I think the most striking context in which Neapolitan lives in Italian daily life is music.
It is the medium through which many of us have learned dialectal terms that otherwise would have remained within the borders of the city.
It is also what has given Neapolitans labels such as passionate, theatrical, exaggerated. But I won’t say they are entirely untrue. I’ll certainly add that there is something archaically cultured and elegant in the way Neapolitans speak.
Anyway, I decided the best way to introduce you to the Neapolitan dialect was through some of the most well-known Neapolitan songs.
From their titles and maybe a few lines, I’ll try to underline the differences from Italian, but also the peculiarities of a deeply rooted culture.
Luciano De Crescenzo often described Naples as a city of love, where collaboration, fraternity, and complicity were born out of necessity, but created a utopia that you hardly find elsewhere.
A Tiny Historical Introduction to Neapolitan
I’ll give you just a tiny historical introduction, to know where we are and how we got there. Neapolitan evolved from Latin, as did almost all the dialects and languages of the Peninsula, and, like most of them, was gradually influenced by migrations, foreign dominations, and later the media. Naples went through Greek, Roman, Norman, French, and Spanish phases, each one leaving indelible traces. How fun.
’O Sole Mio: Articles and Possessives
The first, and probably the most famous Neapolitan song of all, is ’O sole mio.
This title immediately introduces the use of articles.
Il and la generally become ’o and ’a in Neapolitan, reduced to vowels and written with an apostrophe before them.
The order of the words reveals another peculiarity: the possessive adjective comes after the noun.In standard Italian, it would usually be il mio sole; curiously enough, Spanish has the same construction as Neapolitan: el sol mío.
Funiculì Funiculà: Jamme and ’Ncoppa
Then we have Funiculì Funiculà, written to celebrate the funicular of Mount Vesuvius.
It has another lively word: jamme, practically the equivalent of Romanesco daje. It translates as let’s go and carries both a literal meaning and an exhortative note. Well, much like in English.
But there’s another word: ’ncoppa, which means up or above.
So the song is inviting the interlocutor to go up together, up, up, finally, on the funicular.
Torna a Surriento: Vowels and Shortened Verbs
Then we have the heartbreaking Torna a Surriento.
Immediately, I must underline how often a u takes the place of an o in Neapolitan—one of the many transformations that took place during its evolution from Latin.
And then… if we label Romans as pigri, well, Neapolitans beat them! Shortened forms are everywhere, including infinitives ending in an accented à: turnà (tornare, come back), lassà (lasciare, leave), campà (campare, survive).
Tu Vuò Fà L’Americano: Influences and Fascinations
Talking about influences and dominations, not necessarily military ones: Tu vuò fà l’americano (1956) mirrors (and mocks) the Neapolitan fascination with the U.S. after the Second World War and the Allied occupation.
I always recall scenes I’ve seen in so many movies of American troops handing out chocolate and cigarettes to a hungry population, exhausted by years of bombing and isolation. And not only in Naples.
Malafemmena: Totò and the Melody of Neapolitan
Malafemmena, instead, will help me introduce Totò, the most well-known and appreciated Italian comedian, who wrote the song. The song, and the actor, will help me add another nuance to our exploration: melody. Neapolitan is melodic.
Not by chance, Neapolitan music has such a powerful melodic tradition. And perhaps that’s why a relatively recent genre of melancholic, dialectal songs, often full of struggle, is called neomelodico. It has, I’ve come to discover, an enormous following (you have no idea how many stadiums some of its singers can fill!).
Napule È: Pino Daniele’s Naples
Napule è might not be that famous abroad, but it certainly is in Italy, because Pino Daniele, who died prematurely in 2015, was, with no possible doubt, the soul of Naples in the eighties and nineties. Probably the one who, after a period of decadence and insults, gave back dignity to his city.
A city, as he describes it, of a thousand colours, a thousand fears, the smell of the sea, a dirty piece of paper, and children’s voices. If there’s an experience you and I should live, it is listening to this song, sitting in an alley of Napoli, or on a bench, facing the bay.
Stai Mai Ccà: The World of 24 Grana
And, of course, there’s my favourite song, more recent, by 24 Grana. Just listen to how beautiful and delicate and melodic it is. Before even knowing its meaning (I needed my husband’s intervention), it moved me to tears. And now even more.
Stai mai ccà, you are never here, is what the boy in the song is told, because his head wanders, because he dreams, because he builds his own reality.
The police stopping him in the street, over a tenner’s worth of hashish.
The Japanese shishi-mai dance in his head—and he is the lion’s head.
Guapparia, with its echoes of the Spanish guapo. The guappi, the spavaldi, spacconi, the boys growing up in a difficult environment and faking it to survive.
All these elements help the song catapult you into a whimsical, parallel world, which is cruel but tender, raw but with a beauty of its own, perhaps thanks to the authenticity of its tale.
One Last Neapolitan Expression
Should we end with a bad word? Yes,
’cause we like to be a little naughty.
Mocc’a mammeta, in your mother’s mouth. You have no idea how often I’ve heard it, so often that it has almost lost any trace of scandal. It’s mostly an intercalare, and kind of fun because of the sounds it brings and because of the grounding it gifts to any conversation.
So, my dear esploratori, go listen to all these songs and carve out half an hour for yourselves—maybe more, if you listen on repeat—of napoletanità! If you want it to be more than half an hour, go read Napoli’s Simposio!
Claudia