(Translated by Chat GPT)
Captured on the phone in Verona during rehearsals for the tribute concert to Franco Battiato, Invito al viaggio, Carmen Consoli opens up on various topics. She discusses her new album, Volevo fare la rockstar, her blues roots, the folk music of her fellow Sicilian Rosa Balistreri, and reflects on wanting to stop time, Orwell, the emotional memory of Battiato, concerts in New York, and her upcoming tour. She also touches on the essence of rock, her father Giuseppe (a passionate bluesman who passed away in 2009), the deterioration of online discourse, and being a single mother. Throughout, Carmen showcases a formidable energy and an unstoppable desire to return to music after the pandemic-induced hiatus.
Hi Carmen, first off, a quick question: are you familiar with OndaRock?
Yes, of course!
Let’s dive into your new album, Volevo fare la rockstar, coming six years after L’abitudine di tornare. It seems that habit has slowed a bit. Was it your intention to take such a long break, or was this past year and a half to blame?
Yes, the album was put on ice. It was actually ready two years ago. Most of the songs were written before the pandemic. During the pandemic, I only composed three tracks: Imparare dagli alberi a camminare, Volevo fare la rockstar, and Armonie numeriche. Everything else was done earlier. We hadn’t entered the studio yet, we had only recorded demos in pre-production (bass, drums, guitar), all live, just to have a memory of these songs. Then the pandemic hit, and we said, "Guys, we’ll meet again when this ‘flu’ passes." But "this flu" lasted a year and a half...
Did you change anything in the meantime?
Yes, for example, the title. The album wasn't originally supposed to be called Volevo fare la rockstar but Armonie numeriche. The rockstar idea came later as a reflection on my life. What stayed was the idea of using live recordings: the drums, bass, guitar, and vocals were all recorded live, then we added strings, keyboards, and a few more guitars. We had everything ready in a week.
Speaking of time, in your single Una domenica al mare, beyond the nostalgia (a memory of your father), one feels your desire to slow down: "If only we stopped to breathe with our hearts." Has it become impossible?
I believe we’re losing touch with our nature. We are human beings, meant to experience emotions over time. For example, it takes nine months to give birth, not three. Today, there’s a growing trend to speed everything up, losing the joy of taking time to process happiness, pain, or even thoughts. It’s the very concept of philosophy—the love of reasoning. The time it takes to reach a conclusion through dialogue is essential. But today, time is money, and the faster the better. We’re told to write songs in two minutes, and you’re told to cut out "outdated" words. Everything becomes a summary of a summary. Now, even reading an article is seen as a waste of time.
The idea of revisionism: we’re stepping into a minefield...
Exactly. With super-fast news and information flooding in and becoming outdated the next day, it’s like a continuous reset. Every twenty years, we get an update like computers, and we forget what happened two decades ago. We are revising history. For me, history is the foundation of our future identity. Today, I dream, desire, and create projects based on history, and no one can confuse that.
It’s very Orwellian—removing memory to fit the present, like in 1984...
Exactly, just like 1984, where using an outdated word or loving is a crime. Winston and Julia’s love is a crime because love itself becomes forbidden. Love, dreams, and desires are more tangible than they seem. It would be wonderful to invest in love, in human happiness. Instead, we define "standard of living" by our bank account or social position. But what is that worth without happiness?
Your song Imparare dagli alberi a camminare speaks to this desire to slow down.
Yes! Funny enough, I found out that trees actually "walk," and I wrote a song about it. There are olive trees in Puglia that shift a little every year, so over the centuries, they've moved. Slowly, but without trampling over anyone.
It’s tough, though, in these times of "free insult"...
Yes, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Aretha Franklin (or Otis Redding, to be accurate) said it before, but we need to say it again: today, we live in an era of absolute freedom to insult. The predator verbally assaults you, silences you—that’s the norm, even on TV. When I watch some political debates, I get heart palpitations and need a chamomile tea! (laughs)
Back to your childhood: the cover of the album is a blast from the past!
Yes, with my little bow and smock and the chewed-up pen I gnawed on because I was forced to write with my right hand, even though I was left-handed. I dreamed of being a rockstar, using a flashlight as my microphone, and the kitchen table was my stage.
What were your rock idols growing up? And do you ever think of returning to those sounds?
I haven’t really strayed from that approach. For instance, right now I’m working with Marina Rei—an incredible drummer and great friend—on a show for guitar, drums, and vocals where we get quite aggressive. We’re both playing the instruments of our fathers (hers was a drummer, mine a guitarist). We’re having a blast. I play an acoustic guitar tuned down half a step, but connected to two amps in parallel with a pedalboard. Imagine the noise! So yes, my rock side is always alive. For me, rock isn't just about sound, it’s also about content.
Like Woodstock, where Joan Baez took the stage with just a guitar...
Exactly. For me, the most rock person in Italy was Fabrizio De André. What’s more rock than the story of the dwarf with a heart too close to his butt? (laughs)
I wanted to ask you about Franco Battiato: you knew him well. What do you think made him so unique?
Franco was incredibly generous. He helped everyone, despite being a bit of a loner. But he wasn’t alone—his home was full of people: singers, actors, dancers... His house was the real "permanent center of gravity." He also loved my mom’s vegetarian stew!
He gave you some great advice too.
Yes, he’d say, "When the audience expects something from you, you have to do the opposite." He was so kind and genuine, with a sharp sense of humor. When he passed, the entire city of Catania cried, from the baristas to the bakers.
Speaking of your roots, I know you’re a fan of Rosa Balistreri. What has she given to your land, and what have you learned from her?
Rosa was like our Bessie Smith. Despite coming from extreme poverty, she imposed herself with her immense voice and hunger for culture. She sang pain—just like Janis Joplin. There’s no difference between Rosa and Janis, except for the language. Both sang their misery, trying to exorcize it through music.
From your first show, let's talk about the upcoming ones: what will the tour of "Volevo fare la rockstar" be like?
I still don’t know! I would love to finally bring along a string quartet that I’ve already chosen, then a wind instrument (so trombone/trumpet), my guitarist, a bass, my guitar, a percussionist to add some colors and various elements, and then some vintage keyboards, like Rhodes, Hammond, contrasting with little toys like the Roland. Unfortunately, it’s not feasible: too many people on stage. I’ll have to lower my expectations, especially if we don’t get 100% capacity. But I’ll keep dreaming…
Speaking of dreams: what was it like performing in New York? I read about sold-out concerts and positive receptions from American critics as well. The New York Times described you as a "magnificent combination of a rocker and an intellectual, with a voice full of pain, compassion, and strength."
You know what I liked most about the overseas tour, in the end? The fact that the song that always got the most success was "A' Finestra," the song in dialect (which she explains in this hilarious video, editor's note). It seems that for them it was exotic, giving a bit of a "world music" vibe (she laughs). But I can honestly say I’m really happy. I’ve had the privilege to travel the world with my music. Luckier than that? I’ve truly fulfilled my childhood dream. I hope we can keep doing it, although this virus has been a big problem for music as well.
The media have talked a lot about your journey to motherhood. You shared your experience with assisted reproduction in London to have your son Carlo Giuseppe, after going through a long process that is unfortunately not available to single women in Italy. But you’ve also spoken in favor of the traditional family. What are your thoughts on this?
I’ve said that the traditional family remains a beautiful model, but not the only one. Since I became a single mother, I could advocate for my own situation and say that the traditional family is a failure, but I don’t think that at all. We all need to exist, even though for my son, the "normal" family is his family. Carlo goes to a very specialized school, and his report cards tell us that he’s a balanced and happy child. But honestly, I would have preferred to avoid all this effort. Assisted reproduction isn’t easy. I would have preferred "macari cu lu piacìri," as we say in Sicily, even with pleasure. Instead, it’s a very challenging path, maybe the traditional one is less so. But everything changes, even families, and we can’t stay anchored to medieval values.
Unfortunately, we’ve been told we have to wrap it up here...
Thank you for this great conversation. I would have loved to keep talking to you for longer, and I hope to do it soon.
Thanks to you and greetings from all of us at OndaRock!
A big hello to the whole OndaRock editorial team!
