Picking Flowers #1

When I was little I wanted to play guitar.

When I learned to play the guitar I wondered how was it possible to write a song .

So it happened that , having coffee at the bar, I met a person who, with his football bag on his shoulder, changed my life forever , giving me the input I needed to transform the shapeless mass of information contained in my mind in chords, words and melodies.

When I learned how to write a song , I wondered how it was possible to convey emotions . And the answer is : you have to live them , they must be strong, but more importantly, SINCERITY  .

Growing up with my dad always active in the kitchen of the house, despite the enormous amount of work hanging on his shoulders outside the home , I discovered that cooking  is first and foremost love, then sincerity , then sacrifice , sociability , and finally taste .

So I decided to become a chef . I wanted to do good to people, and I did , but the energy is not created , moved . And so , for good , I ended up hurting me . I’ll never be a chef, I’ll always be just a good cook.

Then one day  people began to ask me a question : "But you , why do you want to be a chef ? " . So they asked me in Trieste, in New Zealand , in Australia , in Parma , Barolo and, finally, in Trieste again . Whenever I had to answer this question, the answer was complicating and became more and more confusing and abstract. The last time a good friend asked me this question the answer was: " I ​​don’t have a clue! But meanwhile, pass me the fuckin’  sauce or else all hell’ll breaks loose and we’ll end up ruining the reputation of the restaurant , they’ll eat us alive ! " .

I Love talking to people . I Love to look people in the eyes. I Love to feel the energy that brings people together in a single core , made of pure emotions ( not necessarily happy and carefree ) , vibrations and sincerity. I Love to play guitar , sing, talk , transmit and receive.

So it was that one day, thanks to the sudden news about the availability of a room in Berlin for 2 months, me and my sister , aka Galeb and the Seagull , we started the conquest of the unknown, the streets of Berlin ,the Seagull with her magnetism that sets it apart , her sweet voice , and her elegant poise of course , me with my creations, my red small guitar and a small battery powered  amplifier. It’s been 6 months of strong emotions, great discoveries , great friendships , great failures and great successes , as indeed were the 27 previous years.

But this time it was louder, or maybe I just grew up , but keeping the dream of flying .

I've spent the last 4 years changing life , continent, friendsand habits  every 6 months.

You do the math .

Now I'm tired. I'm tired of change , I'm tired of farewells ( hugs you receive from friends when you leave , with tears hidden in pride, hurt as the close of a python , I guess .. ) , I'm tired of starting again, reinventing myself and being misunderstood .

I plowed the ground , I fertilized with what I had , I never kept anything for me , because I believe that generosity is the thing that distinguishes man from machine , good from evil .

I have sown , where the soil was fertile , and where it was not. Now I know it is too soon to reap the benefits of this work, because as  teaches me as an old song , "to get the fruit we need a flower." And the flowers are beautiful, they are colorful , fragrant , tasty !

So I decided to record " Picking Flowers " . I sat in front of the microphone , Deko pressed REC , it was my time to pull off in an afternoon , all I knew about flowers , friendship , imagination , disappointment , love , hope and nostalgy .

" Picking Flowers " sounds like the streets of Berlin , the bars of Trieste, the hills of Piemonte , the Po Valley , some kitchens across the world, the New Zealand countryside , the Croatian sea, the streets of Melbourne etc. .. etc. ...

At that point, for me it’s been the beginning a new life. And who knows, maybe not just  for me .

That day I started to pick up flowers and I decided not to stop until I see the fruits .

Maybe one day I'll have enough fruits to eat well and be able to gain weight a few pounds ... that would be good for me!  Maybe I'll find the fruit in music. Maybe somewhere else .

" Picking Flowers " is the result of the work of many people , I did the smallest part, I took the emotions and stories, I filtered them  through my fingers and my vocal cords , and that's it .

 I’ll write about all those who have given life to tell this little chore ,

with the necessary calm , in the future posts .

TO BE CONTINUED ...

Galeb.

walls and eyebrows

Once I went to rest up in the mountains, by a friend, we had fun, relaxed, he has solved many things that had to be solved in those days and I was happy for him. I obviously was looking for myself as usual , trying to give a direction to my tormented existence . We have built a huge wall of snow that covered the entire ground floor from the street. Without a valid reason. It was a remarkable effort . Zen . Then, with the end of winter would melt . About  that wall I wrote a song , and then , months later, I found myself in a semi permanent position in front of the Berlin Wall , one of the most famous walls in the world, singing songs about freedom, peace , nature, youth, animals and walls .

I'm running , she pulls in behind . I am anxious, she possess the cosmic calm .

me- " hmmm .. "

her- " ? "

me-"no, you know, maybe , I thought, you could try to walk , just a little ' faster = D = D = D ... "

her- " Hmmmm ... " me- "No ... I mean .. that is .. "

her- " FUCK YOU ! "

me -"Sorry ."

I said that with patience I'm learning! Not that one can immediately reach lofty levels , so all of a sudden! Meanwhile , I think, I can say instead that it is easy to lose it. Patience .

Somehow, between me wishing some juice and her that doesn’t want to buy it, we get to the wall. We sit under the tree with our very poor supplies. Water and some sweet crap . Last cigarette . We  go to work . We speak about random things, the tasks in the assembly of the stage have been set for some time now. Everything is ready . She continues to try to wake up, three hours after actual awakening. I tune the inaccordabile guitar at 60 ° C in the sun. Sunglasses check .Harmonica check . capo and pick check, mics check. Let’s get up the curtains .

Everything is perfect , in front of us there was some people already sitting on the greass . Someone else passing, curious about the couple of us, stops and waits " patiently " ( ... still!) the beginning of our set. 

 We start our set  with " Day by Day " , perhaps I did not even warned her! Initial arpeggio right at 60 /70%, usual standard . Now we go on the refrain and convince them all out and buy the cd ! BAM ! I 'm singing the verse and the she is singing the refrain!! She looks at me. I look up at her. It is a moment that lasts an eternity, but it ends immediately . And then it's a mess. I fall ruinously on the first chord , and start over undecided on the choir . Now we must think only to recall the public. We are singing the right thing! I turn to her, and I see .. I see .. THE eyebrow coming out from the top of the sunglasses .

Some women tend lips , others pull their fingers ,  eats their nails,  some turn the neck around like angry dinosaurs . 

Some only raise an eyebrow .

It's a matter of style.

I believe .  

       

Galeb.                          

 LISTEN TO DAY BY DAY

 and stay tuned! new album , new video, new posts, new GIGS! Very,very soon!

 Galeb .

berlin busking (By Niccolò Curini)

Galeb and the colyflower leaves.

The market , which takes place twice a week on Maybachufer along the river in Neukölln , Berlin , is a beautiful situation. In my opinion, one of the best places for the encounter different cultures that coexist in this city. The stalls are spaced like : turkish selling fruit and vegetables, Chilean bracelets , Italian ravioli , Thai knives and fresh fruit juices … It is full of children , colors,  Turks screaming bitte bitte ein euro!!!!bitte!! bitte!! , even bored people who do not sell anything . There is everything .

Even today it is over! darkness falls on the pier between the market and the river , It’s  just me,  I leave my companion, the sound system, to the girl who sells cooked  apples, crumbles, cream and punch(try it if you pass thorugh the market, it worth! ) . I have to buy food for a dinner with friends.  I'm in a market ... Elementary Watson! I’m on the hunt. Looking for mushrooms but can not find them , try the rice and do not find it , some bergain for some horrible artichokes , vegetables  for the stock, herbs . I find the mushrooms , the boring ones ...

If you stand on the corner , at the entrance of the market, watching,  who’s going in and out, you’ll see people who do not stand out . You have to look for them. Some are very old, some less . Some of them are gypsies, others are not.                                                                                                                                As long as he doesn’t pull you a sleeve or  ask you if you have finished your drink , to have the empty bottle, you won’t  realize that that he’s just next to you. 

Often, however, they communicate a lot with their eyes, but you never know if it is the reflection of all the people whom they’ve asked for something that has stuck straight in their eyes, or an actual direct message to you .. Basically  I find them  nice, people pushing through with all their strength , to survive, life can be very tough for a penniless old man in a metropolis.

" Hello girl of the apples ! See you on Friday. " 

The time now is directed to find the rice with which I will use  for  the infamous “boring mushroom  and horrible artichokes risotto”(Sounds delitious!). In Berlin to find rice of the kind you need to make risotto is like looking for the romantic mood in the music of Korn ..      

Now I have not just guitar , trolley , rod and sack tied above , I also have three big bags of vegetables! It will be a long walk. I walk ten feet when, in  the shadow, I see two big eyes . And I see, in the dark , under a tree , an old man , super old perhaps , that want to give me , speaking in a German that, in my opinion, would not understand even a German, bags full of stuff. I look inside trying too see in the dark, there are cauliflower leaves . Many cauliflower leaves . Just the leaves. I give him 50 cents , thanking him , swearing  to myself even a little bit. I think of where tie the bag . I look like Santa Claus version pimp, with his gangster coat , a blue woolen cap , and 4 bags full of undefined things . At this point he insists to give me another  bag, and insists that I have to take it without giving him more money. He  Insists . Now I have five bags! I’m like a janitor that pulls the cart with all the garbage bags , of all classes of the school. I thank him we shake hands, he greets me and turns back to his dark corner. Under the tree.

I walk around for hours for Berlin messed up like this,  full of bags of vegetables.

Dinner with friends is a grat success.

And you do not even imagine the “cauliflower leaves soup” that has been boiling in the kitchen for a few hours  now…

I hope not to offend the carnivorous instinct of my flatmate , the rest is all health, Sustainable Health.

DON’T WASTE FOOD!!!

and Thanks for the leaves !              

Galeb .

Patience

Patience, in life it takes patience . If one has a goal, he needs a lot of patience to get there. If one does not have it , will need even more patience to wait for everything to finish. Every so often when I see a person, I understand the story of the goals , whether they’re there or not. Sometimes I don’t . If there is one thing in which I’ve been practicing a lot in Berlin is to have patience . You need to be patient for someone to wake up, you got to have patience when others do not walk at your own speed . Patience for public transport. Patiently wait for your turn to play at the markets . Patience for everything. Perhaps, before Berlin, I considered myself a patient person . Now I know I should learn.

There is this man who is always there, with his elbows resting on the basket of his bike , looking around. Every now and then he takes the bike , makes rounds, ranging from 10 minutes ,to just, around the square . The basket of his bike is actually one of those plastic crates for beer bottles , I think 12 bottles . He's big . But not fat , in fact. He is a big guy from East Germany, That is clear, that somehow remained to be related to the fact of the wall , freedom, and everything else. Or maybe he couldn’t care less about it! He's just there for the tourists.

In Germany , as a country , in some ways , civil , there is a refund for bottles of glass and plastic . In Berlin , the capital of the universal collective uncontrolled sometimes schizophrenic party , the collection of bottles is a big business. I think there are many families who take home a half salary in picked up bottles, found at the corners of every street . As a rule, here you leave your empty bottles resting on any counter / fire extinguisher / step / crashbum ! There is broken glass everywhere. Everywhere.

His face is definable strange , it's all red and it's full of strange bubbles. Maybe he's sick and can not move much, but that’s not how it appears to be . Then if you’re sick you shouldn’t eat currywurst and noodles,right?. Maybe yes . Every now and then he turns to me, when there was Gaia perhaps preferred to look at her, ... between the two of us…! turns, smiles and nods his head , occasionally raises his hands as if to applaud, making them fall just below his chin again. He looks around . Waits patient.

A group of kids come together at dawn , we’re at the east side gallery in Berlin. A place full of energy, of history, of vibrations. Maybe those are from the Yaam , the afro reggae club down the river ..that’s maybe where they are directed to . They drink beer and swear and lash out like only the drunk English know how to , pass next to a man standing , bent on his bike with his hands under his chin, waiting . One turns , indicates the man blaspheming something else in British and then see the man who is nearing it slowly. Open arms. Going to ... no. They give him three bottles . He thanks and turns around, leaving them to their blasphemies . To him English isn’t of any interest. His bin is full. Jumps on the bike. He'll be back in no more than 10 minutes. He is always there . Waiting. Patient.

I believe, this man, can officially say that it is my biggest FAN ! I think there is no one who has seen so many concerts of GalebandtheSeagull as he did. If you count that for the whole summer we were in front of him at least two or three times a week. We greeted each other maybe 5 times. The last time I gave him a disk with a bow, because I have problems with German .

I think he likes our music.

In his own way . maybe he doesn’t care at all.


But I think he proved us that. 

Galeb . 

I'm writing it down and I'm writing it all

" I'm writing it down and I'm writing it all” . I think and I rethink about this sentence for a long time, written along with Gaia, in a song that you will one day hear from her . "The coming home blues ."

But that is not true! What I write is not all! , It's never all, it is always only a very small part of a stream of thoughts , things and people and objects and verbs, conjunctions and accents that meet together to describe a situation , often in an incomplete manner . But this is right. We're talking about music, let’s then leave room for imagination , and leave open doubts. When you write a song  you finally create a path within the listener’s clues which will lead him in his own personal way !

This is because I have only written songs so far. And if I write something else? Perhaps , I could write down everything!

 Maybe I do not have anything to write.

Lately I have made a new friend , his name is Abas from Senegal WestAfrica or at least that's how he presents himself every time he plays at the flea market here in Berlin. We are many and during summertime we were even more. All friends, because we are there , we play . We know each other only this way, we’re there every Tuesday and Friday. But you know how the seasons go . People come and go. Abas is always there . Singing without a microphone . His voice is so powerful that it can be heard loud and clear for loads of meters IN THE MIDST OF A MARKET ! I imagine him with dreadlocks covered in snow singing: abc ! one- two-three ! With a huge white smile , and the children , covered with snow too, swinging in a state of tranc, occasionally falling or tumbling in front of Abas ! I have to laugh .
It's almost dawn , my eyes are open , the cold of the night whistles in a crack of the old window , I'm ready , I get dressed and go . Everything is ready to go to school .. I take a bottle of water from the table and slip out of the house. It's still dark. I run down the street to the right , then left, right for 5 minutes , I see a glow in front of me between the houses , there’s 2 more to pass.. I walk past them, in front of me there is a hill , and behind .. .. .. I run out , risk to kill myself in more than one jump. I’m on top . I've done it ! I found the day ! The light ! The Dawn! Before the others ! My grandfather , like grandparents always do, taught me that "in life one can do anything, just got to believe it ." But then, I’m not really a fan of dawns . The dawn is just one of the elements that help me to purify this moment, as the silence , the absence of wind. I clap my hands. The echo is overwhelming , I feel the valley that creates complex rhythms delaying the sound of my hands from one corner to another like a volleyball game . This is my magical place. I'm on a sheer drop of hundreds of meters , which acts as a springboard to the sound of my hands , tossing it into a kind of natural colosseum . Here I’m a Lion. I’m Spirit . Breathe in, breathe out , I look at a peak, slowly coming out of my throat is a thin wheep , low, soft . Push forward, more and more. I see the way to go , I take it , it’s the right one , the melody begins to come out of my voice. I’m singing ! When I sing I am a warrior , as my only weapon the sound of your voice . I do it every morning, I come here , and I practice . When I’ll grow up , people will come to hear me sing the songs that I have been taught by the mountains.
Abas sings songs in a Senegal dialect, and now claims to have one in German ... but why not!! It is a year and a half that he plays regularly at the market. twice a week. When he 's up, any weather situation turns into Africa , and us, that fortunate to see him play, we feed ourselves with the energy of the land of lions and diamonds.

Every so often, during a moment of some of his songs ,

while he’s singing in front of 100 people or maybe 5, 

I guess I saw ,in his eyes, the reflection of the valley. 

Galeb .