MGM MICHEL - CREOLA - Tribute to Nae Leonard and Luigi Miaglia Ripp (cover) скачать в хорошем качестве

MGM MICHEL - CREOLA - Tribute to Nae Leonard and Luigi Miaglia Ripp (cover)

Another song inherited from my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother, this one was performed in the 1920s by the artist then known as the “Prince of Operetta”, Nicolae Leonard, whom all three women admired immensely. #operetta #tango #habanera #romanianmusic #vintagemusic My mother often sang this song during my childhood, in its Romanian-language version. The composer was Luigi Miaglia, an Italian born in Turin, who signed his works under the pseudonym Ripp. I was reminded of Leonard’s version while visiting one of Bucharest’s most famous cemeteries, the Artists’ Cemetery, where I was filming a documentary about a writer who had been in love with the great national artist Maria Tănase. After finishing the shoot, I continued to walk through the cemetery, passing like a silent spectator by the tombs of the Nottara, Bulandra, and C. Tănase families—names that still lend their prestige to the oldest and most active theaters in Bucharest. Tired, toward evening, I noticed a romantic wrought-iron bench placed in a small clearing, in front of a massive wild rose bush. I sat down, and suddenly a gust of wind tore off a branch that scratched my cheek. Turning instinctively toward the bush, I saw, in the space opened by the broken branch, the face of a very handsome man, gazing melancholically at the moon. The image was fixed onto a modest marble cross bearing the inscription: Nicolae Leonard – Prince of Operetta. At that very moment, the opening lines of the song rushed into my memory: “In holy twilight, when you intoxicate me with sweet words, Creola.” Some time has passed since then, and I felt it would be right for this version of the song to return to people’s memory, in my mind with the advice I received from my mother "Let the music fly!" ... so, this restoration resulted. The Romanian lyrics from Leonard’s original recording are difficult to transcribe. In several places there are uncertainties—words such as didina versus divina, the former being an archaic term used to describe a mistress or secret lover, or smaragda versus smarald, the older form of the word “emerald,” used around the early 1800s. These expressions have long since disappeared from everyday language. Luigi Miaglia, known as Ripp, was a prominent figure in the Italian music scene of the 1920s, a prolific composer of musical comedies and revue theater. While his real name is less familiar today, his legacy lives on through the tango Creola, one of the strongest musical links between Italy and the rest of Europe of that era. The pseudonym “Ripp” was deliberately short and modern, reflecting the cosmopolitan spirit of the Roaring Twenties. Miaglia collaborated with major artists of his time and wrote several successful stage works, including Il passo del cammello and Nel paese dei Zulù. He dedicated Creola to the celebrated Italian dancer and actress Isa Bluette, one of the biggest revue stars of the period. His melodies possessed a special magnetism and were translated and adapted into many languages; for example, in Poland the song appeared in 1929 under the title Wspomnij mnie (“Remember Me”). Creola was launched in 1926 by Daniele Serra and became extremely popular during the fascist period, particularly in Isa Bluette’s interpretation, which had inspired the composer himself. The opening motif subtly recalls the allegro from Father Antonio Soler’s Six Double Concertos. The song enjoyed renewed popularity in the 1950s and 1960s, through the interpretations of artists such as Nilla Pizzi, Milva, Achille Togliani, Claudio Villa, and Gigliola Cinquetti. At the time of its creation, Europe was fascinated by the “exoticism” of Latin America. The Italian lyrics evoke a “Creole” woman with a dusky aura, the languor of Havana, and torrid passions reminiscent of Ecuador. It was a cabaret song—sensual, suggestive, and almost forbidden in its allusions. When the song reached Romania, however, it was not merely translated. The Romanian public, shaped by the refinement of operetta (a phenomenon that had been strong since around 1850), demanded more than a simple exotic narrative about “the women of Havana.” Although the name of the Romanian lyricist is uncertain—often performers themselves or close collaborators adapted such texts, possibly Ion Pribeagu—Leonard’s version effectively “cleansed” the song of its raw sensuality. Well, Nae Leonard ... He was a "hard" smoker and coffee drinker. He coughed but believed that the cigarettes were to blame. At that time, he was hired to perform in France. He had frequent fevers, and during a performance, he collapsed on stage. Only then did he agree to be consulted by a doctor and would learn that he was suffering from tuberculosis. Sick and poor, because he could not afford hospitalization in a sanatorium, Leonard retired to Câmpulung. There he would die, one December evening in 1928, looking out the window while listening to "Countess Maritza" on the gramophone. He was only 42 years old.