On Friday, Handy and I saw Alessandra Belloni & John La Barbera with I Giullari di Piazza at the Peter Norton Symphony Space in the upper west.  As soon as the band arrived, I thought I recognized John La Barbera from somewhere…

John la Barbera

He looked suspiciously like a younger guy at Curtiss’ birthday party I had met a few weeks ago, the night before the Harry Chapin Run Against Hunger (thus explaining my placing 61st in the race as I ran against hunger and a hangover).  This guy had made an impression: he had arrived, after I was well on my way to happiness, with an amped-up entourage of two significantly larger women, all smiling, sweaty, and possibly drunk.  Could this be the same person?  The inimitable Alessandra Belloni introduced him on stage as someone she had begun performing with 30 years ago in Greenwich Village, so it couldn’t be.

Without further ado, Alessandra Belloni began banging her Alessandra Belloni Signature REMO^TM Tambourine, and the ragtag ensemble of musicians began learning the songs.

Alessandra Belloni seems to be quite a character.  Despite her age and girth, she can dance the tarantella with the best of them, and although her demeanor lacks any sensuality as she furrows her brow and manhandles her oversized drum, you get the feeling that she is a three-breasted Awa commanding devotion from her rabble of musicians and dancers.

Three beautiful muscular Italian girls began prancing around on stage, with a tall gangly but graceful Italian guy as their male counterpart.  The movement was a mixture of traditional folk dance interspersed with segments of modern interpretive movement.

Antonio Fini

Caterina Rago

Greta Campo

Francesca Silvano

You see, the tarantella is a dance of trance-like exorcism in a traditional society, so it was only a matter of time until the girls began humping and flailing on the floor while Antonio Fini ran around with glow sticks in only his gold lamé underpants.

But I tell you, even that paled in comparison to the presence of Nando Citarella of Napoli.  As soon as he stepped up to the microphone in his white linen shirt and pants and bare feet, you knew you were in the presence of a master.

The southern Italian Ninna Nanna lullaby rivals even my own personal favorite Georgian Nina Nana lullaby in its sweet sounding nananess.  Nando Citarella does his own rendition in a living room in Napoli.