"The Eel's Song," Massimo Bubola's Irish Summer
A picaresque road trip through a land that at the time had not yet experienced mass tourism.Per restare aggiornato entra nel nostro canale Whatsapp
Late June 1983. Massimo Bubola and his friend Giovanni Artioli, known as John Artù, are about to board a ferry from Normandy to Ireland. It's the beginning of a picaresque road trip through a land that at the time had not yet experienced mass tourism, a journey that Bubola would immortalize upon his return in one of his most famous pieces, "Il cielo d'Irlanda." A journey we relive today in the book "Il canto dell'anguilla" (Neri Pozza, 2026, €18.00, 144 pages. Also available as an ebook), in which Bubola himself recalls a wandering through Ireland filled with revelations, unexpected surprises, and above all, the discovery of a common syntax of openness and welcome so curious, intuitive, profound, and captivating. It was a poor, rural Ireland where Gaelic was still spoken in the West. People in the countryside and small towns were poorly dressed, but everyone loved music, and Massimo Bubola's journey was filled with music played and performed live, everywhere and with passion, with almost everyone playing, singing, and dancing.
A journey of music, encounters, landscapes, and emotions that had its origins in Sardinia, as Bubola himself tells us:
When I arrived in Sardinia in 1976 to work with Fabrizio De André, co-writing the lyrics and music for the album Rimini, I remember the giant slogans of the Sardinian independence movement that appeared on the walls of the villages and along the streets. Little by little, as I got to know the people of Sardinia better, their culture and language, and through discussions with Fabrizio, we came to the conclusion that peoples of great substance are often subjugated, but only militarily, because the victors almost always have a more powerful economy, and every defeat tends to overwhelm and erase the identity and civilization of the defeated. We then explored this theme further in the writing and editing of the next album in 1981, called L'indiano. These reflections also served as a stimulus for my first trips to Ireland, to understand and explore the culture and identity of a people who were dominated, humiliated, and oppressed by the English for centuries. During this period, Irish identity and culture, especially after independence in 1922, blossomed and flourished to their full potential. A population of just over four million won four Nobel Prizes for Literature in the twentieth century, to which must be added other brilliant writers such as Oscar Wilde and James Joyce. Ireland, like Sardinia, also had a strong poetic and musical identity that was expressed in their gatherings, in celebrating weddings and baptisms, in collective dances, and in reciting poetry and playing folk music in open-air squares.
Why tell about that journey after so long?
There are many things one would like to recount over time, but narrative follows the rhythms of our hearts and the seasons, and continues to grow and mature within you like the color of memories and poetry. In the uncertain and cloudy times we are living in, there is no true development model, no shared path of values to follow, so I wanted to remember a poor Ireland, different from how it is now, where it has become one of the most popular and desirable tourist destinations in the world. But even when I traveled, despite the poverty felt especially in the western part of the island, the first signs of a strong cultural and identity-building development could already be seen, which then also influenced social and economic development. In fact, today Ireland is one of the countries with the highest economic and social growth in Europe. Therefore, culture and identity, if defended, practiced, and encouraged, can be very productive in demonstrating that a certain political shortsightedness, which gives little consideration to culture, becomes objectively unsuccessful, unproductive, and without a future.
What kind of Ireland did you experience while traveling through it?
The Ireland described in this book, which I discovered in the 1980s, was a poor, rural country untouched by mass tourism. The people I met, especially in the western counties, where the ancient Irish language, Gaelic, was mostly spoken, were simple, friendly, interested, and curious. I saw faces from my childhood, with those expressive and authentic expressions. They were generally dressed rather modestly, and many had tattered jackets and patches on their trousers. The houses were simple and unadorned, but there was a strong sense of hospitality and welcome, and they displayed a strong empathy toward strangers, a deeply rooted human tradition dating back to antiquity and present in all the mythologies and narratives of the archaic world, even if in our country this tradition has been somewhat watered down.
What struck you most at the time...and what strikes you now when you remember that adventure?
As I said before, what struck me most was their empathy and their capacity for inclusion. I sensed a deep need for dialogue and a profound generosity, because they shared the little they had. But I was also fascinated by their naturally intense and poetic language and their remarkable ability to create music, often rooted in folk songs that had traveled long distances and become enriched along the way. The poets were known and often stopped on the street, to exchange a few words or to hear them recite something, a rare thing in our country. It was a journey of discovery and great emotion, because the landscape was captivating and varied, and the sky was a sort of director of our days with its ever-changing light. It was here that I conceived and wrote the song "Il cielo d'Irlanda," which Fiorella Mannoia later sang and brought to great popularity, becoming a sort of Irish anthem for Italy. Many people, as I have been told and reiterated many times over the past forty years, have visited the Emerald Isle for the impetus and curiosity that this song has given them, which for many is a kind of viaticum and key to understanding it."
What did Ireland leave you with, or what did the Irish leave you with?
"Mine is a book and a journey of gratitude that shines through every page, every dialogue, and every description. The Irish blend of beauty, nature, culture, inventiveness, discovery, joy, great affability, and sense of humor have entered my heart and will remain there forever."
