[3 = 1 = n (Music for Minorities and Losers)]


Starting from the primordial sounds we are trying to highlight the constant need to review our own traditions with a sense of duty to their changes  to keep them  alive in each present. Physical and mental boundaries in Istria are constantly  adapting to the current political needs, so they still remain the main enemy.  We are crossing over them, smuggling thought  culture and dreams, being consistently on the losing side. That’s why the title of the album is [3 = 1 = n (Music for Minorities and Losers)]. It represents  three severed and broken Istrias  as just a single one, but with n cultural micro realities.

1. Barba Zvanić 0.09

2. a. A la longa b.Futurclaire 5.23

3. Gospodari grejo spat 4.18

4. Voio cantar e star alegramente 3.57

5. Oj, solata, grandičel 3.58

6. Dove xe ‘l moro 3.06

7. Dojde vrah 5.08

8. Bila zvizda  4.19

9. Mama, Piero me toca 3.50

10. O, jini fanti 2.15

11. a. Zis-am  b. Columbaro 4.06

12. Oh, quanti sfortunai  5.10

13. Vara che desso ‘l ven 3.32

14. Sto maledegno  1.08

15. Yorasik park 3.46


DARIO MARUŠIĆ: fiddle, bariton violin, istrian shawms, bagpipe, vocal

GORAN FARKAŠ: whistle, shawm, vocal

SAŠA FARKAŠ: guitar, tamboura


LJUBAN RAJIĆ: percussions

RACHELE COLOMBO: percussions, vocal

BORIS BAKO: speech

LADIES FROM THE WORKSHOP: additional vocals


Music: Traditional/Dario Marušić except 2b, 3, 5, 8, 11b, 13, 14, 15  Dario Marušić

Lyrics: Traditional except 7, 8, 13, 14, 15  Dario Marušić

All recordings are branded Made in Istria.

Mixed and mastered at Parametrik studio in Prešnica, Slovenia. Mixed by Gorast Radojevič. Mastered by Gaber Radojevič

Produced by Dario Marušić and Gorast Radojevič



1. Barba Zvanić kaj van se vidi? Će bit dikaj is tega? Eh….vedaremo in cavo…

Uncle Johny, what do you think? Will we obtain anything from this? Well…we will see at the end…

2. The song is a typical two-part descant singing from the village of Gallesano/Galižana called a la longa. Futurclaire is a composition dedicated to the star of the song No 8.

Son stado a Roma e no go visto el Papa, Go visto dele bele Romagnole. Le Romagnole porta la traversa, le Venessiane el fassoleto in testa.

I was in Rome and I haven’t seen the Pope, I have seen the beautiful roman girls. The Roman girls wear the apron, the Venetian girls wear the scarf.

3. From the surroundings of Buje/Buie. The tune partially belongs to the fiddler’s repertoire.

Gospodari grejo spat, dekle grejo parićat, makarone kuhajo, brekon juho davajo, fanton vino nosijo, s fanti vino ločejo. Gospodari grejo spat, dekle grejo parićat, fanton vino nosijo, s fanti vino ločejo, rada se nagrebjejo, fanton se kuštivajo. Gospodari grejo spat, dekle grejo parićat. Kada vuno češejo, rada na njo zaspejo, kada vuno predejo se si prste zgrebejo.

The Masters go to sleep, the servants organize themselves, they cook makaroni and give the soup to dogs, then serve the guys with wine and drink together. They love to booze and flirt with them. When they comb the wool they usually fall asleep, when they spin the wool they scratch the fingers.

4. It is a Vilota, typical lyrical song of the Istrian Italians which was also used as a dance tune in the past. It’s almost extinct today.

Voiò cantàr e star alegramènte, se brùsi i pianzistèi comè sarmènte;  Voiò cantàr, lassàr che duti siga, chi che ghe diol la testa, se la liga;  Voiò cantàr e ridi con rispèto, chi che ghe diol la testa, vàga in leto. Voiò cantàr e star de bona voia ma per dispeto de chi mal me voia. Voiò cantar e star a casa mia chi che no vol sentir che vaghi via. Mi canto perche ‘l quor de fior me nasa e chi ghe pesa ‘l quor che ‘l vaghi a casa. In càsa no gò pan, ne sal, ne oio, malinconie gnànca no ghe vòio; In càsa no gò bèzi, ne formènto, malinconie gnànca no ghe sènto;

I want to sing and be cheerful, burn the whining as pruning; I want to sing and let others scream, anyone with a headache can bind up the head; I want to sing and laugh with respect, anyone with a headache can go to sleep; I want to sing and be happy in spite of those who hate me; I want to sing and stay at home, anyone who doesn’t want to hear it, can live; I sing because my heart smells like flowers, anyone with a heavy heart can go home; I have no bread at home, no salt, no oil, therefore I want no sorrow; I have no money at home, no wheat, not even a feeling of sorrow.

5. From the villages that straddle the border between Slovenia and Croatia. The lyrics are in a tipical hybrid speech of the region. The salad at the beginning is there just to make a rhyme (salata grandičel- svojo hćer)

Oj, solata grandičel, dajmi majka sojo hćer. Uselen si je hvalila da t’ je brumna bivala. Zgoda zjutro ustajala, na fontanco tekala. Vodo je zajemala bele roke umivala. Vodo je zajemala, bašelak zalivala. Bašelak se zeleni, mlad junak se veseli. Veseli se junačić, za ti pisan facolić, ki ti ga je dala lepa brumna mala!

Oh, salad! Mother, give me your daughter. You always praised her, as she was a good girl. She used to rise up early in the morning and run to the well. She was taking the water and washing the hands. She was taking the water and watering the basil. The basil is growing green and the lad is rejoicing. Lad, rejoice for a colorful handkerchief the good young girl gave to you!

6. A humorous song with a minimum of social touch. Or a social song, sung in a humorous way. It’s up to you.

Dove xe ‘l moro, che mi no lo vedo, El sarà sconto in qualche cantòn. El sarà forsi che zoga le carte. Questa xe ‘l arte che lu ga imparà. Ciapilo, ciapilo che xe imbriago, che xe imbriago de vin temperà. Metilo, metilo in t’una mastela, portilo vendi in tel mercà. Vendilo, vendilo, ancha per poco, vendilo pur per quatro fasoi. Vendilo, vendilo, ancha per gnente, qualchedun pur te lo ciolarà.

Where is the black hair guy, I do not see him, maybe he is hidden in some corner. Maybe he is playing cards, the only art he is capable of. Catch him, as he is drunk, he is drunk of watered-down wine. Put him into a vessel and carry him to the market. Sell him, even for a low price, sell him, even for just four beans. Sell him, even for nothing, someone will certainly buy him.

7. The song was written in 1991 at the time of the national census in Croatia and Slovenia. The song is about the attempts of nationalists to influence individual choices especially of those who did not want to accept forced or limited option. The Istrians (either Croats, Slovenes, Italians or just Istrians) prefer to be called cousins insted of brothers which is common among nationalists.

Aj dojde vroh iz vrođje hiže in obajde use kuntrade in pred moje dvore stane. Tr on me proša kega bin jo da mi u moje dvore dojde, ku bin brata ku zermana. Ma jo bin da mi oba dojdu ku su z dobra, z dobre volje, ku su brati, ku zermani. Ne to ne more, vroh diškori ku ne jeniga zibrati, ku ne somo brata zvati. Aš brat je “matere i roda” samo njega je štimati, to je bilo i će ustati. Ben, ku pensire imaš takove moreš nozat doma pojti, ni robilo nanka dojti. Aš doprti su moji dvori za zermane in za brate, napro zaprti pak zate.

The devil comes from the shithole, haunting all the neighborhoods, than he stops in front of my courtyard. He asks me whom I prefer to invite into my courtyard: a brother or a cousin? Well, I would like both of them if they come with a good will, no matter if brothers or cousins. Oh no, it is not possible, the devil says, you can choose just one and it has to be a brother. Because the brother is from the same mother and you have to appreciate just him, this is the ancient timeless rule. Well, if that’s your point, you can go back home, you did not even have to come. My courtyard is open for cousins and brothers, just for you it is definitively closed.

8. A love song I sing to my dear.

Kada zvizda zjutro pojde vaje spati, skoro sako večer nazat se torna. Dojdi, dojdi, zvizdo, gori na gorino, dojdi, dojdi, zvizdo i se namuraj. Dojdi, dojdi, zvizdo, gori na gorino, dojdi, dojdi, zvizdo i me namuraj. Kada zvizda zjutro ki zna kamo pojde, ki zna kamo pojde, s kin se kušelja. Kada zvečer nazat jasna zvizda dojde, znan da me se napro ona kuntenta.

When the star in the morning goes to sleep, almost every evening she comes back. Come on, come on, up on the hill, come on and fall in love. Come on, come on, up on the hill, come on and make me fall in love. When the star in the morning goes somewhere, who knows with whom she chats. When in the evening my clear star comes back, I know she is happy to meet me again.

9. Another humorous song. In Istria we know different versions of it. Its tune is very close to a Gascon one.

Mama, mama, Piero me toca. Me ga toca la man (el brasso, la spala, el piè, la gamba, più in sù). Tochime, tochime Piero (toca che mama no vedi).

Mum, Mum, Peter is touching me, he is touching my hand (my arm, my shoulder, my foot, my leg, higher up). Touch me, touch me Peter (touch me, as mum can not see).

10.  A farewell song from Golac on the Cicaria mountains. It is part of the repertoire of the Ivančič family and their neighbor. We know this beautiful song as well thanks to Sonja Grom.

O, jini fanti, homo ća, tamo doli do Trsta, naj. Dojti ćemo u Mitariju, dajti ćemo za rakiju, naj. Dojti ćemo u Kozinu, sisti ćemo na mašinu, naj.

Oh, boys, let’s go away, let’s go up to Triest. We will come to Mitaria, we will pay for brandy. We will come to Kozina, we will sit on the train.

11. At the foot of the Učka mountain (Monte Maggiore) there lives a small Istroromanian community. The lyrics of the song were collected in the thirties by Petru Iroaie. The style is typical archaic two-part polyphony of central Istria. The instrumental is a dance tune.

De vavik s’n Šušnjevica k’ntat po vlaški…..ši sopit pre mih ši volarice…..

Zis-am: folja de kumpir, jirima nu-m daje mir. Zis-am: folja de radić, nu kavta la aljc mladić. Zis-am: folja de salate, dupa tir nu-m trebe ate. Ši pre mare, ši pre kraj k’nd smo skupa s’m ‘n raj.

From time immemorial, in Susnjevica we use to sing in Wallachian language….and play bagpipe and double whistle.

I said: potato leaf, my heart, do not leave me in peace. I said: chicory leaf, do not look for other guys. I said: lettuce leaf, after you I need nobody. At sea or on the shore, when we are together, I am in heaven.

12. Another Vilota (see song No. 4). The instrumental part is typical fiddle tune.

Oh, quanti sfortunai che xe a sto mondo, ma più de mi no se ne pol trovare. Buto una paia in mar la me va in fondo, go visto i altri el piombo a navegare. I altri fa fugasse de senise, mi de farina no le posso fare. I altri de corgnal i struca el suco e per mi gramo me se seca el mare. I altri fa fritaia de sambugo e mi de vovi no la posso fare.

Oh, how many unfortunate people in this world, but more then I am is hard to find. I throw a straw into the sea and it sinks, I saw the other’s lead to sail. The others, they bake cakes with ashes, I can not bake them with flour. The others they press juice from dogwood, to me even the sea gets dry. The others they make omelette with elder, I can not make them with eggs.

13. What is interesting about this song are the four mentioned colours. Somebody wants to see in it the colours of various national flags in Istria (white and red with blue for the Croats and Slovenes, while white and red with green can be seen for the Italians), but more likely it’s just a case.

Vara che desso, desso ‘l ven vesti de verde, de cassador. Vara che desso desso ‘l ven Più che lo vardo, più bel ‘l me xe. Vara che desso, desso ‘l ven vesti de bianco, de muliner. Vara che desso, desso ‘l ven vesti de rosso, de cardinal. Vara che desso desso ‘l ven de blu vestido de mariner.

Look out, he is coming now, dressed in green like a hunter. Look out, he is coming now, the more I look at him the more I like him. Look out, he is coming now, dressed in white like a miller. Look out, he is coming now, dressed in red like a cardinal. Look out, he is coming now, dressed in blue like a sailor.

14. For a large number of Istrians, borders represent a curse imposed by the centers of power, incapable of understanding the local intercultural reality. The song is a kind of protest against the two governments in Zagreb and Ljubljana. At one point the rumors have arisen that the two governments have agreed to cause international accidents in the Gulf of Piran to hide internal problems and polarize the population of Istria. We combined the archaic Croat and Istroromanian non-tempered style of singing, common on the Cicaria mountains with the Istrovenetian lyrics.

Sto maledegno confin per sempre che sià danà, e chi per primo in su la carta lo ga segnà. De drio la tola per dir tic-tac ne ga distrigà. Col so compare, compagno degno ga concordà che duti do ben dacordi pronti i barufarà sun do ‘l confin disgrassiado, ostiado, ne soncarà. Si sui coioni o oltra ‘l colo ne passarà, perche sta strica una piaga verta la restarà.

This damn border, forever damned, as well as the one who has drawn it for the first time. From behind the table, ad-hoc he has got rid of us. With his crony, a worthy companion, he made a deal that they will unanimously argue on where the woesome and miserable border will cut us. Over the bollocks or over the neck it will pass through, so this line will remain an open sore.

15. The continuation and further development of the previous song. The Yorasik Park is an allusion to facts well known to the local population.

San ča san: Jakomo Legan, baštardo Istrijan. Jakomo Legan, baštardo Istrijan, to van ja kantan: Prokleti so ti konfini, prokleti so si konfini, proklet ki hi je spensa. Maledeti sti confini, maledeti i confini, e chi che li ga inventa. Schengen, Schengen to mare putana, Zagabria, Lubiana, pedoci refai Schengen, Schengen, od zlobe nakargana Zagreb, Lubjana, na nas ne računaj. Padri Scarpaza- intrigabisi, de Capos’ciane indeso rivai. Zjajo šuperbi si hitajo ponti, so prišli se ćubrat, barufo iskat. Z njimi ni dobro ne drobet ne lomet, sak na soj malin vodo pejà I xe una dita, una dita cantante, i pianzi el morto pe ‘l vivo fregàr. Nacionalisti, paternalisti, anahronisti, hiper-egoisti, revisionisti, oportunisti, Wellcome into Yorasic Park. Prokleti so ti konfini, prokleti so si konfini, proklet ki hi je spensa. Maledeti sti confini, maledeti i confini, e chi che li ga inventa. Schengen, Schengen to mare putana, Zagabria, Lubiana, pedoci refai Schengen, Schengen od zlobe nakargana, Zagreb, Lubjana na nas ne računaj. Anca el remo de man i te tirasi, meio el cul contro ‘l muro frontàr. Da smo vsi šturlasti oni parajo, ne znaš ku jokat ku se smijat. Se delajo pjažni, krko ki ćejo, jazik in ruzon, se ni za fidat. Zero via zero no fà che zero, presto coi diavoli lori balarà. Nacionalisti, paternalisti, anahronisti, hiper-egoisti, revisionisti, oportunisti, Wellcome into Yorasic Park.

I am what I am: Jack Legan, Istrian bastard. Jack Legan, Istrian bastard, that’s what I sing: Cursed are these borders, cursed all the borders, cursed who invented them. Schengen, Schengen, son of a bitch, Zagreb, Ljubljana, presumptuous upstarts. Schengen, Schengen, full of hate Zagreb, Ljubljana, don’t count on us. Rascals, arrived from shitholes looking for scuffle, it’s not very healthy to mess up with them. As a special kind of enterprise, they mourn the dead, to swindle the living ones. They are able to steal from your hand, it is safer to put the bottom against the wall. They think we are all idiots, one does not know whether to laugh or cry. They try to be nice, but their tongues are rusty and you can not trust them. Zero times zero makes nothing but zero, soon they will dance with the devils. Nationalists, paternalists, anachronists, hyper-egoists, revisionists, opportunists, Wellcome into Yorasic Park.