkin on his hands and his hands on his balls. “I want to live in a city where when it’s time for aperitifs there’s no shedding of blood or of detergent.” Late in the evening, I and my distinguished cousin De Andrade were the last free citizens of this famous civilian city, because we had a cannon in the courtyard, a cannon in the courtyard. Corpse Sunday – no one got hurt, everyone following the casket of the fallen ideal. Corpse Sunday – one felt like singing “How beautiful youth is, we don’t want to get older anymore.” The last wayfarers retreated to the catacombs. They turned the TV on and watched us singing for half an hour, then they sent us off to shit. “You who have sung on stilts and on bended knee with pianos over your shoulders, dressed as Pinocchio, you who have sung for the Lombards and for the Centrists, for the Amazon and for the money, in corporate-named arenas and Marist Fathers' places, you had powerful voices, tongues trained to beat the drum. You had powerful voices well-suited for the ‘Fuck off!’” Corpse Sunday – the people in charge of nostalgia accompanied, amid the flutes, Utopia's cadaver. Corpse Sunday was a Sunday like so many others. The day after, there were signs of a terrifying peace while the heart of Italy from Palermo to Aosta swelled in a chorus of quivering protest. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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Le nuvole: Mègu megùn - Doctor, Doctor

E mi e mi e mi anà anà e a l'aia sciurtì a suà suà e ou coèu ou coèu ou coèu da rebellà fin a piggià piggià ou trèn ou trèn    E io e io e io    andare andare    e uscire all'aria    sudare sudare    e il cuore il cuore il cuore    da trascinare    fino a prendere a prendere    il treno il treno E 'nta galleria gentè 'a l'intra au scùu sciòrte amarutia loèugu de 'n spesià e 'ntu strèitu t'aguèitan te dumàndan chi t'è a sustansa e u mestee che pe liatri viagià nu l'è    E nella galleria    la gente entra al buio    esce ammalata    cesso d' un farmacista    e nello stretto ti guardano    ti domandano chi sei    il patrimonio e il lavoro    che per loro non è viaggiare Poi te tucca un purtè lepegusu e una stansia luvega e 'nte l'àtra stànsia è bagàsce a dà ou menù e ti cu'na quàe che nu ti voèu a tià a bibbia 'nta miàgia serrà a ciàve ànche ou barcùn e arensenite sùrvia ou coèu    Poi ti tocca un portiere viscido    e una stanza umida e nell'altra stanza    le bagasce a dare il menù    e tu con una voglia che non vuoi    a tirare la Bibbia nel muro    chiudere a chiave anche la finestra    e a ciambellarti sopra il cuore Uh mègu mègu mègu mè megùn Uh chin-a chin-a zù da ou caregùn    Uh medico medico medico mio medicone    Uh vieni vieni giù dal seggiolone 'Na carèga dùa nèsciu de ' n turtà 'na fainà ch'a sùa e a ghe manca'a sa tùtti sùssa rèsca da ou xàtta in zù se ti gii 'a tèsta ti te vèddi ou cù    Una sedia dura    scemo di un tortaio    una farinata che suda    e le manca il sale    tutti succhiatori di lische    dal pappone il giù    se giri la testa    ti vedi il culo e a stà foèa gh'è ou repentin ch'a te tùcche 'na pasciùn pe 'na faccia da madònna ch'a te sposta ou ghirindùn ùn amù mai in esclusiva sempre cun quarcòsa da pagà na scignurin-a che sùttu à cùa a gh'a ou gàrbu da scignùa    e a star fuori c'è il rischio    che ti tocchi una passione    per una faccia da Madonna    che ti sposta il comò    un amore mai in esclusiva    sempre con qualcosa da pagare    una signorina che sotto la coda    ha il buco da signora Uh mègu mègu mègu mè megùn Uh chin-a chin-a zù da ou caregùn Uh che belin de 'n nolu che ti me faièsci fa Uh ch'a sùn de piggià de l'aia se va a l'uspià    Uh medico medico medico mio medicone    Uh vieni vieni giù dal seggiolone    Uh che cazzo di contratto mi faresti fare    Uh che a forza di prendere aria si va all'ospedale E mi e mi e mi nu anà nu anà stà chi stà chi stà chi durmì durmì E mi e mi e mi nu anà nu anà stà chi stà chi stà chi asùnàme    E io e io e io    non andare non andare    stare qui stare qui stare qui    dormire dormire    e io e io e io    non andare non andare    stare qui stare qui stare qui    sognare Uh mègu mègu mègu mè megùn Uh chin-a chin-a zù da ou caregùn    Uh medico medico medico mio medicone    Uh vieni vieni giù dal seggiolone Mègu megùn © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Ivano Fossati "Mègu megùn" is, according to De André, the story of a guy who lived as a shut-in for years, without human contact and with no experience of the outside world. Feeling bad, he decides to go to a psychologist, who quickly assesses the problem and tells his patient he needs to go out into the world, visit places, meet people, get some air into his lungs and his brain. He follows the advice but after a while realizes that it's worse than before and he decides to return to his isolated life where, safe between the walls of his house, he can do two things - sleep and dream.

And I and I and I, going, going and heading outdoors sweating, sweating, and the heart the heart the heart to drag along until taking, taking the train, the train. And in the gallery people enter into the darkness, go back out sick – pigsty of a pharmacist – and in the straits they watch you, they ask you who you are, your heritage and your work, which for them isn't traveling. Then a smarmy doorman touches you, and a humid room, and in the other room the sluts for giving the menu, and you with a desire you don’t want, to throw the Bible at the wall, to lock up the window, even, and to curl up over the heart. Oh doctor, doctor, doctor, my doctor. Oh come, come down from the high chair. A hard chair, fool of a cake maker, a flatbread that sweats and lacks salt, all bone suckers from pimps on down. If you turn your head around you’ll see your ass. And staying outside there’s the risk that you are touched by a passion for a Madonna face who moves your chest of drawers, a love never exclusive, always with something to pay for, a young lady who under the tail has the hole of an older one. Oh doctor, doctor, doctor, my doctor. Oh come, come down from the high chair. Oh what bullshit contract would you make me do? Oh by getting some fresh air one goes to the hospital. And I and I and I, not going, not going, staying here, staying here, staying here, sleeping, sleeping. And I and I and I, not going, not going, staying here, staying here, staying here, dreaming. Oh doctor, doctor, doctor, my doctor. Oh come, come down from the high chair. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

Le Nuvole: La nova gelosia - The New Blinds

Fenesta co' 'sta nova gelosia tutta lucente de centrella d’oro tu m’annasconne Nennerella bella mia lassamela vedè sinnò me moro   Finestra con questa nuova persiana   tutta lucente coi chiodini d’oro   tu me nascondi la mia bella Nennarella   lasciamela vedere se no muoio Fenesta co' 'sta nova gelosia tutta lucente de centrella d’oro   Finestra con questa nuova persiana   tutta lucente coi chiodini d’oro Fenesta co' 'sta nova gelosia tutta lucente de centrella d’oro tu m’annasconne Nennerella bella mia lassamela vedè sinnò me moro lassamela vedè sinnò me moro   Finestra con questa nuova persiana   tutta lucente coi chiodini d’oro   tu me nascondi la mia bella Nennarella   lasciamela vedere se no muoio   lasciamela vedere se no muoio La nova gelosia arrangement © 1990 Fabrizio De André "La nova gelosia" is a Neapolitan song from the 18th century by an unknown author. When De André heard the song as done by Roberto Murolo, he became enthralled with it and wanted to include it on this album. The tradition of Neapolitan songs has its roots in the 13th century, and came into full bloom in the period from 1830-1950, when an annual song competition would honor the best song each year.

Window with these new blinds, all radiant with tacks of gold - you hide from me my beautiful Nennarella. Let me see her; if not, I will die. Window with these new blinds, all radiant with tacks of gold - Window with these new blinds, all radiant with tacks of gold - you hide from me my beautiful Nennarella. Let me see her; if not, I will die. Let me see her; if not, I will die. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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Le nuvole: 'A çimma - Boiled Stuffed Veal

Ti t'adesciàe 'nsce l'èndegu du matin ch'à luxe a l'à 'n pè 'n tera e l'àtru in mà ti t'ammiàe a ou spègiu de 'n tiànnin ou cè s'ammia a ou spègiu da ruzà    Ti sveglierai sull'indaco del mattino    quando la luce ha un piede in terra    e l' altro in mare    ti guarderai allo specchio di un tegamino    il cielo si guarda allo specchio della rugiada ti mettiâe ou brûgu rèdennu'nte 'n cantùn che se d'à cappa a sgùggia 'n cuxin-a stria a xeùa de cuntà 'e pàgge che ghe sùn 'a cimma a l'è za pinn-a a l'è za cùxia    metterai la scopa di saggina usata in un angolo   che se dalla cappa scivola in cucina la strega   a forza di contare le paglie che ci sono   la cima è già piena è già cucita Cè serèn tèra scùa carne tènia nu fàte nèigra nu turnà dùa    Cielo sereno terra scura    carne tenera non diventare nera    non ritornare dura Bell'oueggè strapunta de tùttu bun prima de battezàlu 'ntou prebuggiun cun dui aguggiuìn dritu 'n pùnta de pè da sùrvia 'n zù fitu ti 'a punziggè    Bel guanciale materasso di ogni ben di Dio    prima di battezzarla nelle erbe aromatiche    con due grossi aghi dritti in punta di piedi    da sopra a sotto svelto la pungerai àia de lùn-a vègia de ciaèu de nègia ch'ou cègu ou pèrde 'a tèsta l'àse ou sentè oudù de mà misciòu de pèrsa lègia cos'àtru fa cos'àtru dàghe a ou cè    aria di luna vecchia di chiarore di nebbia    che il chierico perde la testa e l'asino il sentiero    odore di mare mescolato a maggiorana leggera    cos'altro fare cos'altro dare al cielo Cè serèn tèra scùa carne tènia nu fàte nèigra nu turnà dùa e 'nt'ou nùme de Maria tùtti diài da sta pùgnatta anène via    Cielo sereno terra scura    carne tenera non diventare nera    non ritornare dura    e nel nome di Maria    tutti i diavoli da questa pentola    andate via Poi vegnan a pigiàtela i càmè te lascian tùttu ou fùmmu d'ou toèu mestè tucca a ou fantin à prima coutelà mangè mangè nu sèi chi ve mangià    Poi vengono a prendertela i camerieri    ti lasciano tutto il fumo del tuo mestiere    tocca allo scapolo la prima coltellata    mangiate mangiate non sapete chi vi manger Cè serèn tèra scùa carne tènia nu fàte nèigra nu turnà dùa e 'nt'ou nùme de Maria tùtti diài da sta pùgnatta anène via.    Cielo sereno terra scura    carne tenera non diventare nera    non ritornare dura    e nel nome di Maria    tutti i diavoli da questa pentola    andate via A çimma © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Ivano Fossati/Mauro Pagani In "A çimma," a cook explains how a classic Genovese dish is made. A piece of meat usually taken from the stomach or breast of the young calf is folded and sewn on three sides to make a pocket that is then filled with many ingredients: innards, peas, eggs, cheese, spices, etc. The final side is sewn shut and the meat is boiled carefully in a broth for several hours, punctured with a needle from time to time to prevent the rupturing of the pocket as the ingredients expand. Traditionally, one must take care to prevent trouble from witches and devils who might be attracted by the intoxicating smells. And once done, the tradition is for the servants to remove the glorious cima, leaving the cook out of the picture with only the steam from the now empty pot. Also traditionally, a bachelor makes the first cut. The cook, with a touch of bitterness, tells everyone to eat because you never know who will be out to eat you.

You will wake up in the indigo of morning when the light has one foot on land and the other in the sea. You'll look at yourself in the mirror of a frying pan, the sky looks at itself in the mirror of rust. You will put the well-used sorghum broom in a corner so that, if from the stove hood a witch slips into the kitchen due to her counting the straws that are there, the veal is already stuffed and already sewn. Clear sky, dark earth, tender meat don’t become black, don’t come out tough. Beautiful pillow, mattress of every good of God, before baptizing it in the aromatic herbs, with two huge straight needles, on tiptoe, from above to below quick you’ll prick it. Air of full moon, of glimmer of fog, when the clergyman loses his head and the donkey the path, smell of the sea mixed with light marjoram, what else to make, what else to give to heaven? Clear sky, dark earth, tender meat don’t become black, don’t come out tough, and in the name of Maria all you devils from this pot go away. Then the house servants come to take it out for you, they leave to you all the steam of your expertise. It’s the bachelor’s turn, the first cut - eat, eat, you don’t know who will eat you. Clear sky, dark earth, tender meat don’t become black, don’t come out tough, and in the name of Maria all you devils from this pot go away. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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Le Nuvole: Monti di Mola - Mountains of Mola

In li Monti di Mola la manzana un'aina musteddina era pascendi in li Monti di Mola la manzana un cioano vantarricciu e moru era sfraschendi      Sui Monti di Mola la mattina presto      un'asina dal mantello chiaro stava pascolando      sui Monti di Mola la mattina presto      un giovane bruno e aitante stava tagliando rami e l'occhi s'intuppesini cilchendi ea ea ea ea e l'ea sguttesida li muccichili cù li bae ae ae      e gli occhi si incontrarono mentre cercavano acqua      e l'acqua sgocciolò dai musi      insieme alle bave e l'occhi la burricca aia di lu mare e a iddu da le tive escia lu Maestrale e idda si tunchià abbeddulata ea ea ea ea iddu le rispundia linghitontu ae ae ae ae      e l'asina aveva gli occhi color del mare      e a lui dalle narici usciva il Maestrale      e lei ragliava incantata ea ea ea ea      lui le rispondeva pronunciando male ae ae ae ae - Oh bedda mea l'aina luna la bedda mea capitale di lana oh bedda mea bianca foltuna –      Oh bella mia l'asina luna      la bella mia cuscino di lana      O bella mia bianca fortuna- - Oh beddu meu l'occhi mi bruxi lu beddu meu carrasciale di baxi oh beddu meu lu core mi cuxi -      O bello mio mi bruci gli occhi      il mio bello carnevale di baci      oh bello mio mi cuci il cuore – Amori mannu di prima 'olta l'aba si suggi tuttu lu meli di chista multa Amori steddu di tutte l'ore di petralana lu battadolu di chistu core      Amore grande di prima volta      l'ape ci succhia tutto il miele di questo mirto      amore bambino di tutte le ore      di muschio il battacchio di questo cuore Ma nudda si po' fa nudda in Gaddura che no lu ènini a sapi int'un'ora e 'nfattu una 'ecchia infrasconata fea ea ea ea piagnendi e figgiulendi si dicia cù li bae ae ae      Ma nulla si può fare nulla in Gallura      che non lo vengono a sapere in un'ora      e sul posto una brutta vecchia      nascosta tra le frasche      piangendo e guardando      diceva fra sé con le bave alla bocca -Beata idda uai che bedd'omu beata idda cioanu e moru beata idda sola mi moru      -Beata lei mamma mia che bell'uomo      beata lei giovane e bruno      beata lei io muoio sola beata idda ià ma l'ammentu beata idda più d'una 'olta beata idda 'ezzaia tolta –      beata lei me lo ricordo bene      beata lei più d'una volta      beata lei vecchiaia storta – Amori mannu di prima 'olta l'aba si suggi tuttu lu meli di chista multa Amori steddu di tutte l'ore di petralana lu battadolu di chistu core      Amore grande di prima volta      l'ape ci succhia tutto il miele di questo mirto      amore bambino di tutte le ore      di muschio il battacchio di questo cuore E lu paese intreu s'agghindesi pa' lu coiu lu parracu mattessi intresi in lu soiu ma a cuiuassi no riscisini l'aina e l'omu chè da li documenti escisini fratili in primu      Il paese intero si agghindò per il matrimonio      lo stesso parroco entrò nel suo vestito      ma non riuscirono a sposarsi l'asina e l'uomo      perché ai documenti risultarono cugini primi e idda si tunchià abbeddulata ea ea ea ea iddu le rispundia linghitontu ae ae ae ae.      e lei ragliava incantata ea ea ea ea      lui le rispondeva pronunciando male ae ae ae ae. Monti di Mola © 1990 Fabrizio De André/Mauro Pagani "Monti di Mola" takes place on the Emerald Coast of Sardinia. De André called the song a metaphor showing the impossibility of reaching one's dreams in a society that has become bureaucratic and standardized, where the imagination of the culture can't expand to accept "impossible dreams" that are on the verge of coming true. The song is in the Gallurese dialect.

In the Mountains of Mola, early morning, a donkey mare, white of coat, was pasturing. In the Mountains of Mola, early morning, a sturdy young dark-haired man was cutting branches. And their eyes met searching for water water water water, and water dripped from their snouts along with the drool ool ool. And the donkey mare, she had eyes the color of the sea, and to him from her nostrils issued the Northwest Wind and she brayed, enchanted, ea ea ea ea. He replied to her, mispronouncing, ae ae ae ae. “Oh my beautiful one, moon donkey, my beautiful one, cushion of wool, oh my beautiful one, white fortune.” “Oh my handsome one, you make my eyes sting, oh my handsome one, carnival of kisses, oh my handsome one, you sew up my heart.” Deep love for the first time, the bee sucks all the honey from this myrtle. Young love of all the hours, of moss is the clapper of this heart. But no one can do anything in Gallura that doesn’t come to be known in an hour, and on the scene an ugly old woman hidden in the branches, crying and watching, says to herself, foaming at the mouth, “Lucky her, mamma mia, what a handsome man. Lucky her, young and dark-haired. Lucky her, I die alone. "Lucky her, I remember it well. Lucky her, more than one time. Lucky her, twisted old age.” Deep love for the first time, the bee sucks all the honey from this myrtle. Young love of all the hours, of moss is the clapper of this heart. The entire countryside got decked out for the wedding, the same parish priest entered in his vestments. But they didn’t manage to marry, the donkey and the man, for in the documents they turned out to be first cousins. And she brayed, enchanted, ea ea ea ea. He responded to her, mispronouncing, ae ae ae ae. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser It took six years after the tremendous success of Creuza de mä for De André to release his next studio album, Le nuvole (The Clouds). In the meantime, he and Mauro Pagani explored several avenues of musical collaboration which did not come to fruition. De André had this to say about Le nuvole: "I realized that people are just pissed off, and since Le nuvole is a symbol of this dissatisfaction, the transference, the intermediary for this general discontent, I would say that the album was welcomed almost as a banner, like an emblem of the anger in the face of a nation that is going to the dogs, and certainly not through any fault of the citizens." Additionally, Mauro Pagani said the album was a fantastic description of Italy in the 1980s, with parallels to Europe in the early 1800s: "Italy in the early 1980s was like Europe in 1815: the Congress of Vienna, the fall of the Napoleonic empire, the sharing of the goods among the winning powers, social classes built on wealth instead of aristocracy, a society of fake Christianity . . ." The title of and inspiration for the album came from the comedy of the same name by Aristophanes, whom De André greatly admired.

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