There are countless ways Sicilians have touched, inspired, and vivified American culture, one of which is through music.
I recently discovered the introspective yet energizing works of Chicago-based composer and pianist Maria Rago, who hails from the small Sicilian town of Santa Caterina Villarmosa in the province of Caltanissetta. Atmospheric and even otherworldly, the title track of her latest album, Red Land, blends electric guitar thrashing with symphonic sounds. Like so much of her music, it defies genre constraints with vibrancy and texture drawn from her Sicilian heritage.
"My Sicilian roots have significantly influenced my identity as a pianist and composer," says Maria. "The way I perceive the world—its sounds, colors, the contrasting shadows of tragedy and beauty, the allure of history, the relentless sun, and the vibrant spirit of the Sicilian people—shapes my artistic vision. Being an islander allows me to create an 'island' of sound, a smaller haven within a broader context."
Maria took time out to share her music inspiration, creative process, favorite composition, future projects, advice for musicians, and what she hopes listeners take away.
What inspired you to pursue a music career?
Music has always been central to my life, but it wasn't until I turned 24 that I transitioned from being a listener to becoming a musician, ultimately deciding to dedicate my life to music. It happened during a cello concert when I found myself immersed in the notes of "Suite No.2 in D Minor" of J.S. Bach. Amid those vibrations and melodies, I realized this was the world I longed to be a part of—a realm of infinite possibilities where I knew I was a unique piece of that puzzle. When you write or perform, you expose your inner self; it feels as if you are recounting your own story through another's voice, sharing, rediscovering, and sometimes concealing the experiences that shape you, all through the medium of music.
Who are some of your biggest musical influences?
In my musical journey, the music of J.S. Bach and his infinite being, the earthly conception that meets the universal—the divine that is revealed among his compositions—has a fundamental role. There is a sacredness that runs through his work, a human logic that transforms into a spiritual path, a path that leads you elsewhere. The divine manifesting itself in man. This path impacted my compositions not in the stylistic sense but in the spiritual sense.
I also admire Ludwig van Beethoven and his human testament, a project around man and where man dares, challenges, chooses, free from every chain. The divine manifesting itself in nature. Here are two composers who approach, through music, the concept of life differently.
Can you tell us more about Red Land?
The album Red Land emerged from the desire to blend two musical languages: classical orchestration and the electrifying sound of the guitar, masterfully played by Martin Szorad, among other amazing musicians. This album paints the world in hues of red, reflecting a tumultuous environment filled with conflicts and strife—a world where life is hard to come by, yet death is all too easy. Red Land embarks on a journey through such a reality, with the electric guitar serving as a poetic explorer seeking the lingering beauty within.
Do you have a favorite piece you've composed, and what makes it special?
Typically, after completing a piece, I try to distance myself from it. When I revisit it later, I often feel as if it no longer belongs to me; it becomes a "free creature with its own life," one that I no longer recognize, a "being" detached from its "creator." However, there is a piece titled "Lullaby on the Sea," composed just as I was leaving Sicily—a farewell to my homeland, where I felt that "creature," which is me, started to separate from its origin: Sicily.
What upcoming projects or performances are you most excited about?
I recently composed soundtracks for two projects: one called The Rebellious River with Studio Dance Arts New York, aimed at supporting young talent in the Bronx, and another, called Two Hands, with the organization Unity Freedom Power in collaboration with an English production, using hands as a symbol of either unity or destruction depending on one's decisions. I'm particularly excited about a new theater project exploring the lives of remarkable women throughout history, guided by the exceptional mediator Leonardo da Vinci.
What advice would you give emerging musicians?
Being a musician is a privilege that demands love, dedication, and relentless practice. My advice for emerging musicians is to cultivate the ability to listen, remain curious, and not take themselves too seriously. Let the music lead you; ultimately, it's the music that transcends time when everything else fades.
What do you hope listeners take away from your music?
Writing or performing opens you up to vulnerability; you lay yourself bare, taking risks in communicating your intended message, never knowing how an audience will interpret it. My hope is that listeners walk away with an idea, a thought, or a mindset—not always positive, but rather a perspective that prompts reflection. Indifference is the greatest enemy, and it's what art, music, and humanity simply cannot afford.
Sicilian folk music, ranging from lullabies to harvest songs, has served as a cultural backbone for centuries. A fusion of Greek and Byzantine hymns, Arabic Maqam, and Spanish styles, the island's unique sounds were recorded and cataloged by American musicologist Alan Lomax as part of his Italian Treasury: Sicily.
Lomax recorded the voices of peasants, shepherds, salt and sulfur miners, cart drivers, and fishermen and uncovered music related to festivals, dance, religion, and storytelling. In doing so, he also introduced the sounds of Sicily's traditional musical instruments, many of which I highlight along with video performances below.
Ciaramedda
Native to rural Sicily and Calabria, particularly in the province of Messina in Sicily, the ciaramedda or ciaramèddha consists of a goatskin bag, a blowpipe that inflates the bag, two chanters (the part of the bagpipe used to create the melody) that are typically made of fruit wood or heather wood, and two or three drones, which provide the harmony.
Friscaletto
Once commonly played by shepherds, the fiscaletto or friscalettu is similar in appearance to the recorder that most American schoolchildren are taught to play. But instead of plastic, it's typically made of cane, featuring a hollow cylinder with seven holes in the front and two holes in the rear.
Marranzano
Colloquially referred to as the "jaw harp," a name that originates from jeu-trompe, the French word for trumpet, the marranzano or marranzanu is similar to instruments found throughout Asia. Italy's first marranzani can be traced to the 16th century, and there's evidence of its use in Sicily and Sardinia in the 18th century. Giuseppe Pitrè's Canti popolari Siciliani (Sicilian Folk Songs) was published in 1870. Since then, this circular metal instrument has become a part of Sicilian folk tradition.
Tamborello
Whether it originated in western Africa, the Middle East, Greece, or India, most scholars believe that the tambourine was one of the first instruments created by humans. It dates as far back as 1700 BC, roughly within the New Stone Age or Neolithic Period. Called the tamborello in Italy, this percussion instrument was traditionally made of stretched skin over a wooden frame. In Sicily, it's typically played during tarantella dances.
The putipùor cupa cupa is a friction drum composed of three key parts: a bamboo reed, a drum membrane, and a cylindrical sound box. The sound is made by rubbing a wet hand on the reed, which vibrates the membrane. Drum tones vary based on the size of the sound box and the thickness of the membrane.
Memphis-based Sicilian-American singer Michela Musolino has toured the world, performing in medieval castles, ancient temples, New York City landmarks, and national folk festivals. She's recorded traditional and contemporary Sicilian folk songs and roots music. She's even branched out into something she calls "Sicilian folk-a-billy." But no matter where she stands and how she sings, her heart remains in Sicily.
"I really feel like I got my start in Sicily," Michela says. "I probably performed more in Sicily in the beginning than here. Nobody knew who I was here, but in Sicily, I had already performed at festivals and temples. They welcomed me so beautifully. So, I always feel that even though I performed a lot in New York for many years, Sicily was more like the home for what I do."
Michela and I recently chatted about her traditional Sicilian-American upbringing and how that shaped who she would become. She shared her favorite venue, experience, and what inspired her foray into "Sicilian folk-a-billy." And because Michela's a walking encyclopedia of Sicilian folk music, we discussed the people and traditions that shaped the songs she sings today.
Tell us about your background.
My family is Sicilian. I have one grandpa who is from Calabria, so I'm one-quarter Calabrese. My other grandparents are Sicilian. My mom's dad was from Borgetto, which is about 40 minutes away from Palermo. My mom's mom was raised in Palermo by a Palermitano father, but she was actually born in Argentina. My grandmother's father took her back to Sicily when she was young so she could be raised. Her mom died when she was young, so her father took her back to Sicily so his family could raise her in Palermo, and she grew up in Palermo. And my dad's mom was from a town in the province of Agrigento called Ribera. I still have a lot of family there. My grandpa was born in Reggio Calabria, a town called Calanna.
How did you get started?
I have always been very enamored with my heritage. My mom and dad always talked about our family history and told us all the stories of our family.
My dad was a big fan of American music, especially American country music, Italian-American artists, and Italian music. So we heard a lot of music in the house.
I grew up hearing Sicilian, hearing the language, because my parents, aunts, and uncles all spoke that to my grandparents.
When I was all grown up and married and out of the house, I took a workshop for folk dance in New York City, and the people who were running were in the folk company, I Giullari di Piazza, and they asked me to audition. The director of the company, Alessandra Belloni, asked me to audition. They needed extra people in their theater company. I auditioned, and I remember coming home and telling my dad, not even that I was auditioning for the show or anything, but that I was studying folk dance and frame drumming.
He said, "Well, it's good. You should study drumming because that's your tradition. That's what women do."
It was strange hearing that from my father because he was not very big on defining women's roles. He was very progressive and open. And I said, "What are you talking about?"
He said, "Your grandma used to drum."
I said, "Wait a second…."
He said, "Your grandma had a drum."
"As a matter of fact," he says, "when your grandma came here when she was a young woman, she brought a drum with her. And your great grandma, when she was in Sicily, was known for her dancing."
So these things are in us. Then it's been this wild ride. It's still a wild ride every day, just doing something I love: working with music.
What is it about Sicilian music that drew you in?
I just adore Sicilian music, and it's been interesting because I'm exploring it from all different aspects and doing all different things to create things with this music. And when I try to do different projects, they only go so far. When I try to do projects outside of Sicilian music, they only go so far. And I was involved in some projects up until about last year, and there was veering off the path of Sicilian music, and all of a sudden, all these things started to happen. All these opportunities for other creative projects or other performances came all at once. It was like Sicily pulled me back. We're not done with you yet.
Describe your experiences in the different types of venues.
It sounds kind of cliche, but I find each venue and experience more enriching than the last, even if it's not the same. Let's say maybe one venue is a beautiful theater and it is full, or another venue is a very small locale. Each show has its importance and its connection, and it has its meaning. But the thing that I think had the biggest impact on me is that I feel it, and it really charted my course, something that had a huge, huge influence on me because, to this day, I'm still living the repercussions of it. It was when I performed in the temples in Sicily, and I did that for several summers. I went to a festival by chance.
I was there to do some research and to work with some musicologists, and I had my daughter. She was very little then, and I had to change the course of my trip; I thought I was going to just go see my friend, Alfio Antico, perform in Selinunte. And when I got there, yes, Alfio performed that night, but it was in the evening dedicated to the memory of a Sicilian singer/songwriter by the name of Pino Veneziano. And I fell in love with the music that they were playing.
By then, Pino was already deceased by a number of years, but they were playing his music that night. I remember my daughter falling asleep at the concert, and I walked back. I was talking to the people in the Pino Veneziano Association, and I said, "Listen, I'm a singer. I'm from New York. I'm friends with Alfio. Look, he's on my album."
I pulled one of my albums from my bag, and I'm trying to carry my daughter in one hand while she is asleep. I love this music. What can I do? I want to sing it.
They're like, "Here's the album; just sing it."
So, from that night, I met friends of mine who are still my dear friends that I would go back to see. Just going back to those temples and doing that year after year after year became a big turning point in my life. But it's also a big part of my life. And it was strange for me because this summer, I was in Sicily, and I was very, very busy on the other side of the island.
I spent time at the foot of Etna, and it was a beautiful experience, but it felt weird. I was apprehensive about going because I'd become so used to being in the protective embrace of these temples for years.
Even when it wasn't summertime, and I wasn't performing, I'd be there. I would go, and I still had to visit the temples. I still talked to my friends and visited my friends in that area. So, that venue had a profound, profound influence on my life. And as I said, from that experience, going back there summer after summer created lifelong friendships, collaborations, and a richness of music I discovered.
I was able to do a lot of research, and I feel that it's still ongoing. Those temples, even when I wasn't on that part of the island, were somehow still impacting me. I feel that what I achieved on the other part of the island I would've never done if it wasn't for all those experiences I had in the temples.
You've developed a style you call "Sicilian Folk-a-Billy." What inspired that?
What happened was quite simple: I moved to Memphis. I finally had the opportunity to get out of the Northeast. I wanted to leave the Northeast forever. I never quite felt like I was going to stay there, but circumstances in life kept me there. Then, I had the opportunity to move, and I knew I wanted to come south somewhere. I wound up in Memphis because I had heard that a lot of artists were moving to Memphis from other parts of the country. I heard that a lot of artists from different genres were moving to Memphis and not just artists making Memphis music or American blues or soul music, but all different genres. And I looked at it, I said, "You know what? Memphis, I like it."
So I came here, and COVID was still kind of a thing. It was 2021, so venues weren't really open. And I had to do a few concerts from my house, things that would be broadcast up in New York. So, I used Memphis musicians. And I wanted to make an album. I talked to somebody down here who was producing, and they said, "Well, we just did a Christmas show in your house. Why don't we do the Christmas album?"
We had been using Memphis sounds and different things. We used rockabilly, American country music, blues music, a little bit of blues, a little bit of soul, a little bit of swing.
We took mostly Sicilian traditions and added a little bit of Americana, and I felt it was going to be a good way to start off here in Memphis. It's a good way to show the movement of music, how music comes from one culture to another, and how music transfers with the immigrants.
It's like, I'm Italian-American coming to Memphis. How does the music change now with me? So that's kind of where that developed.
It was almost organic, letting the musicians here contribute their ideas and sounds. In fact, most of the musicians, except for one on the album, are Italian-American. I didn't plan it that way. It just happened.
The fiddle player, Alice Hasen, who is not Italian-American, shows up, and she says, "I was trying to listen to different kinds of Sicilian music and Southern Italian music so I could get an idea of what to play."
We're like, "No, no, no. We want to hear your style. We want you to play. You got the arrangements, but we want to see what you're going to add to it."
So that's kind of how we came up with the Sicilian folk. It's not rockabilly; it's folk music but a little bit of everything. My first album here was just my homage to Memphis. So that's where that came from. I guess you could say it was pretty much just the collision of these traditions with Memphis sound.
Let's talk about those folk traditions from Sicily.
You start listening to songs in their most basic form, which we have, let's say, the most basic arrangements that we have documented or the oldest unadulterated field recordings. When I say unadulterated, I mean the field recordings that are the oldest we have and the field recordings that are the most untouched by pop music or anything like that. You can hear the influences. You can hear the melodies, and you can hear the progressions, even the note progressions of things that are Greek, Arabic, or Spanish. For example, you can hear certain things that sound like Spanish. So, all the music reflects the different cultures that occupied Sicily.
I'll give you an idea. There's a song attributed to the fishermen who fish coral. It's a jumble—like a new language made up of Neapolitan and Sicilian lyrics. When the fishermen discovered these coral beds in Sicily, they brought the coral fishermen down from Naples because they had the skill. They taught the Sicilian fishermen how to fish this coral and worked side by side. They came up with their own language.
So, in this song, you have a mixture of the two languages, the Neapolitan and the Sicilian, and some of the chants you hear. People will say, "That sounds very Middle Eastern."
Even some of the instruments that we play, some of the old forms of instruments that are very basic with minimal strings, are very Middle Eastern. They all filtered in through the great migrations. And if we get really into the diasporas and how they float about, you can start seeing some traditions. You can start seeing similarities to India when the Roma people came through from India.
Music is a historical document because you can hear that in the melodies, chord progressions, structures, and song structures. You can hear that and say, "Oh yeah, this is very much like Spanish," or "This is very much Middle Eastern." We share some rhythms with North Africa, too. That kind of stuff. It's just a blueprint—a blueprint for history.
You spoke about fishing. Tell us about the songs of the tuna fishermen.
I've recorded a version of one of the cialome they would sing for the matanza. Those are really fascinating songs. They try to trace a lot of the words like cialome.
They say, "Well, it could possibly be Arab." But they think it even predates the Arab invasion. That is a tradition that's really buried in antiquity. They can't pinpoint where that exactly started. That's how ancient that tradition is. And it's a beautiful tradition because it's much deeper than just the hunt of the tuna. It was very much something that was obviously connected to the cycle of the seasons because it was the fish's mating season when they were coming through, and humans were attuned to this. And it wasn't just that they killed the fish; these chants they used all had a purpose.
Some were used to pull up the nets, and some were used to pull the boats out of the water.
The one I sing is very fun. They talk about a young girl, and it's an homage to that beautiful young girl. But in a lot of the fishing chants, they say things like, "God bless the earth and sky. God bless the sea. God bless the tuna that's giving its life for us."
There's such a visceral connection and a very close connection between humanity and the animal kingdom in this. And there's this show of reverence. A bounty that year meant they would survive, and they were grateful that God had given them this bounty.
They were also grateful to the tuna who sacrificed their lives. And it's actually a very brutal tradition. But life was very brutal. We forget that.
We look at the matanza and say, "Oh, it was so horrible, these men clubbing these fish to death and butchering these fish." But that was probably the least brutal thing that was happening to those people in their lifetime at that time.
Out of that tradition for work came these beautiful songs because they needed a rhythm. These men, groups of men (dozens and dozens of men) had to work together. So, the best way to work in unison is to create a melody that everybody can maintain. So there's a lot of that in this tradition of music where these beautiful, beautiful traditions have evolved out of necessity.
So, the necessity for survival, the necessity to work together, and the necessity for recognizing your blessings all came together and created these beautiful songs. We have these songs not only because they were recorded in the 1950s when Alan Lomax went through Sicily and recorded but also because the tuna matanza ended around the 1980s, so we still had people who were singing.
There's still a lot of mystery involved in that. But I don't think they could have that tradition without music because of the necessity, again, of how these men had to work together.
It creates community. And that's something that I try to always mention in my shows, too, that this music comes from the traditional community. It was a time when everybody sang. We all made music together for a lot of reasons. But it comes from a very communal place. And I think that's one of the reasons why it's so well received: it is something that we all share, and it's something that we can all share, and it's meant to be shared and enjoyed together.
What do you hope your audiences and students take away from their experience?
I just want them to have a wonderful connection with Sicily and a discovery of Sicily. I would divide the audience into people who have a connection and have some roots in Sicily and those who don't. They have similar experiences, but not necessarily always the same. For some people in the audience, this is the first time they've ever heard Sicilian music. So, I want them to understand that there is a huge body of music. There's a huge patrimonial tradition that is just waiting to be explored and understood. And I want them to feel like they're part of it. That's the most important thing.
When they have roots in Sicily, I want the same for them. But I also want them to understand that this is your heritage and tradition and belongs to you. It is part of you, and it will always be part of you, and it's a really good thing to have as a part of you. It's something that is solid, lasting, and good. There's nothing negative about it.
We might not have the same heritage, but we all have the same human emotions and can relate to that. I've had people come up to me after the show and say, "I don't know any Sicilian. I don't know what the heck you're saying when you're singing, but I felt everything."
If I can give people that feeling of belonging, that feeling of being understood and heard, then I think I've succeeded.
I have always felt that I wanted this for Sicily as well. I want Sicily to be understood. I want people to understand that, yes, Sicily is beautiful. Yes, the food is fantastic. But Sicily is so much deeper than that. She's been around a long time, and she's not going away. And she's got a lot to offer. There are so many aspects of Sicily that are so rich, and we can look at that.
