FRIENDS

LIVING ON AN ISLAND TO FEEL NOT ISOLATED

In 1994, when our house was almost ready, our summer stays on the island started becoming longer.

Our practical, philosophical and existential choice of reducing to the utmost the needs we had to fulfill with money – and consequently of reshaping our sources of income to have more time for ourselves – twenty year ago was still a viable option.

As every “dream” needing to become a real project it certainly required discernment and determination, but it was still much more possible back then, at least from a general perspective, than it would be today.

From that moment on, an uninterrupted flow of friends, relatives, new and casual acquaintances who in time would become lasting relationships, started populating our summer holidays. And those days, as if by magic, seemed to get longer without never coming to an end. One, two, three weeks; other people arrived and left, while we stayed there.

The summer had still to come when we opened the house putting new flowers in the terraces and in the small courtyard; and when we packed our bags some weeks after our last guests had left, we could already smell autumn, the fireplace lit to warm the already cold evenings.

Our house is like a sort of “land harbour” open and curious, always ready for the adventure of a new encounter. The soundtrack of most of the summer has been the familiar creaking of the back gate of our courtyard and many human voices talking in a mix of European languages.

[...] one of these typical situations could start with a French voice calling out from the ground floor towards the windows of our upper floors. While I put on comfortable walking shoes and tie a jumper around my waist to protect myself from the air that will become damper with the dark, the guests make themselves at home sitting on the stone bench in the patio. On such an evening they could be friends from Italy, France or the Geneva canton of Switzerland. There are adults, teenagers and kids, and each group comes to the village for different reasons. They may come by chance but, because of the ease of conversation with which we talk to strangers, often everyone gathers under our roof. (Gioia R. Maestro, Magic corners of Corfu, The Messis Region, Corfu, sett. 2013 –mm -) Leaving a European metropolis to move in a small rural village was a striking experience for us.

Time started losing his quantitative nature to conquer back a qualitative aspect. Life changed, passing from the quickness and monadic anonymity typical of great cities to the quiet rhythms of the countryside, where community sharing is central and pivotal.

Births, deaths, marriages, civic and religious feasts, as well as dangerous natural events such as fires, sea-storms or landslides, much more visible and perceivable in a place less urbanised and more exposed. E ancora le celebrazioni, le ricorrenze di cui è punteggiato l’anno solare e che marcano il passaggio delle stagioni o le iniziative e gli eventi a carattere culturale promossi dai comitati locali: tutto, in un piccolo paese, a maggior ragione se collocato su un’isola del Mediterraneo di dimensioni relativamente ridotte, viene vissuto coralmente; il gossip di giornali e tv è sostituito dalle chiacchiere del foro, centro fisico e spirituale della vita dei residenti.

Qui si costruisce giorno per giorno una fitta aneddotica che riguarda persone e cose che tutti conoscono e in cui tutti possono riconoscersi. An Englishman who had been living there for a long time once told me that a way to know if you’ve been accepted as a member of the community is being given a nickname (in Greek parazukli), meaning that something related to you struck the collective imagination, becoming a sort of social identity through which everyone can recognise and accept you. Obviously, Raul had gained his parazukli which, as it often happens, was linked to a comic event that happened to him.

We never had owned a car, nor had we got a driver’s licence before moving to Corfu. However, when we left Milan, a city with a very good public transportation, to come living in a place where you can’t move without a car, Raul decided to get a driver licence. Even though he was fifty, he did well (as for everything he decided to do), brilliantly passing the exam, especially theory. As for the driving part, he had to... drive, just like everyone else. So after buying a FIAT Uno in the winter of 2000, the following year we went from Milan to Puglia in this way: I travelled by train with our little dog Martina (I was scared to death of making such a long trip by car with an inexperienced driver), while Raul, our dog Caruso, the luggage and a sympathetic friend went by car. We met in Foggia, where our friend left us and I went on to Brindisi by car together with Raul.

We finally reached Corfu by ship, somehow arriving to our village, where Raul made a grand entrance. The people standing at the entrance of the supermarket, apothecary and tavern witnessed with astonishment to his braking, looking at the car crashing into the big flower box full of geraniums that the tavern keeper had placed near his tables in the square next to the parking

Everyone burst into laughter, and since that day for a long time Raul was called by everyone “O Fittipaldi”. Raul and Lakis, the innkeeper, have been good friends since the first time we came in the village, at the end of the ‘80s, when he started working as a publican. One of their most funny adventures took place one night, when they went fishing on a cliff near Kontogyalos, a beautiful beach a few kilometres from Synarades.

They reached the place on Lakis’ shabby motor-scooter with all the fishing gear and a box full of beers unsteadily fastened to the back, coming back empty-handed and completely drunk around 5 in the morning. Worried and angry, I refused to let Raul in, and he was forced to disassemble the mosquito net, slip in through the window of the sleeping room overlooking the garden and throw himself, completely dazed, on the guests’ bed.

We made peace a few hours later, when after recovering from his hangover Raul mad me laugh telling the best part of his adventure. Left motionless on a rock with his fishing rod in a hand while his partner jumped on the rocks preparing the baits, after about an hour Raul realised that he was not alone: next to him there was a huge rat, immobile and vainly waiting, just like Lakis and him, for something to take the bait. Adorned with its funny ending of a night slept out of home, the tale spread quickly across the village, and during the following Carnival Raul dressed up as an “Atikhos psaras’”, the unlucky fisherman.

The family was full of animals

The title of this paragraph is inspired by the nice book of the English naturalist Gerald Durrel, who lived on the island of Corfu in the ‘30s, when he was a young boy, before the outburst of the II World War (My Family and Other Animals, published by Rupert Hart-Davis Ltd). The Durrells, Gerald and his older brother Lawrence, have left a deep sign in Corfu, and the memory of their days on the island is cherished not only by the large British community, but also by the local dwellers and by many “adopted” Corfiots.

Raul loved animals, and had lived with cats and dogs since he was a child. A long story full of interest, dedication and care, culminated in his last album, entirely dedicated to this special group of friends. To Raul, animals were the last, the most vulnerable, those who can’t speak for themselves and have no rights. To them he dedicated the attention he thought they deserved, which took the form of small acts of help and commitment. During many years, dozens of kittens have been fed, looked after and taken care of in our house; Raul played in concerts dedicated to fundraising for ARK, the local branch of the international association for the protection of animals, and helped organising the “donkey rescue”, a shelter run by an English lady in the northern part of the island where little donkeys grown old can take refuge after a life of work, instead of becoming meat for circus’ lions.

In “Beyond –necromantics- IN AENIGMATE”, the second album of Raul’s trilogy, the last song, “Psycopomp lullaby”, is dedicated to our dog Caruso, died in September 2010. Martina, Caruso’s mother, had passed away the previous year, after living with us for almost sixteen years. It’s a sad and sweet lullaby, and in the acknowledgements section, together with those addressed to all the human beings that in many different ways helped him in the making of the album, Raul added this one “ Special thanks to Martina and Caruso for the inspiration and joy they gave me”.

After completing “Failed expectations”, third album of the trilogy and “Cooking Friends”, a homage to the friends he played with, around June 2012 Raul started planning and working on the songs of MINIMANIMALIA, a double CD entirely dedicated to animals. Unfortunately his illness got much worse and the work remained unfinished. However, he left a lot of material that will be gathered, organised and published in a box set containing one CD and a booklet. When the work will be ready, it will be advertised on the website, and those interested will be able to buy it. The box set will be launched and distributed in partnership with local and international animal rights organisations. As always, the versatile artist (with the generous help of his friends musicians, graphics, poets, scholars, sound and IT experts, etc) took care of everything: lyrics, illustrations, musics and arrangements. Dedication, skills and creativity made up for the objective lack of technical means available.

Sharing his project and collaborating with others was a great joy for Raul. Being by his side wasn’t easy, as he was fussy, a perfectionist pretending from other people the same commitment. We never had much money at our disposal, but the richness of human and professional relationships allowed us to rediscover the pleasure of free exchange. Le commosse parole di chi ha avuto il privilegio di lavorare con Raul testimoniano quanto preziosa sia stata per tutti questa esperienza.

The touching words of those who had the privilege to work with Raul witness how precious this experience has been for everyone.

In AENIGMATE: The Composer as Psychopomp

Raul Scacchi was one of the most talented and creative people I have ever met.

He was an original artist, a painter, an innovative composer (he could create all the sounds of an orchestra on his computer), an arranger, a lyric-writer, a multi-skilled and versatile musician, guitarist (bass and Fender six-string), an ideas-man, a philosopher, ecologist, an animal- and nature-lover, a cook and generous host, a humorist and joker, a radical thinker and social egalitarian, a handyman, a perfectionist, above all a tolerant, patient, optimistic, warm-hearted and inspiring friend. I feel fortunate that I knew him, and that I knew him for eight years.

Although he died in Pisa on the evening of June 9th, 2014, his spirit and influence live on. I listened to his songs and music on my iPod in Bermuda as soon as I woke up on Christmas Day.

Raul and Gioia moved to Sinarades, Corfu, in May 2001. I first met them in November 2005 (a year after I moved back to Corfu). I date our first encounter to a Christmas arts and craft fair in Dassia, where Raul had copies of his CD "Emails to Emily" available. Raul and Gioia had moved to Corfu soon after the beginning of the new millennium, full of optimism and creative energy. They made a perfect partnership.

I collaborated closely with Raul on the album "Neuromantics", contributing some of the lyrics or ideas for lyrics. We had some tremendous laughs and discussions in the process of working on the songs. I continued to give modest editorial and linguistic assistance on many of his English song lyrics for later projects. Raul also did me the honour of arranging a number of my own songs, setting my lyrics to some imaginative and adventurous music.

We collaborated effectively. He once recorded a special CD for some of his musical friends. He included three tracks, arrangements of songs I had written: he called it "Cooking Friends" - rather better than the draft title, "Cooking Potts", above an image of me being boiled alive in a cauldron!

Maria and I frequently went to their home in Sinarades, and I often took my guitar up the stairs to Raul's recording studio for rehearsals and demo recordings. Raul also played with me at a number of jams and gigs on Corfu.

From Homer and Petrarch to Emily Dickinson, Raul wore his learning lightly; from Verdi to The Beatles and the Blues, he loved all kinds of music. Raul, originally from Milan, had classical training and for ten years played professionally in many rock and pop music line-ups.

I have never stopped listening to his wonderful music and songs. Raul had much, much more to offer the world, in the fields of visual arts as well as in music. His friends miss him more than words can tell.

Nature, though cruel, was his force of redemption; music and animals, his great consolation, right until the end of his life.

Less than a month before he died, on 14 May, Raul wrote to me in an email:
"For the time being I can't think of anything musical at all. But I listen to music a lot, especially requiems (Fauré's is one of my favourites), Mahler's symphonies and Stravinski's Rite of Spring (my favourite of all time)..."

A parte il suo amore per la musica gli era di conforto pensare che c’erano persone che si prendevano cura degli animali e della natura in generale e che sentivano in merito, un senso di responsabilità, anche se sono una minoranza. Raul ha lasciato a tutti noi, specialmente alle giovani generazioni, una grande eredità artistica e musicale, ricca di idee e principi. Lui può essere ancora la nostra guida, il nostro “Psicopompo”, noi glielo dobbiamo.

Summer 2018: Four years since Raul’s passing and three since the inauguration of the site dedicated to him, memories and images of his life as an artist are always alive in those who knew, appreciated and loved him.

This year, when the world marks the fiftieth anniversary of 1968 and its revolutionary ferment, the site has been enriched with a new testimony from a friend from long ago: Gian Luigi Radaelli, who Raul knew when they were young men back in 1967-1968.

A heartfelt ‘thank you’ to him for having sent such a vivid and fresh memory (despite the half century since it happened) and of course to my friend Dick Newman for the affection, patience and time generously given to an English language translation. "

1968-2018
Gian Luigi Radaelli

I got to know Raul back at the end of the 60s/ early 70s when he was a quiet young man, playing guitar, familiar with all the local bands, and trying to put one together with his friends. For me it was a brief friendship, but very important since it also saved my life.
These are the notes I made of the time for my life story (which I doubt will ever get published!):

cap. 4-1967/68, attempts to do away with myself, big changes, world moving to a new beat, leaving home, being fifteen, first car, important friendships, psychedelic experiences, living in an attic and psychological problems, falling in love one after another (1967), militant anarchy, first trips, congress of Carrara, mass movements, demonstrations, being stopped and beaten, living intensely with girls but still a virgin, emotional crisis, Raul (1968)......p. 145

By November ’68 I’d become closer to Raul, a few years younger than me, playing the guitar, with long black hair, and a way of bringing calmness and sensitivity. Every time he came to Sara's house, he would play with the cats, which he liked a lot, and he also had a puppy and a kitten. He had not long lost his father, and sometimes his sad gaze made me wonder what kind of relationship had existed between them, unlike the increasingly difficult one between me and my parent.

With him, quite quickly I reached a level of confidence to tell him all about my emotional problems, and we often ended up looking for consolation in music, all types of which he knew everything about, including the musicians. He occasionally played bass in a band that was coming together. He often came to see me at home and if Sara was not there, he brought a bottle of liquor, usually whisky, to drown our troubles, and so we ended up drunk, singing and screaming, with two very quiet, totally uninterested, sleepy feline philosophers in the chair. Until Sara came back and, without a word but with a meaningful look, told us to get out.

One day he showed up with a big tray of pastries, and while we were still eating, philosophizing about our troubles and laughing like idiots, Sara came back earlier than expected but for once did not get angry, even at the sight of a portrait of Lenin that I usually hid in a drawer when someone came, and joined us in eating the pastries.
Raul didn’t really want to be one of us - to join ‘the depraved’ as he called us – but he did occasionally a smoke a joint with us, though the effect for him was not the usual cheerfulness, with a lot of bullshit and raucous laughter, no, he became silent and sad, away in his own world.

I will always vividly remember the time we made the tea. He came to see me in Sara’s house, because I told him that she was not there and would be gone for some time. I was, as usual, feeling pretty depressed. He took out a big package and, with a mischievous smile, announced: -now we make the tea! I was very surprised because he had always dodged getting the stuff, and had always only smoked when he could cadge it from his friends. This time he said that he’d been given it, that it was pure marijuana, dried, and to be used as in infusion.

So, giggling and not thinking to ask if he knew what he was doing or what the consequences would be, we took some of what seemed to be dry, smelly grass and put it in boiling water. I remember it was very dark and extremely bitter, so disgusting that we did not drink too much, and so, thanks to the God we did not believe in, we probably avoided worse trouble. It was quite the tragic farce! The effect was pretty quick, I started to spin, worse than if I was dead drunk, and ended up on the ground, screaming and laughing, while he was banging on cupboards and doors, as if trying to get out. Eventually wetting ourselves with laughter, we had tremendous stomach aches, which ended emphatically on the toilet. Since then, every time we met, the joke was always the same:- Shall we make a cup of tea?

Evidently the experience had been very powerful, as in my diary I find the following note written in a shaky, uncertain hand:
so, this time I had almost succeeded, a little gas and it would be all over, a beautiful night to end the year, she would find me limp as a dishrag, and perhaps she would cry... instead before it took effect... he came, the great friend who saved me... and brought me back to face my phantoms..... I had opened the kitchen gas taps, taken a Revonal and was waiting quietly, but Raul once again came to surprise me. How long he spent with me, cheering me up, I don't remember, I only know that today if I can write it, I owe it to him. He was a great friend, but then we rather lost touch, as he was more and more involved in his music, forming groups like the ‘Sensazioni’ or the ‘Gramigna’, often away in Greece or England. I was to meet him again later on....

One night I was going to the movies with my brother and Marina to see Robert Altman's “The Long Goodbye” and at the exit I see in the crowd a face I know, and yes it’s him, the Raul that I have not seen for years: big celebration, hugs, and jokes about the goodness of tea that only we understand. He invites me to go to his house on Saturday 16th when there will be some kind of party and we can meet up again with old friends.

So Saturday 16^th January 1974, after spending all day at home with my mother, tidying up and making her happy in her little obsessions, (among other things asks me to pick up my dad's car, which is not needed in Robi), in the evening I go to Raul’s, and here’s what I wrote in my diary: A strange atmosphere, not a happy and carefree party, far from it, everyone quiet and sad, occasionally some sporadic attempt to start a conversation, particularly by me, but going nowhere, no real communication, few girls, no flirting or playing around as like in the good old days in the attic. The only time it warmed up a bit was when someone talked about music, musicians, bands and songs - Raul and his friends’ world.

Just towards the end of that strange evening I was able to chat a little with him and he told me about his experiences in Greece, but always with a certain ambivalence. In the end I realized how different and healthier my environment in Sicily had been, and how it had allowed me to get out of an atmosphere of perennial emotional crisis and disaffection in my relationship with society, and to feel useful and positive.

In the following afternoon I find myself again with Raul. He says he wants to talk to me, and tells me, finally opening up, of his current problem. Her name is Daniela, and she is divided between him and another guy, doesn’t know which she wants, and keeps them both dancing like a puppet on a string. So that's why the strange atmosphere of yesterday I think. I tell him the matter is well known but I do not believe I have the solution. The only advice I can give is to try to face the situation head-on and all three talk openly together.

He tells me that some attempt in that direction has been made, but the problem is that he plays together with F..., neither of them wants to break-up, they’re waiting for her to decide, but she seems to be okay with the way things are. How could I not understand the situation given my experience? Unfortunately I can only console my friend, advising him not to get too close to the girl, and see what happens. He finally tells me he's thinking about going back to Greece, maybe forever. Embracing him I propose: let's keep in touch.