Master Koretoshi Maruyama
can not come to his friend Fernando! She takes a nervous that filled him with red spots. An allergic reaction that requires explanation 'philosophical' to subside. Given, for this world that no longer recognizes. For his Salento that no longer recognizes. For the 'human' around that no longer recognizes.
He says: "If they're here to hear this music, which recommends memory care, then it is strong ties that overwhelm you with their desire to consume, consume, consume? If you choose this sea, this landscape, then how come all these smells betray cards, cigarette butts, plastic, glass and sloppy with their behavior, disrespectful, arrogant? ".
can not come! He wants to cry out, shirtless, screaming. Never forget the ancient dignity of things, he is in the nostalgia. Still is, the great beard of wisdom and simplicity of his mother. The white shirt of his father and the strong smell of earth. Your adventure is with leaks, curious amazement.
He stops, his friend Fernando, vulnerable and disheartened, Salento ago as his silence. And listen, and watch taken from the bodies, the sounds! It is stronger than him! As if that 'guilt' of which so much has heard, read, experienced now covers no more than one, or, in love and lost, but many. Many. He and everyone around. Everyone, absolutely everyone, without exception.
Melpignano See you in? Today it happens! Back! The moon is
clove in the sky. Tenuous new crescent moon. Fa birth, hope! Confused with a mystery understood gray orange and the sun comes down, it sinks! It is night. See you in
Melpignano, there is the dance that everyone is looking for: that continuously rely on the love ... the taste of the salt taste, his tongue I wash the sea!
'Nnanana nnanana beddhu is love and there is lu sape ' everyone danced and danced hard. ..
Ah! Bua! The evil and illness. What is the antidote? At bua, bua to! What about the torture, the 'not' taking and cheating?
"Love your dignity as men, even if locked in uncertainty of the flesh" recommends inviting the oracle Christopher. We
, we came , the Golden Horde us, here Melpignano.
"perceives the Holy Church? You see? It is the same one that opens the Taranto Mingozzi, remember? The flicker of the titles in black and white, the text makes the story of Quasimodo and a distant land appears white, dry, dry. A road, a cart and the ruins of the Temple. Is this now to see that painting of light. "
If taste is the taste of my sacred sounds - the theory of the stalls, the smell of nuts and candy floss - the gap feeds the heart, the solemn of a band. The chase and find angels suspended in the light of yesterday with no name in ink in the news: angels blacks, lost in the sea, abandoned. There
smile there! There is no identity and there! There is no fear there.
Everything kneads his creed. And you see the terror mingled with the joy. It's all about balance! Is this vertigo culture: each is essential. Everything that is, he writes. Also what will soon be forgotten is the test.
"Do you hear the sounds 'associated with the string'? The starlings Thanksgiving? ". "My wealth is health" and sing the old Aloisi thanked the medical department of Orthopaedics of Galatina (Galatina, where it operates Santu Paulu) that allowed him to go on stage the big night. "Na, na, and, and na" stisa entries to make the scratch and the creep of the show. "What is being sullied life in prison for eternity" or feeling "about whether you were the lover miu nu me tarantata Jehu." Here's the key: If you were my lover ... I was saved. Love again, the deep feeling that avoids tarantata be, to be owned by the lack. The Salento is
tarantata now, it's 'she' in the search. He did not rest, did not dance step that could save her, there is no devilish barber to accommodate the violinist. There are more than losing the little steps on the damask of Mary, in the depths of the house. That representation, the tragic, the will of a well of peace.
There! Missing! Now that re-bite, the circle of pain, has been done offshore, large. It's party only. Only party?
"Salvation and friendship is the first love" someone is singing from the stage and read on the strings of violins and mandolins that runs the fray. "Did you hear the names?"
Fabrizio, the Fernanda, the master Stifani. Even their angels. Custodians of our altroculturale. They want substance and courage. Is not this the party? Renewal: to dare, still live there! Look what you do not know, that we may never know, swallowed up in the secrets of the night for everyone. Mystery of crickets, cicadas, and stars fall asleep, sometimes falling, you want to wear, the ever, maybe. The hope in short, that we will never have remorse for not missing love.
Miners Santa Fiora, the angel of Africa, and the fury of a star Z help us to redo the Puglia. Hey! The water nu the lead, try it. Let's try to save her and her ... the 'kid'!
Left Fernando, I reflect, the repertoire and performers. These ingredients Notte della Taranta. A journey of twelve years that he bet on the certainty of growth. Little by little growth there was, undoubtedly, absolutely. One, in a scene that is now crowded with events that confuse pursuing, strafanno, no economy and clarity of horizon. Twelve years. S'invoca change. Helpful? Maybe, maybe not! The step taken by interpreters from research and proves to be emancipated and free from any subjection to the sound of "usual" Tradition. Then, agree to the research, which moves the production of each of them may be away from practice for a sustainable renewal and attentive to the essential.
MM