Testi

[1] Literally “row!”, colloquially used when someone speaks too much to tell him: “Shut up and get on with it! Work!”. My friend and I use it rather as a cheer to mean: “Go on, show them who you are!”

Gh'ea n'èrbu	(Trad. arr. JOB e Brai & Co.)

This song is an ancient popular refrain of Genoese origin, E disètte de zenà [The 17th of January], which was sung by our ancestors in Tabarka in the 18th century, before the founding of Carloforte. The piece was then reinvented by the Joe Over Band and now again by MARENOSTRUM, with the addition of a nonsensical sentence that came out during one of the countless parties in a country cottage. A traditional chorus opens this last version of the song.
Gh’ea n’èrbu Gh’ea n’èrbu tantu grossu gh’ea n’èrbu tantu grossu che nisciün ghe peu arrivà giobellà fradellà l’è e disètte de zenà Mamma mamma quande meuiu mamma mamma quande meuiu veštime da špusò giobellà fradellà l’è e disètte de zenà. Intermezzo percussivo Chi u cammalle? Chi u l’ha cammallau? Liga l’òse, liga l’òse…. Chi u cammalle? Chi u l’ha cammallau? Liga l’òse, liga l’òse…	The seventeenth of January It’s Saint Anthony’s day It’s Saint Anthony’s day It’s the seventeenth of January Giobellà, fradellà[1] It’s the seventeenth of January Mama mama when I die Mama mama when I die Dress me as a bride Giobellà, fradellà It’s the seventeenth of January percussions interlude Who’s carrying? Who’s being carried? Tie the donkey, tie the donkey... Who’s carrying? Who’s being carried? Tie the donkey, tie the donkey... [1] Another version of the song says “Giobelà, giobelà”, meaning “celebrate”

[1] “Friu” is the channel that separates the Isle of St. Peter from Sardinia.

[2] “La Bobba” is one of the most beautiful beaches on the island.

[3] “Having wet feet” means “being in an uncomfortable situation”.

[4] As well as a worm, the term “tremmuizza” means a marine creature similar to a flower which when disturbed withdraws into its shell tube anchored to the seabed.

[5] As everybody knows, when a boat is followed by seagulls it is laden with fish.

Fuochi d’estate	(M.Brai)


Fuochi d'estate E lo stregone invocò il dio del fuoco mentre gli dei della luna e del mare bisbigliavano sulla sorte di questi strani bipedi che continuano ad agitarsi sul loro piccolo mondo. Il dio del silenzio, sbadigliando, andò a dormire all’avvicinarsi danzante del dio della musica; richiamato dalle dolci note, il timido dio dell’amicizia con passo incerto, chiese di partecipare al rito. E intanto il fuoco scioglie l’anima e scalda il cuore, la chitarra sotto la luna crea magie nella spiaggia che dorme. Euga! Euga! Cantami più vicino. E ancora! Euga! Euga! Bevendo un bicchiere di vino tutti si accorsero che uno solo mancava alla riunione. Era amore, il dolce, e il forte Era amore… Quando lo stregone alzò la fronte gridò parole che non capivamo. Solo allora il fuoco si fece più caldo e le voci salirono in alto cantando: "Ehilà dio dell’amore, porta nettare magico per le nostre bocche, vieni attorno al fuoco e raccontaci storie." "Ehilà dio dell’amore, porta nettare magico per le nostre bocche, vieni qui con noi." Mentre la luna usciva dal mare in lame lucenti amore fece capolino tra gli scogli bianchi e gridò: "Euga euga!", e tutti: "Euga euga euga!" e ancora: "Euga euga!", e tutti: "Euga euga euga!" Ognuno rispose, e poi tutti risero. In coro risposero, e poi tutti risero. Euga! euga… euga, euga, euga. E ancora euga! euga… e tutti euga, euga, euga.	Summer fires And the witch-doctor hailed the god of fire While the gods of the moon and the sea whispered Over the fate of these strange bipeds Who keep bustling about their little world Yawning, the god of silence went to sleep and, dancing, the god of music drew near summoned by the sweet sounds, with uncertain step, The shy god of friendship asked to join in the rite And meanwhile fire frees the spirit and warms the heart A guitar by the light of the moon makes magic on a sleeping beach Euga! Euga! [1] Sing closer to me! And again Euga! Euga! Drinking a glass of wine, they all realised That only one was missing from the gathering It was love, the sweet, the strong It was love… When the witch-doctor raised its head He shouted words we didn’t understand Only then the fire got hotter And the voices got louder singing: “Hey, god of love, bring magic nectar for our mouths gather round the fire and tell us stories.” “Hey, god of love, bring magic nectar for our mouths Come here with us!” While the moon rose from the sea in shining blades love peeped out from the white rocks and cried “Euga! Euga” and everybody “Euga! Euga” And again “Euga! Euga” and everybody “Euga! Euga” Everyone answered and then they all laughed In chorus they answered and then they all laughed Euga! Euga... euga, euga, euga. and more euga! euga... and everybody euga, euga, euga.” [1] Literally “row!”, colloquially used when someone speaks too much to tell him: “Shut up and get on with it! Work!”. My friend and I use it rather as a cheer to mean: “Go on, show them who you are!”

L’amù e a forsa	(C.Baghino, M.Brai-M.Brai)

Love and strength wants to be a love song in the most general sense of the term and a reason (?) to change life "for the better and with wisdom", aware that human destiny depends on each one of us.
L’amù e a forsa Picchemmu du pé, battemmu insci’u sé, ommu, pòrlime, tucchime, e ch’a cruje du ben a piggie a me man, vuje cantime ‘na cansùn, ma ca pòrle d’amù, pe n’otta d’amù,d’amù. Pe chi n’ha bezeugnu e u sèrche a vaitè, p’a donna che t’eu, p’a to pe l’amigu cu t’è vijìn, e pe quellu cu l’è luntan pe n’uje, ‘na vuje, a cuè de stò chi cun ti. Zeuga cun mi a vive l’amù e u diau u l’è ligau e a chi nu ghe credde allùa fàggau vedde ch’a vitta a l’è düa ma ti a peu sarvò e ti l’è da sarvò che ti peu cun l’amù, l’amù p’a to tèra o pe quellu gattin, pe quellu tipu štrònu cu te šta lì vijìn. Ch’a cruje du bèn a piggie a me man, vuje cantime ‘na cansùn e ch’a cruje du bèn a guidde a me man, vuje cantime ‘na cansùn véa. A vitta a l’è fèta pe imparò a cunusce e dištingue u ben dau mò se ti dè, te vegne, se te vegne a va bèn se t’accianti velenu t’accheuggi serpenti e se u su u t’ašcòde a neutte a fa tremò. L’ommu u l’è cresciüu e u l’ha imparau a lessiun àua u vive ma s’u nu šcange u nu se peu sarvò e allùa zònu picca du pe e fatte sentì, dagghe forte, dìggau ti, crìau ben, vegiu picca du pé e fatte accapì ciü bèn, špieghigau anche ti. Zonu picca da man e fatte sentì dagghe forte, dìggau ti, crìau ben vegiu picca da man e fatt’accapì ciü bèn, spieghigau anche ti bèn ch’a rivolusiun a pòrte da ti tiu sè, ommu, primma mi e poi ti perche a rivulusiun ti a fè anche ti, éia, int’u bèn, cun rajiùn, àua. Se nu ti šte bèn l’è curpa anche to, tiu sè, ommu, sèrchime d’accapì e se nu ti šte bèn l’è curpa anche to fa quarcosa, primma mi e poi ti, àua. Ch’a vitta du sé ti a šcangi anche ti tiu sè, ommu, sèrchime d’accapì perche a vitta du sé ti a šcangi anche ti fa quarcosa, primma mi e poi ti, àua. Ch’a cruje du bèn a piggie a me man, bella vuje cantime ‘na cansùn, frè ch’a cruje du bèn a guidde a me man, bella vuje cantime ‘na cansùn véa. Dauvéa véa!	Love and strenght Lets' kick with our foot beat the sky Man, touch me and that the cross of righteousness take my hand Voice, sing me a song but one that talks of love, for once of love, of love. For he who needs it and searches for truth for the woman you want, your woman for the friend who's near you and for the one far away for a voice, a voice and the desire to be here with you. Play with me and live love and the devil is tied down and those who don't believe it show them that life is hard but you can save it and you have to save it because you can with love love for your land or for that little kitten for that strange guy who's near you. That the cross of righteousness take my hand Voice, sing me a song and that the cross of righteousness guide my hand Voice, sing me a true song Life is led to learn to tell good from evil if you give, it gives back if it gives back that's good if you sew poison you harvest snakes and if the sun warms you the night makes you tremble Man has grown and learnt the lesson He lives now, but if he doesn't change he can't be saved and so young man kick with your foot and make yourself heard give it good, tell them, shout it loud, old man kick with your foot and make yourself understood better explain it to them too Young man beat your hand and make yourself heard give it good, tell them, shout it loud old man beat your hand and make yourself understood better explain it to them well that the revolution starts with you you know, man first me and then you because you make the revolution too yes, for the better with wisdom now. explain it to them well that the revolution starts with you you know, man first me and then you because you make the revolution too yes, for the better with wisdom now. If you don't feel good it's your fault too you know, man try to understand me If you don't feel good it's your fault too do something first me and then you now. That the cross of righteousness take my hand beautiful voice, sing me a song brother that the cross of righteousness guide my hand beautiful voice, sing me a true song but truly true!

Dème a me roba	(S.Caputo -M. Brai)

"Give me back my stuff" is something you say when you want to pack it up and leave. This lyrics, written by Salvatore "Sasha" Caputo, a very close friend and companion at "casciandre", where some of the best songs from the early days of the Joe Over Band and onwards came about. The story of this song is about some sown-to-earth character, who is angry with his love and everything else besides and wants to free himself and fly round the bay over the sea. The text, written in pictures, is a little hermetic, but it finds its perfect expression in a six-beat blues, a genre that by nature expresses this king of grumbling.
Dème a me roba! (che me ne vagu...) Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba! Štrasse vegie e štreppellè sensa mancu ciü i pumelli che pe méttai int’a valìja fantasia nu me ne gh’eu. Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba! Che sun štancu de virò sensa mancu ‘na barracca cumme u buccu ch’ho ‘n ta štacca vegia, rutta e šcalcinò. Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba! Che sciü in ètu ho da jüò vijìn au su ch’u pò ciü bellu quande de ‘nsci ’a ciazza frešca a so morte ho d’ammiò. Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba! Ghe l’ho ditu au me amù cu me puàiva tüttu ‘n šchersu šguòrdi languidi e caresse da fò sulu a carlevò. Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba! Anche se mi sun da sulu quande e nüvie han d’arrivò sensa grilli int’u servellu e e me òie suvia u mò. Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba! Fratti, suore e cardinòli pe tegnìne armenu a galla cu’e filòrse a ligò sòli e nu pensò ch’a l’è ‘na balla. Dème a me roba! Dème a me roba!	Rendetemi le mie cose! (che me ne vado...) Give me my things back! Give me my things back! Old torn rags without any buttons left to put them in a suitcase you don't need much imagination. Give me my things back! Give me my things back! I'm tired of going round without even a country cottage like the hole I've got in my pocket all old and shabby and torn Give me my things back! Give me my things back! I must fly way up high near the sun that seems more beautiful when from a cool beach I watch it die. Give me my things back! Give me my things back! I told my love that it all seemed a joke languid gazes and caresses you should keep for carnival-time. Give me my things back! Give me my things back! Even if I'm on my own when the clouds come without whims in my brain and with my wings above the sea. Give me my things back! Give me my things back! Monks, nuns and cardinals to keep us at least afloat tie the floats so as not to think its' all a lie. Give me my things back! Give me my things back!

A tremuìssa	(M.Brai - M. Rocca)

A "tremmuizza" is a worm used for bait, and this is a cheerful and "naughty" song about a beach bum who spends all day on a rock fishing, but doesn't catch anything. However, we don't know whether with his worm he wants to catch a sea-bream or a little "German bream", sunbathing on the beach. This piece was composed using words with particular sounds, some of which aren't currently used very often, and it aims to fix them in people's minds again.
A tremuìssa Tüttu u giurnu int’a šcianasseua cu su cu te šciappe u servellu tüttu u giurnu int’a šcianasseua e nu se rašce ‘na rešca eh! Nu se rašce ‘na rešca eh! Ammìu l’ègua de tència pe sèrcò d’accapì cusse fan pe sèrcò d’accapì cusse fan lì dabbassu Ammiu i tucchi de pan ruddiggè e n’accapisciu perchè preferiscian n’accapisciu perchè preferiscian a tremuizza Tüttu u giurnu int’a šcianasseua cu su cu te šciappe u servellu tüttu u giurnu int’a šcianasseua e nu se rašce ‘na rešca eh! Nu se rašce ‘na rešca eh! Ho d’accattòmme ‘na bòrca pe puài anò int’u mezu du Frìu cu’i botti sun fissu a mezègua Ho d’accattòmme ‘na bòrca pe puài anò a Bobba nu ne possu ciü, d’avài i pè bagnè. A ‘na bella tremmuizza reusa, gh’ià ciucchièn ‘na bella murscellò! A ‘na bella tremmuizza reusa, ti tià cacci drèntu in guèntea. Au diè! Au diè! Au diè! Au diè! Na bella tremmuizza reusa ca sciorte, de’n’ta so cantabrün-a bèn inlescò int’i lammi da me canna neua, ‘na bella tremmuizza reusa, ca l’addènte u fèru, d’anòmene in ca cu’e oche appreuu, d’anòmene in ca cu’e oche appreuu!	The worm (The bait) All day long on a wide flat rock with the sun that addles your brain all day long on a wide flat rock and we can't even catch a fish-scale, eh! We can't even catch a fish-scale, eh! I look askance at the water to try and understand what they're doing to try and understand what they're doing under there I look at the pieces of nibbled bread and I can't understand why they prefer I can't understand why they prefer the worm All day long on a wide flat rock with the sun that addles your brain all day long on a wide flat rock and we can't even catch a fish-scale, eh! We can't even catch a fish-scale, eh! I must buy myself a boat so I can go right out into the Friu[1] with these boots the water is only ever knee-high I must buy myself a boat so I can go to the Bobba[2] I can't take anymore of having wet feet[3] A lovely pink worm, they would take a good bite! A lovely pink worm, they would wolf it down willingly I can well believe it! I can well believe it! A lovely pink worm that comes out of its shell[4] well-baited on the hooks of my new fishing line, a lovely pink worm that bites the hook, to go back home with the seagulls on my tail[5] to go back home with the seagulls on my tail [1] “Friu” is the channel that separates the Isle of St. Peter from Sardinia. [2] “La Bobba” is one of the most beautiful beaches on the island. [3] “Having wet feet” means “being in an uncomfortable situation”. [4] As well as a worm, the term “tremmuizza” means a marine creature similar to a flower which when disturbed withdraws into its shell tube anchored to the seabed. [5] As everybody knows, when a boat is followed by seagulls it is laden with fish.

Oh amigu mà	(M.Brai)

A man with an obvious existential crisis goes down to the seashore and speaks to the sea as if it were a friend. Central to the piece is the play on the tabarkin words "unda" (wave) and "und'a" (where, when the subject of the sentence is feminine).
Oh amigu mà Und’a l’è a me unda, und’a l’è a me unda, und’a l’è? Unda, a l’è a me unda, a l’è a me unda, und’a l’è? Oh amigu ma, und’a l’è a me unda? Und’a l’è? Oh amigu ma, que’u l’è u me amu? Que’u l’è? Oh amigu ma, und’a l’è a me unda, que’a l’è? Oh amigu ma, que’u l’è u me amu, und’u l’è? Unda, a l’è a me unda, a l’è a me unda, und’a l’è? Unda, a l’è a me unda, a l’è a me unda, und’a l’è?	Oh my friend the sea Where is my wave, where is my wave, where is it? Where is my wave, where is my wave, where is it? Oh, my fiend the sea, where is my wave, where is it? Oh, my fiend the sea, which is my love, which is it? Oh, my fiend the sea, where is my wave, which is it? Oh, my fiend the sea, where is my love, where is it? Where is my wave, where is my wave, where is it? Where is my wave, where is my wave, where is it?

U Cheuttu e u cruu	( C.Baghino - M Brai)

This song refers to an episode of Carlofortinian history when the Moors (the "Turks") sacked the town. The invaders got in thanks to the grassing of an islander from Capri who had lived on the island for some time before passing to the Muslims' side and changing his name to Mammeluch. He harboured bitter feelings towards the tabarkan islanders because he had been turned down by a woman and then mocked by the whole town. The legend tells of how, amidst the tears and chains, one of the houses was spared because the head of the family had killed a Moor and put his body across the doorstep, being aware of a Muslim superstition that forbade them from going into a house signed in this way. The man's wife, who was expecting a baby, was thus saved and after some time gave birth to a daughter who she called Liberata (liberated), paradoxically "daughter" of the gun that had killed. This story is used to underline the contradictions that a traditional do-gooders education can imply.
U cheuttu e u crüu Se te tuccan cun ‘na man, nu šta a fò u loccu che t’àu turnan a fò! Se te tuccan sulu cu’ in diu, piggia u baccu e dagghe u cheuttu e u crüu! Dije dije u babbu au figgieu, poi u va in géja a fòse cunfessò "Oh mamma mamma" - " Dimme figgieu" "Cuss’ho da fò sun prejuné" "Oh figgiu, figgiu" "Oh mamma, ma... ma cusse gh’è?" "Ma nu ti veddi šte cadèn-e? Ma nu ti veddi šte cadèn-e?" "Oh figgiu, figgiu" "Oh mamma, ma... ma cusse gh’è "Ma nu ti veddi šte cadèn-e? Ma nu ti veddi šte cadèn-e?" Ma quante sémmu tra donne e figgieu, che ’n te šta bòrca n’han càrregau, cumm’han attruvau u passu p’entrò? U l’è u furèštu cu i ha guidè! Pe ‘na donna c’u l’ha osciüu, pe ‘na donna c’a nu l’ha ösciüu pe quella dešgrassiò c’a s’è negò... Oh mamma, Mammeluch! L’arrive i Türchi! L’arrive i Türchi, Ne sun vegnüi a piggiò, oh mamma, e mi che curpa n’ho? oh mamma, e mi che curpa n’ho? Oh mamma, Mammeluch! L’arrive i Türchi! L’arrive i Türchi, Ne sun vegnüi a piggiò, oh mamma, e mi cuss’ho da fò? Oh mamma e mi cuss’ho da fò? E mi figgieu cusse te possu di, ho vištu muì ho vištu brüjò e mi figgieu cusse ghe possu fò, tutti i rišpòrmi n’han purtau via n’han purtau via... Oh mamma, Mammeluch! L’arrive i Türchi!... L’arrive i Türchi!... E poi, l’è nasciüa ‘na figgetta..., e poi l’è nasciüa Liberata figgia du šceuppu, cu l’ha šparau, e u l’ha ammassau ... e u l’ha ammassau. E pe chi nu cunusce a štoria, e pe chi n’ha accàpiu u dešcursu l’è cumme u babbu cu dije au figgiu, primma d’anò a fòse cunfessò: "Se te tuccan cun ‘na man, nu šta a fò u loccu che t’au tùrnan a fò! Se te tuccan sulu cu’ in diu, piggia u baccu e dagghe u cheuttu e u crüu! U cheuttu e u crüu, e dagghe u cheuttu e u crüu!"	Black and blue If they hit you with a hand don't be stupid , or they'll do it again! If they so much as lift a finger take a stick and beat them black and blue So says the father to the son, and then he goes to church and confession Mama, mama - tell me son What must I do, I'm a prisoner Oh, my son, my son Oh, mama… what's wrong But can't you see these chains? But can't you see these chains? Oh, my son, my son Oh, mama… what's wrong But can't you see these chains? But can't you see these chains? But how many of us are there, women and children loaded onto this boat? And how did they find the way to get in? It was the foreigner who guided them all for a woman he wanted for a woman who didn't want him for that poor woman who refused him... Oh mama, Mammeluch! The Turks are coming! The Turks are coming! They've come to take us away Oh mama, but what fault have I? Oh mama, but what fault have I? Oh mama, Mammeluch! The Turks are coming! The Turks are coming! They've come to take us away Oh mama, what can I do? Oh mama, what can I do? And I my son, what can I tell you I've seen the dying, I've seen the burning and I, my son, what can I do, They've taken away all our savings they've taken us away… Oh mama, Mammeluch! The Turks are coming! The Turks are coming! And then a baby was born and then Liberata was born daughter of the gun that fired and killed… and killed And for those who don't know this story and for those who haven't understood this tale it's like the father who says to the son before going to confess: If they hit you with a hand don't be stupid , or they'll do it again! If they so much as lift a finger take a stick and beat them black and blue! black and blue!, and beat them black and blue!
Listen to the music

*Briciole di terra*	(M.Brai)

This song aims to be an opening message from the dot on the geographical map that is Carloforte. Since ancient times Carloforte has been a no man's land, fleetingly host to flotillas from all over the world. In fact, the San Pietro channel has always offered shelter for those who fled from freak storms usually whipped up by the inclement North-western wind that blows along the western coast of Sardinia and Corsica, especially in the days when ships weren't floating cities! Even today, the island is home to the last lighthouse before Gibraltar on this part of the Mediterranean Sea. The nearest coast, apart from that of Sardinia, is the north-African one, only 135 miles away (about 250 km).To confirm this, I even took a compass and measured that Carloforte is the furthest point of Sardinia from the mainland. As well as this, in the region of the island that slopes down towards the south-west, in particular at the "Spalmatore", where my family has its vineyard, national radio is picked up very badly, whereas the signal from Spanish and Tunisian radios are strong. So as a teenager I would spend months and months tuned in to radio Tunisia out of simple curiosity. Even as an adult I can remember the harshness in those incomprehensible words spoken by people during the Gulf War, and I will never forget the wonder experienced upon hearing a nursery rhyme that we ourselves sang as children (iaccube be be, iaccube be be be be). The contact that exists between the peoples of these seas goes without saying and it extends beyond the political, religious and economic barriers that future generations must knock down without causing the disappearance of any of a people's individual characteristics. These are the themes of the following song, where the islands of the Mediterranean are pictured as crumbs of earth adrift off the continents, fallen into our "warm and strong, domineering and rich, generous and calm, ruthless and crystal-clear sea".
Briciole di terra Mare mare, ma ma ma mare mare mare, ma ma ma mare amare il mare....... Cosa posso se io son nato in una briciola d’Africa staccata dallo stesso pane con altre, e caduta proprio lì, in mezzo al mare, con diversi e strani mondi attorno che continuavano a spiaggiare ad ogni colpo di mare, ad ogni colpo di mare. E sempre il... Mare mare … E cosa ci posso fare se io son nato in una briciola d’Africa e la mia radio prende Radio Tunisi quasi meglio del canale nazionale. Cosi son curioso d’ascoltare cosa sentono dall’altra parte, cosa pulsa in quella parte, quel che vive dall’altra parte del mare. Sempre dal... Mare mare... E cosa posso se io son nato in una briciola d’Africa e la mia testa canta in nero antico e il mio cuore batte in africano: yeh eeh yeh wowo - yeh eeh yeh wowo. Ed ho il sale nelle ossa perchè son nato come un granchio, aggrappato a quegli scogli della logora banchina appena sopra il mare, a quattro palmi sul mare, un metro sopra il... Mare mare... E vien voglia di cantare di questo caldo e forte, prepotente e ricco, generoso e calmo, spietato e limpido mare	Crumbs of earth Sea, sea, sea, sea ... love the sea... What can I if I was born in a crumb of Africa broken from the same bread as others and fallen right here in the middle of the sea surrounded by strange and different worlds that keep on beaching with every blow of the sea with every blow of the sea. And still the... Sea, sea…. And what can I do if I was born in a crumb of Africa and my radio picks up Radio Tunisia better than the national station. So I'm curious to listen to what they hear on the other side, what pulses on that side what lives on the other side of the sea Still from the... Sea, sea…. And what can I if I was born in a crumb of Africa and my head sings in ancient black and my heart beats in African yeh eeh, yeh wowo - yeh eeh, yeh wowo And I've got salt in my bones because I was born like a crab gripping those rocks of the worn quay just above the sea a few spans off the sea a metre above the… Sea, sea… And I get a urge to sing of this warm and strong, domineering and rich, generous and calm, ruthless and crystal-clear sea.
Listen to the music
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