Ed Emery’s
Revolutionary Radio Show:
Episode 1
The title of
our concert at SOAS for Mayday 2010 was "Songs of Love and
Liberation". That is also the framework for my Revolutionary Radio Show on
OpenAir FM.
I spend my
time digitising the archive of revolutionary and political songs that I have
accumulated over the past 40-odd years, and in these radio programmes I mix
them with tracks that have moved me to happiness or sadness, to laughter or to
tears. I am glad to have this opportunity to share them with my friends,
comrades and family, and with you the listener.
This week's
episode has Italian and Irish, German and Greek, Uruguayan and South African.
You will hear Atahualpa Yupanqui, the Sogenanntes Linksradikales Blasorchester,
Giovanna Daffini, Abdullah Ibrahim, Maria Farandouri, A.Virgilio Savona, José
Alfonso, The Dubliners, Gil Scott-Heron and Robert Wyatt.
These songs
are the bearers of hope, historical, fiery dissent and revolution. I make my
radio programmes so that they are not lost to memory.
My intention
is to develop a critical discourse around these musics. For details of the
performers and composers, as well as critical annotations, I refer the listener
to the show's website [n.b. forthcoming]
Ed Emery
1 May 2010 Go
to Lyrics for Programme 1
Playlist for Programme
No. 1:
01. Duerme, negrito – Atahualpa Yupanqui – Campesino:
Duerme negrito – Le Chant du Monde – LDXS 4394 – n.d. [For lyrics see below]
02. Gedanken über die Rote Fahne – Sogenanntes Linksradikales
Blasorchester – “La Cosidetta Banda della Sinistra Rivoluzionaria” –
L'Orchestra – OLPS 55006 – n.d.
03. Bella Ciao – Giovanna Daffini – Bella
Ciao: Un programma di canzoni popolari italiane a cura di Roberto Leydi e
Filippo Crivelli – Dischi del sole 7926561 – 1989 [For lyrics see below]
04. Liberation dance – Abdullah Ibrahim – Anthem for the New Nations
– Denon Records – YX 7537 ND/S – 1978
05. To gelasto paidhi – Maria Farandouri – People’s Music:
The struggles of the Greek people – Broadside Records BRS 311 – 1970 [For lyrics see below]
06. Nella testa di Nicola – A. Virgilio Savona – È
lunga la strada – Dischi del Zodiaco VPA 8163 – 1972 [For lyrics see below]
07. Grandola Vila Morena – José Alfonso – Portogallo
25 Aprile – Dischi del Zodiaco VPA 8219 – 1971
08. MacAlpine's Fusiliers – The Dubliners –
The Dubliners Live – Polydor SPEMC 63 – 1974 [For lyrics see below]
09. Jose Campos Torres – Gil Scott-Heron – The Mind of Gil Scott-Heron
– Arista Records AL 8301 – 1978 [For lyrics see below]
10. Red Flag – Robert Wyatt – Nothing can stop us – Rough
Trade Records – Rough 35 – n.d. [For lyrics see below]
LYRICS AND NOTES ON SONGS
01. Duerme, negrito – Atahualpa Yupanqui – Le Chant du
Monde – LDXS 4394 – n.d.
Duerme, duerme negrito
Que tu mamá está en el campo
Negrito
Duerme, duerme negrito
Que tu mamá está en el campo
Negrito
Te va a traer codornices para tí
Te va a traer muchas cosas para tí
Te va a traer carne de cerdo para tí
Te va a traer muchas cosas para tí
Y si negro no se duerme
Viene diablo blanco
Y sale comen la patita
Yakapumba Yakapumba
Apumba Yakapumba Yakapumba Yakapumba
Duerme, duerme negrito
Que tu mamá está en el campo
Negrito
Duerme duerme negrito
Que tu mamá está en el campo
Negrito
Trabajando
Trabajando duramente
Trabajando, sí
Trabajando y no le pagan
Trabajando, sí
Trabajando y va cosiendo
Trabajando, sí
Trabajando y va de luto
Trabajando, sí
Pal negrito chiquitito
Trabajando, sí
Pal negrito chiquitito
Trabajando, sí
No le pagan, sí
Duramente, sí
Va cosiendo, sí
Va de luto, sí
Duerme duerme negrito
Que tu mamá está en el campo
Negrito
Duerme duerme negrito
Que tu mamá está en el campo
Negrito
Translation
Sleep, sleep
little black one
Your mama’s in the fields, little black one
Sleep, sleep little one
Your mama’s in the fields, little one
She’s going
to bring quail for you
She’s going to bring fresh fruit for you
She’s going to bring pork for you
She’s going to bring many things for you
And if the
little black one doesn’t go to sleep,
The white devil will come and – zap! – he’ll eat your little foot!
Sleep, sleep
little black one
Your mama’s in the fields, little one
She’s working
hard
Working, yes
Working, yes, and they don’t pay her
Working, yes, and she’s coughing
Working, yes, for her sweet little black one
Working, yes…
Sleep, sleep
little black one
Your mama’s in the fields, little black one
Little black one…
[Rough
English translation and notes from
http://fireflowerinsolitude.wordpress.com/2007/04/29/duerme-negrito/]
Notes
In this
lullaby composed by Atahualpa Yupanqui, one of the most popular Latin American composers
of the 1960’s and early 1970’s, the little black child is given impossible
promises and warned of dire consequences, while the sad plight of the sick,
hard-working mother is depicted in word and song. According to a translator
Carlos Lopez, Negrito literally means, “little black one,” or, in modern usage,
simply “darling” or “dear little one.” But other words in the text leave no
doubt about the setting of this “black” lullaby.
The
references to the brutal practice of cutting a person’s foot off to prevent
escape and to the sick mother working hard in the fields and not getting paid
can only be understood in terms of the dehumanizing conditions slaves endured
for centuries in many parts of the New World.
03. Bella Ciao – Giovanna Daffini – Dischi del
sole 7926561 – 1989
Una
mattina mi son' svegliato
O
bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao, ciao
Una
mattina mi son' svegliato
E ho
trovato l'invasore.
O
partigiano porta mi via
O
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao
O
partigiano porta mi via
Che mi
sento di morire.
E se
io muoio da partigiano
O
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao
E se
io muoio da partigiano
Tu mi
devi seppellir.
Mi
seppellire lassù in montagna
O
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao
Mi seppellire
lassù in montagna
Sotto
l'ombra d'un bel fior
E la
gente che passerà
O
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao
E le
genti che passeranno
Griderann’:
"O che bel fior".
È
questo il fiore del partigiano
O
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao
È
questo il fiore del partigiano
Morto per la libertà.
Notes
A song with a long history. Originally a
song of the workers in the rice fields of Northern Italy. The song has spread
worldwide to be taken up by resistance movements in many countries.
05. To gelasto paidhi – Maria Farandouri – “People’s Music: The
struggles of the Greek people” – Broadside Records BRS 311 – 1970
ΤΟ ΓΕΛΑΣΤΟ ΠΑΙΔΙ
Music / Lyrics: Mikis
Theodorakis / Brendan Behan
Gm Cm Gm
Ήταν πρωί
τ' Αυγούστου
κοντά στη
ροδαυγή,
D Gm
Βγήκα να
πάρω αγέρα
στην ανθισμένη
γή.
Cm
Gm
Βλέπω μια
κόρη κλαίγει,
σπαραχτικά
θρηνεί,
Gm D Gm
Σπάσε καρδιά
μου εχάθει το
γελαστό παιδί.
Gm Cm Dm
Είχεν αντριά
και θάρρος κι
αιώνια θα
θρηνώ,
Cm
D
Το
πηδηχτό του
βήμα το γέλιο
το γλυκό.
Gm Fm Cm
Ανάθεμα
την ώρα, κατάρα
τη στιγμή,
Cm D Gm
Σκοτώσαν
οι εχθροί μας
το γελαστό
παιδί.
Ώ, να 'ταν
σκοτωμένο στου
αρχηγού το
πλάϊ,
Και μόνον από
βόλι Εγγλέζου
να 'χε πάει.
Κι απ' απεργία
πείνας μέσα
στή φυλακή,
Θά 'ταν τιμή μου
πού ‘χασα το
γελαστό παιδί.
Βασιλικιά μου
αγάπη μ' αγάπη,
θά σέ κλαίω
Γιά το οτι
έκανες αιώνια
θα το λέω.
Γιατί όλους
τους εχθρούς
μας θά ξέκάνες
εσύ,
Δόξα τιμή στ'
αξέχαστο
γελαστό παιδί.
Transliteration
Itan proi t’Avgoustou konta sti rodhavgi,
Vgika na paro agera stin anthismeni gi.
Vlepo mia kori klaigei, sparachtika thrinei,
Spase kardhia mou echathi to gelasto paidhi.
Eichen andria kai tharros, kai aionia tha thrino
To pidhikto tou vima, to gelio to glyko.
Anathema tin ora, katara ti stigmi,
Skotosan I echthri mas to gelasto paidhi.
O, na ‘tan skotomeno stou archigou to plaï
Kai mon apo voli Englezou na ‘che paei.
Ki ap’ apergia peinas mesa sti fylaki,
Tha ‘tan timi mou pou ‘chasa to gelasto paidhi.
Vasilikia mou agapi, m’ agapi tha se klaigo,
Gia to oti ekanes aionia tha to
leo.
Yiati olous tous echthrous mas
tha xekanes esy,
Dhoxa timi st’ axechasto
gelasto paidhi.
Translation
It
was an August morning, at about dawn
I went out to take the air in the flowery earth
I see a girl who is sobbing and mourning -
"Break, my heart, for we have lost the laughing boy."
He had a manly courage and for all time I shall mourn
His dancing step and his sweet laugh
Ah, curse the time, damn that moment
When our enemies killed the laughing boy.
If only he had died at his leader's side
Or if he had been killed by a British bullet
Or if he had died from a hunger-strike in jail
It would have been an honour to have lost the laughing boy
My princely love, with love I shall weep for you
And what you have done I shall tell for all the ages.
Because you would have undone all our enemies.
Glory and honour to the unforgettable laughing boy
Notes on song
This song, written by Brendan Behan, comes
out of the Irish Republican movement. It was taken up by Mikis Theodorakis as
an anthem for the anti-fascist movement in Greece.
06. Nella testa di Nicola – Anton Virgilio Savona – È
lunga la strada – Dischi del Zodiaco VPA 8163 – 1972
Era di notte verso la
una,
se ne andavano lungo il
fiume
e discutendo, di tanto
in tanto
si fermavano sotto un
lume.
Guido parlava dei suoi
compagni
vittime della
repressione,
Mario parlava di
autodifesa,
di resistenza alla
provocazione.
“È una questione di
schieramento,”
disse Nicola alzando il
tono,
“Se tutti i gruppi
fossero uniti
il risultato sarebbe
buono.
L’autodifesa non serve a
niente,
cazzo, così deludiamo le
masse,
bisogna vincere il
settarismo,
portare avanti la lotta
di classe.
“Lotta di classe, lotta
di classe”
rispose Guido con voce
mesta,
“vedi il casino che sta
succedendo,
le masse guardano dalla
finestra.
Ci sono tanti vecchi
compagni
che ora diventano
opportunisti,
ci sono gli altri,
lasciali stare,
sono gruppetti
spontaneisti.
Disse Nicola: “Lotta
Continua”,
ma non l’avesse detto
mai!
“Ha una tematica
operaista,
e poi nel fondo cercano
guai.
“C’è il Manifesto!”
“Sono tre gatti, sono arrivisti.
“Servire
il Popolo?” Non ne parliamo!
Filocinesi un po’
folkloristi.
Mario si accende una
sigaretta
e Guido piscia in un un
tombino,
Ugo propone, dato
l’orario,
una pizzetta ed un
cappuccino.
Mentre Nicola resta a
fissare
l’acqua del fiume che
corre via
sente nell’aria il suono
lontano
di una sirena di
polizia.
E nella testa di Nicola
corrono immagini e
pensieri,
sente lo scoppio dei
candelotti,
vede gipponi e
carabinieri.
Vede compagni calpestati
e trascinati per i
capelli,
vede se stesso sotto una
selva
di caschi verdi e di
manganelli.
E nella testa di Nicola
corrono
immagini e pensieri,
vede gli scudi venire
avanti,
vede le facce dei
brigadieri.
Sente un odore acre
nell’aria,
in mezzo a un'orgia di
caroselli,
e abbandonata in mezzo a
un prato...
[parlato]vede la bara di
Saltarelli.
Google
translation :
In the
head of Nicola
by Anton Virgilio
Savona
It was night around one,
they went along the river
and discussing, from time to time
stopped under a
lamp.
Guido spoke of
his companions
victims of repression,
Mario spoke of self-defense,
of resistance to provocation.
"It's a matter of deployment,"
Nicola said, raising his voice,
"If all groups were united
the result would be good.
Self-defense is useless,
fuck, so we
disappoint the masses,
must overcome sectarianism,
carry on the class struggle.
"Class struggle, class
struggle"
Guido said with
sad voice,
"See the mess that is going on,
the masses look out
the window.
There are so many old friends
now become opportunists,
There are others, leave them alone,
are small groups spontaneity.
Nicola said: "Lotta
Continua"
but he had not ever
said!
"He's a working
man theme,
and then at the bottom seek trouble.
"There's Manifesto!"
"They’re just three cats, they’re
careerists.
"Serve the People?" We do
not talk!
Filocinesi a bit 'folklorists.
Mario lights
a cigarette
Guido and piss
in a manhole,
Ugo serves as the
time,
a small pizza and a cappuccino.
While Nicola remains
to set
the river water that runs off
hear the distant sound in the air
of a police siren.
And the head of Nicola
run images and thoughts,
feel the burst of
sticks,
sees jeeps and
police.
Sees companions walked
and dragged by the hair,
sees himself in a
forest
of green helmets and
batons.
And the head of Nicola
run
images and thoughts,
see the shields come
forward,
sees the faces of brigadiers.
He smells a smell in the air,
in the middle of an orgy of carousels,
and abandoned in the middle of a field...
[spoken] he sees the coffin of Saltarelli.
__________
07. Grandola Vila Morena – José Alfonso – Portogallo
25 Aprile – Dischi del Zodiaco VPA 8219 – 1971
Grândola, vila morena
Terra da fraternidade
O povo é quem mais ordena
Dentro de ti, ó cidade
Dentro de ti, ó cidade
O povo é quem mais ordena
Terra da fraternidade
Grândola, vila morena
Em cada esquina um amigo
Em cada rosto
igualdade
Grândola, vila morena
Terra da fraternidade
Terra da fraternidade
Grândola, vila morena
Em cada rosto
igualdade
O povo é quem mais ordena
À sombra duma azinheira
Que já não sabia a idade
Jurei ter por companheira
Grândola a tua vontade
Grândola a tua vontade
Jurei ter por companheira
À sombra duma azinheira
Que já não sabia a idade
_________
08. McAlpine's Fusiliers – The Dubliners – “The Dubliners Live” –
Polydor SPEMC 63 – 1974
C F
As down the glen
came McAlpine's men
C G7 C
With their shovels slung behind them,
C F
'Twas in the pub that they drank their sub
C F
And out in the spike you'll find them;
C F
They sweated blood and they washed down mud
C
F
With pints and quarts of beer
C
F
And now we're on
the road again
C
G7 C
With McAlpine's Fusiliers.
I stripped to the skin with Darky Finn
Way down on the Isle of Grain
With Horseface Toole, sure you knew the rule
No money if you stopped for rain
McAlpine's god is a well-filled hod
Your shoulders cut to bits and seared
And woe to he goes to look for tea
With McAlpine's Fusiliers
I remember the day that the Bear O'Shea
Fell into a concrete stair
What the Horseface said when he saw him dead
It wasn't what the rich call prayers
I'm a navvy short, was the one retort
That reached unto my ears
When the going is rough you must be tough
With McAlpine's Fusiliers
I've worked till the sweat it had me beat
With Russian, Czech, and Pole
On shuttering jams up in the hydro-dams
Or underneath the Thames in a hole
I've grafted hard and I've got my cards
And many a ganger's fist across my ears
If you pride your life don't join, by Christ!
With McAlpine's Fusiliers.
09. Jose Campos Torres – Gil Scott-Heron “The Mind of Gil Scott-Heron” –
Arista Records AL 8301 – 1978 [Lyrics]
I had
said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
I had confessed to myself all along, tracer of life, poetry trends
That awareness, consciousness, poems that screamed of pain and the origins of
pain and death had blanketed my tablets
And therefore, my friends, brothers, sisters, in-laws, outlaws, and besides
They already knew
But brother Torres, common ancient bloodline brother Torres is dead
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
I had said I wasn't going to write no more words down about people kicking us
when we're down, about racist dogs that attack us and drive us down, drag us
down and beat us down but the dogs are in the street
The dogs are alive and the terror in our hearts has scarcely diminished
It has scarcely brought us the comfort we suspected
The recognition of our terror and the screaming release of that recognition
has not removed the certainty of that knowledge, how could it
The dogs rabid foaming with the energy of their brutish ignorance
Stride the city streets like robot gunslingers
And spread death as night lamps flash crude reflections from gun butts and
police shields
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
But the battlefield has oozed away from the stilted debates of semantics
beyond the questionable flexibility of primal screaming
The reality of our city, jungle streets and their Gestapos
Has become an attack on home, life, family and philosophy, total
It is beyond the question of the advantages of didactic niggerism
The mother-fucking dogs are in the street
In Houston maybe someone said Mexicans were the new niggers
In LA maybe someone said Chicanos were the new niggers
In Frisco maybe someone said Orientals were the new niggers
Maybe in Philadelphia and North Carolina they decided they didn't need no new
niggers
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
But dogs are in the streets;
It's a
turn around world where things are all too quickly turned around
It was turned around so that right looked wrong;
It was
turned around so that up looked down
It was turned around so that those who marched in the streets with bibles and
signs of peace became enemies of the state and risk to national security
So that those who questioned the operations of those in authority on the
principles of justice, liberty, and equality became the vanguard of a communist
attack
It became so you couldn't call a spade a mother-fucking spade
Brother Torres is dead, the Wilmington ten are still incarcerated
Ed Davis, Ronald Reagan, James Hunt, and Frank Rizzo are still alive
And the dogs are in the mother-fucking street
I had said I wasn't going to write no more poems like this
I made a mistake.
__________
10. Red Flag – Robert Wyatt – Nothing can stop us – Rough
Trade Records – Rough 35 – n.d.
The people's flag is deepest red,
It
shrouded oft our martyred dead,
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their hearts' blood dyed its every fold.
Then raise the scarlet standard high. (chorus)
Within its shade we live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here.
Look round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise,
In
Moscow's vaults its hymns were sung
Chicago swells the surging throng.
It
waved above our infant might,
When all ahead seemed dark as night;
It
witnessed many a deed and vow,
We
must not change its colour now.
It
well recalls the triumphs past,
It
gives the hope of peace at last;
The banner bright, the symbol plain,
Of
human right and human gain.
It
suits today the weak and base,
Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place
To
cringe before the rich man's frown,
And haul the sacred emblem down.
With head uncovered swear we all
To
bear it onward till we fall;
Come dungeons dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our parting hymn