Motley Fairs

I love that stuff — the song at the end of the post. One of my early memories is hearing the Maryla Rodowicz song “Kolorowe Jarmarki” (Motley Fairs) on dad’s car radio in 1977 while driving past exactly such a market near Gdansk on vacation there. The song is in the tradition of farewell-to-summer odes that reverberate with larger nostalgia for one’s youth, like Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer.” The next time I heard “Motley Fairs” was at 32.

Rodowicz’s songs are on YouTube, except that one. I did, however, find a cover by a contemporary Ukrainian artist I am not familiar with, Diana Osipchuk.

Her version rocks it out, whereas Rodowicz’s original 1977 song has a “country carnival” sound. Osipchuk does a nice job. What also interests me, is the tangent on ethnic diversity.

Specifically, the diversity among similar peoples. A foreigner will not tell a Yank from a Reb, but every American can. Similarly, there is a difference between Poles and Ukrainians despite the fact that we’re similar in look, language, and culture. Mushroom foraging in forests, for example, is a beloved pastime of all Slavs. Every kid in Poland and Ukraine knows wild mushrooms by name and knows the difference between a prized delicacy and something that will kill you.

Poland has accepted many Ukrainian immigrants over the recent years. Not good, we are two different nations. We’ve done horrific things to each other. That’s the past and the guilty are dead. No more brother wars. Following the hard-fought Poland-Ukraine game in the 2016 World Cup, the players from the opposing sides customarily shook hands, but then swapped their jerseys in a gesture of fraternity.

Ukrainians too, have their internal divisions.

So here is the song. Things that strike me about the cover-version performance:

Polish being a foreign (albeit similar) language for her, she sings it with a heavy accent. Non-native speakers, even other Slavs, have difficulty enunciating the clear vowels and the crisp clusters of Polish consonants. Other than micronation dialects within Poland itself (Kashub, Silesian, Highlander), Slovak is the closest language to Polish. We communicate easily in our respective languages.

At 3:19, she adds an alternate refrain in Ukrainian. I wonder if others pick up on this up too: once in her native language, she vocalizes much more freely.

Anyhow, a high-energy, charming cover. Дуже добре!

Kolorowe Jarmarki (Motley Fairs)
1977 original, 2014 cover below

Kiedy patrzę hen za siebie / When I look far back 
W tamte lata co minęły / At those years that passed
Kiedy myślę co przegrałam / When I think of what I lost 
A co diabli wzięli / And what the devils took
Co straciłam z własnej woli / What I lost on purpose
A co przeciw sobie / Or gave up in spite of myself
Co wyliczę to wyliczę / Whatever I’ll count, I count
Ale zawsze wtedy powiem / But I’ll always say
Że najbardziej mi żal / That what I miss the most is…

Kolorowych jarmarków, blaszanych zegarków / Motley fairs, tin watches
Pierzastych kogucików, baloników na druciku / Feathery cockerels, balloons on a wire
Motyli drewnianych, koników bujanych / Wooden butterflies, rocking horses
Cukrowej waty i z piernika chaty / Cotton candy and a gingerbread house

Tyle spraw już mam za sobą / So many things are now in the past
Coraz bliżej jesień płowa / Ever closer the pale autumn
Już tak wiele przeszło obok / So much has passed me by
Już jest co żałować / So much to long after
Małym rzeczom zostajemy / To the little things we remain
W pamiętaniu wierni / Faithful in rememberance
Zamiast serca noszę chyba / Instead of a heart I think I bear
Odpustowy piernik / A church-feast gingerbread 
Bo najbardziej mi żal / Because what I miss the most is…

[Refrain x2]

[Alternate refrain in Ukrainian added in this cover version at 3:19]


Idle Thoughts On Italian Pop Songs

Someone posted on Gab:

Look how fast the Italians went full Mussolini shortly after a nignog murdered a single Italian whore. The Italian Tommy Robinson just went on a shooting spree and was hailed as a hero.

Rispettiamo Luca Traini

And another surmised:

It always starts with Italy, from the Renaissance to Mussolini. I can’t wait for what they’ll start next!




The next step is a strafing run on the boats.

I did visit Italy once, in 1997. As part of my Western European tour with a couple of friends, we traveled along France’s Mediterranean coast and Monaco up into Italy through Turin, stopping at an Alpine town Ivrea for the night.

On to the pop songs.

The musical duo Albano Carrissi and Romina Power frames my idle thoughts. Carissi’s mother named him Albano (stage name Al Bano) because at the time of his birth his father was fighting in Albania for the Italian army during World War II. Romina Power is American. The two were married from 1970 to 1999 and had four children. One of their daughters went missing in New Orleans in 1994 and is declared dead, an unsolved case.

 “Tu, soltanto tu.” This 1982  live performance captures their chemistry. He strikes me as an earthy guy whose short stature keeps him humble. She’s a coquette, with those smoldering glances at the camera. (Yes, I am aware of her role in Justine)

“Felicita” is their biggest hit, which they perform here. A good pop song is a drug and I’m high on this one. As with the previous song, they’re young here. She’s in her twenties, he’s eight years older. She’s the minx, he’s coming into his own.

Young love. This is when they were much younger. They both look like teenagers. The song is “Ti Amo,” its most famous version being by Umberto Tocci. The song’s intro:

Ti amo / I love you
un soldo (ti amo) in aria (ti amo) / a coin in mid-air
se viene testa vuol dire che basta / if it’s heads it’s over
lasciamoci (ti amo) in sogno (ti amo) / let it all have been a dream
in fondo un uomo / deep down I am not
che non ha freddo nel cuore / a cold-hearted man
nel letto comando io / I take charge in bed

ma tremo davanti al tuo seno / but I tremble at your breast
ti odio e ti amo / I hate you and love you

Nationalism is setting the stage for this generation of White kids to know young love, which is the desire to find a wholesome age-mate to build a future with. They will be chastened by what we failed to safe-keep for them. Their destiny is to take back what’s theirs.

The Arc of Life. Though divorced, Al Bano and Romina Power reunited in this 2018 medley of their best-known songs. It’s an uncanny thing, to see someone at 25 in one video and then as a septuagenarian. They sound good, neither has an old-person voice. The gorgeous young fans in the audience, most of whom weren’t even born during the duo’s heyday, sing along to their hits.

Italy, the birthplace of beauty.

The Tarantella is a southern Italian dance. Nice stuff! Sometimes an amateur performance is more fun than watching professional dancers. Guarda queste ragazze. A bit stiff at first, then they really get into the dance:

“You knew how to catch my hand”

Happy Father’s Day.

Two years ago I posted my translation of Zbigniew Herbert’s eulogy-poem “Thoughts About My Father.” The short poem is an arc that begins with the author’s earliest memories of his dad, on through the old man’s decline and death, and beyond to unfinished business.

Also that year, I also compiled father-son songs for the occasion.

How To Help Prevent Mudsharking is not only my all-time most-popular post, it is also a valuable guide for parents of small children that transcends its title.

I thought I’d make this a Father’s Day post for those of you who have girls. I don’t have any daughters so take my exhortation (lock her in an alcove, condition her to flinch when you chamber the backhand, limit her schooling to fifth grade and home crafts) with a grain of salt. Any words of experience from parents of girls?

My thoughts: she was created to submit to male authority. You have the “right of first refusal” as to the source of that authority. Raise her so that she goes to Heaven. She won’t get fat on your watch. Wife, nun, prostitute: choose one. Boys can learn from their mistakes, girls double-down on theirs. She is not the son you never had. Get a good son-in-law and grandchildren through her.

I was at a youth athletic event yesterday. A nine-year-old girl who participates in that league playfully flicked a much younger girl’s ear while walking past the back of her chair. The little girl, maybe three years old, turned around startled. Then her face lit up as she recognized the older one.

There is a time for cynicism, for world-weary facts and logic. But nothing we do would be worth our efforts if there weren’t something that’s higher than those things. I was, for a moment, amazed by the twin-burst of sunlight as the two golden-haired girls goofed with each other, pure joy in their eyes. I vicariously understood a father’s protectiveness for his daughter.

Varius Manx – “Ruchome Piaski” (Quicksand) – 1996

Ja – zamknięta szczelnie w swej skorupie  /  I – tightly shut inside my shell
Ja – powoli staram się zrozumieć  /  I – am slowly trying to understand
Czemu chroniłeś mnie  /  Why you protected me
Wiem, że ciągle próbowałeś pomóc  /  I know, that you always tried to help
Wiem, że miałam Twoje słowa za nic  /  I know, that I ignored your words
Wiem już – myliłam się  /  I know now – I was wrong

Teraz, gdy w ruchomych piaskach tonę  /  Now that I’m drowning in quicksand
I kiedy cała przeszłość przed oczami  /  And when the entire past is in front of my eyes
Rozumiem, rozumiem swój błąd  /  I understand, I understand my mistake
Lecz cofnąć się nie mam szans  /  But there is no possibility of going back
Kiedy ziemia niknie pod nogami  /  When the ground disappears beneath my feet
I gdy już wiem  /  And now that I know
że mogłam wszystko zmienić
  /  that I could have changed everything

Rozumiem, już rozumiem swój błąd  /  I understand, I now understand my mistake
Lecz za późno już…  /  But it’s too late now…

Ty – wiedziałeś, którą wybrać ścieżkę  /  You – knew which path to choose
Ty – umiałeś chwycić mnie za rękę  /  You – knew how to catch my hand
Kiedy spadałam w mrok  /  When I was falling into murk
Dziś brakuje mi Twej dobrej rady  /  Today I miss your good advice
Dziś nie umiem sobie z tym poradzić  /  Today I can’t manage any of this
Dzisiaj zapadam się  /  Today, I am crumbling


(Lyrics: Andrzej Ignatowski; music: Robert Janson)

It’s Okay To Be White (Music Video)

Artist Bryn Dolman has set the pro-White campaign to music, with a well done video. The song has a Brit New Wave feel, I quite like it.

It’s Okay To Be White” is not a demand or a plea, it’s subversion and an unlearning of anti-White conditioning. The campaign is unstoppable because you can’t deny those words without unmasking yourself as a reptile or in league with reptiles.

He’s Right About The Drummer

A shout-out to Peterike, who wrote this about the 1970s East Village band Blondie:

The secret weapon of Blondie, the band, has always been drummer Clem Burke. He’s terrific and doesn’t get enough credit when people have “best drummer” conversations. He’s really the perfect pop drummer.

See the video below. The guy defies the limits of human arm speed. And don’t miss Debbie Harry in good form. I’m awed by her vocals. She’s fresh and frisky in that 1979 performance.

Some of the great Rock drummers:

  • Neil Peart (Rush).
  • John Densmore (The Doors). He makes the mood on those epic-length “Riders on the Storm” and “The End.”
  • Nick Mason (Pink Floyd). The momentary percussion solos in “Hey, You” exemplify the improvisational jazzy feel.
  • Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters). An old friend of mine is a theoretical mathematician and a drummer. Last summer, he and I emptied a bottle of Jack while watching Foo Fighters’ videos on HD widescreen. Before the nectar kicked in, he made an impassioned case for Grohl’s greatness, illustrating his point with perfect air drumming to the songs while explicating the anatomy of the beat.

Atomic,” featured in a recent post, is my favorite Blondie song but the bright “Dreaming” is right behind it. Both songs have a transcendent moment. It’s not the bridge, which is traditionally when the song bends away from its verse-chorus structure. In both cases, it’s the chorus. In “Atomic,” she builds up to “Oh, your hair is beautiful.” In “Dreaming,” it’s the register-spike when she chants “Meet me! …” At that moment, the band’s drummer does something I’ve not seen before: he jumps up from his stool and headbangs while rapid-tempo drumming.

  • Clem Burke (Blondie).

Open thread

“Maybe In One Hundred Years”

This 1982 ballad by the band Budka Suflera is considered to be the greatest Polish rock song. Its title “Jolka, Jolka” (Julie, Julie) recalls the speaker’s youthful affair and is based on real events. The themes in the song:

  • The wildness of youth, the fading of feeling with age
  • The bottle
  • Austerity
  • The downside of petit-bourgeois aspirations
  • A foreshadowing of Merkel’s 2015 migrant invasion (sort of)
  • The scale of centuries, glimpsed during a solar eclipse

My English translation is line-by-line with the original so you can sing along. It’s easy, the pronunciation is mostly phonetic.


Jolka, Jolka, pamiętasz lato ze snu / Julie, Julie, do you remember that dream-summer
Gdy pisałaś: “tak mi źle  / When you used to write: “I’m miserable
Urwij się choćby zaraz, coś ze mną zrób / Come now, do something with me
Nie zostawiaj tu samej, o nie”  / Don’t leave me here alone, oh no.”

Żebrząc wciąż o benzynę, gnałem przez noc  / Begging for gas money, I raced through the night
Silnik rzęził ostatkiem sił  / The engine groaned with its last bit of strength
Aby być znowu w Tobie, śmiać się i kląć  / To be in you again, to laugh and to swear
Wszystko było tak proste w te dni  / Everything was so simple those days

Dziecko spało za ścianą, czujne jak ptak / The child slept in the other room, alert like a bird
Niechaj Bóg wyprostuje mu sny!  / May God sweeten his dreams!
Powiedziałaś, że nigdy, że nigdy aż tak  / You told me that never, ever since
słodkie były, jak krew Twoje łzy  / Were your tears so sweet like blood

Emigrowałem z objęć Twych nad ranem  / I emigrated from your arms by dawn

Dzień mnie wyganiał, nocą znów wracałem  / The day drove me out, by night I came back
Dane nam było, słońca zaćmienie  / Destiny gave us the eclipse of the sun
Następne będzie, może za sto lat  / The next one will happen, maybe in one hundred years

Plażą szły zakonnice, a słońce w dół  / On the beach walked the nuns, the sun going down
Wciąż spadało nie mogąc spaść  / It kept falling, unable to fall
Mąż tam w świecie za funtem, odkładał funt  / Your husband abroad saved every last Pound
Na Toyotę przepiękną, aż strach  / For a Toyota so beautiful, it hurts

Mąż Twój wielbił porządek i pełne szkło  / Your husband loved order and a full glass
Narzeczoną miał kiedyś, jak sen  / He once had a fiancée like a dream
Z autobusem Arabów zdradziła go  / With a bus full of Arabs she betrayed him
Nigdy nie był już sobą, o nie  / He was never himself again, oh no


W wielkiej żyliśmy wannie i rzadko tak  / We lived in a big tub and so rarely
Wypełzaliśmy na suchy ląd  / Did we crawl onto dry land
Czarodziejka gorzałka tańczyła w nas  / The witch from the bottle danced in us
Meta była o dwa kroki stąd  / The finish-line was two steps away

Nie wiem ciągle dlaczego zaczęło się tak  / I still don’t know why it started that way
Czemu zgasło – też nie wie nikt  / Why it faded – no one knows either
Są wciąż różne koło mnie, nie budzę się sam  / There are many with me, I don’t wake up alone
Ale nic nie jest proste w te dni  / But nothing is simple these days


Lyrics: Marek Dutkiewicz; music: Romuald Lipko

Open thread.


Ulysses and the Sirens, 1909 (oil on canvas)

Andre Rieu is a Dutch violinist and conductor of an orchestra that performs classical music and traditional songs on their world tours. Aside from the music itself, two things are remarkable about Rieu’s work: his style of conducting, which is a study in Alpha, and the fact that all of his musicians and dancers are White. That’s no little thing, when globalists hate hate hate the idea that somewhere, somehow, European culture (high and low) thrives, reminding them that they need us, we don’t need them.

Scottish Bagpipes, Amazing Grace. Your balls will grow bigger and one manly tear will roll down your cheek when the bagpipes crescendo.

Johann Strauss, The Blue Danube. Do these people know about Ebba Åkerlund, an 11-year-old Swedish girl who was cut in half by a foreign terrorist? I ask, because Rieu pulls all stops on creating a fantasy of 19th century Mitteleuropa Hochkultur with the dancers, and it’s magnificent. Europeans are traditionally class-conscious, with the reciprocity of noblesse oblige and loyalty. But the striving class was taught to despise their own workers, rather than stand in one-blood solidarity against the usurpers.

Traditional Spanish, La Paloma. I love Mexicans… in Mexico. Another price of DieVersity: the loss of amity for people of other cultures. This passionate union of musicians and audience will make you forget your ill-will for just a few minutes.

Traditional German, Rosamunde. Someone wrote a comment on this blog two years ago: “Well, I hope that Europeans will continue valuable cultural traditions like Bavarian or Irish dancing. But dancing in the USA nowadays is Africanized and consists of twerking, and not much else.”

Another person replied: “Yes, the Africanization of popular culture is acute. High culture by its nature is better equipped to resist negrification, but attempts will be made nonetheless.” To make his point, he posted a video of Seattle Symphony Orchestra performing Baby Got Back. I objected:

That’s not Africanization. That’s a Mexican donkey show. It’s funny like a shit joke; even those laughing are a little embarrassed.

You can’t Africanize White culture just like you can’t “giraffe’ize” a bison because as soon as you let go, people revert to norm. Just like conversely, you can try Europeanize Blacks, but as soon as you let go, they start humping each other in hallways (see Camlost’s comment [about black-run schools] above).

Here is an example of a high-culture / low culture mix that works — an orchestra plays a Bavarian polka-style folk song. People light up with their natural vibes.

The example I posted was a video of Andre Rieu performing “Rosamunde” with Volksmusik singer Heino, also linked above.

James Bond theme, Victory. Good-girl rule: show leg or cleavage, never both. What I said about Rieu being a study in Alpha: he’s clearly at home among beautiful women.

Georges Bizet’s “Habanera” from Carmen. It’s the famous scene with the Gypsy seductress warning men that love knows no laws —  so beware! The touchstone for that performance is Maria Callas in 1962.

Richard Clayderman, Ballade Pour Adeline. The composer wrote that piece for his newborn daughter and truly, the melody grabs you. I dated a chick in high school who’s now a dead-ringer for the pianist in this video.

Maurice Ravel’s Bolero is an epic composition and an apt choice for a grand finale.


Blessed with more appreciation than talent for music, I admire anyone who can open his mouth, push out air and doing so emit preternatural sounds, which are nothing like speech. For example after 0:40, when Debbie Harry channels the Sirens from The Odyssey:

Oh, your hair is beautiful.

Play that part over and over because here, she rivals the world’s greatest pop band, ABBA: