SONGS OF YESTERYEAR

If you walked down the stairs to my grandmother’s ‘cellar’, you would find among the bottled homemade wine and jarred tomato sauce a Victrola, a record player at its earliest of times. The one in the picture is similar to a degree but Grandma’s had slots and slats like on a Venetian blind but running vertically instead of horizontal. In the slats on one side, you would find a recording or two of Enrico Caruso or maybe some Italian opera, a more modern Mario Lanza always the mainstay of Italian music lovers, resting among Grandma’s collection. On the other side of the Victrola for the music, slats to freely flow out the sound.

I remember it also had a picture of a dog, looking into the grammar phone on the label with the words, “His Master’s Voice”. I recently saw one in an old photo on the Internet and it got me to thinking about Italian music in this country, and the stars of the past that made America sing or just revel as they listened.

Of course, Caruso and then Lanza https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQz1McBv0fw

both recognized as a great vocalist who dominated the field of music, but after came a long line of crooners and vocalists that built the recording world up.

There are many present-day and past performers such as baritone Leo Nucci, Soprano Licia Albanese, the great tenor Lorenzo Salvi, the unforgettable tenor, Luciano Pavarotti, and the legendary Luigi Lablache for all of opera, plus the great Andre Botticelli.

Then the Italian immigrants gave us the likes of the great Sinatra and Perry Como, Dean Martin, Jerry Vale, and Julius La Rosa. Italy gave us Pinza, and Lou Monte, to name a few more.

All these voices originate at least in part from the center of the universe, La bella cuore del mondo, Italia.

They sang of fishermen and dockworkers, bakers and farmers and life and love, adventure and food, and they awakened the senses and made us laugh with Pepino the little mouse, or interpreted the true words of George Washington when he crossed the Delaware River. The perfect woman, Angelina, just ask Louie Prima, and Mama, yes, beautiful Mama by Connie Frances, a tearful rendition of the love of the past, as she sang for all of us as we listen on Mother’s day and pined once more as we await to see again in Heaven.

But when I listened, I never realized that what I was listening to was the heart, la bella cuore of Italy and her sons and daughters, giving life to the world in song. It made me appreciate the gayness of her food, the joy of a tarantella or the sounds of the mandolino as it plucked and strummed the heart and soul of our people, Americans first and infused with la bella cuore del mondo, Italia.