Colapesce - A round trip through the Sicilian provinces

The legend, widely known throughout southern Italy, tells of Colapesce as a sort of child prodigy with an innate talent for swimming, so much so that he seemed, indeed, like a fish. The son of a Sicilian fisherman, he spent his days roaming the depths of the Mediterranean in search of treasure, until one day the King of Sicily, having heard of his fame, decided to put him to the test. It was during one of these trials - according to the best-known version of the legend - that Colapesce dove so deep into the sea that he discovered Sicily rested on three pillars, one of which was on the verge of collapse. To save his land from disaster, the boy then decided to take the pillar's place, remaining forever to hold up his island and never again returning to the surface.

It's no coincidence, then, that Lorenzo Urciullo, a true-blue Sicilian, former leader of Albanopower and part of the Santiago project with Alessandro Raina, chose the name Colapesce for his solo project. A singer-songwriter and "storyteller", since adolescence he has been constantly torn between land and sea, between staying and leaving. On one hand a very tight bond with Sicily, with its landscapes, with the provincial reality he grew up in and with all the traditions it holds; on the other, a broader, more ambitious gaze, constantly turned towards Europe and contemporary life. Just like the boy in the legend, Urciullo is a prodigy who grew up in a small Sicilian town and who has a contradictory, vital relationship with the sea: it's an escape route to dive into in order to express all his talent and reach new shores to explore, but it's also the best way to remain forever bound in protection of the reality that gave him life and that constantly resurfaces in his songs. Musically, in fact, Colapesce has carried with him since his debut the whole melodic and singer-songwriter tradition of Italy, from Lucio Battisti to Paolo Conte, but he also feeds on international influences, mindful of the afternoons he spent as a teenager listening to "Ok Computer" in his bedroom.

In his records he has always sought a meeting point between the various elements at play, above all the coexistence of modernity with tradition, of the popular-national element with the international one, pairing experimentation with immediate, sometimes even danceable, melodies. More than many of his peers, Colapesce has never been afraid to be modern and to go against the grain: at a time when Italian indie - inevitably his own field - is dominated by a vintage bent and a certain expressive urgency, Urciullo has always made sure that the immediacy of his songs felt current and was the product of deep research, carried out as if it were a moral duty to fulfil with painstaking care. Always steering clear of easy winks to the audience and clichés, Colapesce has also shown from the start an uncommon technical mastery among his peers, whether in his vocal delivery or in the meticulous care given to his arrangements.

It's no coincidence, then, that after a self-titled EP that served as a kind of calling card, the debut album A wonderful decline (2012, 42Records) already tries in every way to live up to these good intentions, albeit with all the natural limitations of a first work. At a time when Italian indie was increasingly tying itself, ever more sterilely, to nostalgic and simplistic clichés, this album was Urciullo's concrete attempt to set himself apart from all that.

If, melodically, Battisti's lesson proves essential and well learned - evident not only in a markedly similar vocal delivery but also in the solid, airy melodies Colapesce builds - the rest of his references are from the outset subtler and more refined than those typically in vogue in Italian indie, ranging between Gino Paoli and Ivano Fossati. The result is a breviary of refined songwriting with a pop spirit, and one that in hindsight will remain his most Italian record. Another decisive push to set himself apart from his peers comes from the arrangements, denser and more carefully crafted than average, shielding a Mediterranean imprint that, thanks also to Roy Paci's horns, swings between refined electric and acoustic solutions in which guitars always take centre stage.

In a perpetual flight from easy nostalgia, all the work done on the arrangements is measured both in a delicate, minimalist approach that will remain very dear to Urciullo even in the future, and in a series of rich, dazzling compositions. The first group includes, for example, "Restiamo in casa" and the pre-orchestral silences of "La distruzione di un amore", while the sultry soft-ballad "Satellite" and "Un giorno di festa" show off a denser, more layered sound.

On the melodic front, "S'illumina" and "Le foglie appese", both with acoustic guitars in the foreground, are the two passages closest to Battisti's pop, the chorus of "I barbari" opens up into a rousing sing-along, while the riff of "La zona rossa" underpins an interesting structure. The only clear limitation of these choices lies in the fact that such instrumental richness isn't matched by equal sonic variety, which over time ends up exposing the album to a certain monotony and repetitiveness.

In any case, the album's true weakness lies in a lyrical apparatus that's still somewhat immature and not quite up to the standards of such an ambitious project. Although close to the minimalist and poetic territory of friends Dimartino and Dente, Colapesce repeatedly tries to develop an original storytelling style, one built around everyday events told sometimes through more sophisticated writing, sometimes through an almost naive simplicity, though the attempt doesn't always succeed. In the first case, while there are certainly some fine strikes ("Quando tutto diventò blu"), the writing often ends up incomprehensible and devoid of real evocative power, bordering on the baroque ("Sottotitoli"); in the case of overly simple lyrics, good moments like "S'illumina" alternate with dangerous slides into banality ("Satellite" above all loses a great deal on this front).

Overall, the lyrics sometimes leave the impression that the album can't quite escape the very clichés it's trying so hard to avoid. That said, A wonderful decline remains a more-than-solid debut, one whose strengths are already clearly visible and which still has plenty of room to grow. It's partly for this reason that the album was so warmly received, to the point that in October, capping off a hugely gratifying season, it even won the 2012 Targa Tenco for best debut work.

The deluxe edition, released the following year, completes the picture by placing emphasis on the more intimate sides of Urciullo's identity: the pulses of the atypical "Anche oggi si dorme domani" open onto an ethereal account of a thirty-something's crisis, in what seems to be something like the mother of the entire Colapesce project; "Talassa", minimal acoustic Mediterranean folk, is a cathartic return to the sea; the eclectic set of "nine covers" retraces, without bias, the mainstream popular imagery the songwriter grew up with, through unlikely interpretations ranging from 883 to Michael Jackson.

The follow-up, Egomostro (2015, 42Records), naturally builds on the strengths of the debut, pushing the meticulous attention to detail and overall production quality even further. With Neapolitan producer Mario Conte (who had already worked with Meg on "Psychodelice") at the helm, the challenge becomes overcoming the excessive repetitiveness of the arrangements on A wonderful decline, moving toward a wider variety of sounds. The solution the two "men of the sea" land on is to electrify the original formula, pushing synthesizers and electric guitars to the fore, finally drawing on those references so dear to Urciullo (Talking Heads and Phoenix above all) that the Mediterranean framework of the debut had necessarily excluded. The result is a graceful, luminous balance between singer-songwriter fare, pop-rock and electronics, with the songs gaining in three-dimensionality and coming across as fresh and thoroughly contemporary.

Working as meticulously as ever, song after song the Colapesce-Conte duo finally manage to build a varied work, capable of ranging across different sonic territories, helped along by the happy choice of enlisting a series of outstanding musicians (among others, Fabio Rondanini of Afterhours and Vincenzo Vasi) to bring out and reconcile the album's different souls, with Urciullo taking on the unprecedented role of "conductor," ready to give voice, in turn, to every instrument.

While it's true that the exaggerated opening of "Dopo il diluvio," with its electric, syncopated wall of sound à-la Talking Heads, seems to cut all ties with the past, in reality Egomostro is an album that shares a great deal with its predecessor. "Reale," bouncing along on a bed of synths, picks up the usual pop veins but enriches them with a lovely horn section; "Maledetti italiani" is instead an elegant suite with an airy chorus, while "Le vacanze intelligenti" is an episode – the only one, in fact – of modern synth-pop that even recaptures certain exotic '80s atmospheres from Matia Bazar.

The rhythm section also shines, driving Copperfield with tribal beats and making the title track, thanks to the geometric danceability it's given, sound like a track freshly lifted from an updated version of "His Master's Voice", in a game of parallels with Franco Battiato that, without exaggeration, could even be pushed further. The ballads, too, feel decidedly strengthened by this new guise: "Sottocoperta" comes to life through the blending of acoustic textures with an evocative electronic backdrop, "L'altra guancia" opens up into melancholy expanses into which Colapesce's precise voice inserts itself with real courage, the nocturnes "Sold Out" and "Mai vista" still draw on Italy's most hidden tradition, from Mango to Anna Oxa, and "Passami il pane" almost feels like the illegitimate child of Radiohead's "Kid A".

In any case, Egomostro is truly the moment when every aspect comes across as genuinely improved compared to the past, to the point that the growth is exponential even on the lyrical side. The iconoclastic "Maledetti italiani" and the title track emerge as two bold, refined invectives, "Sottocoperta" finally handles poetic imagery with real skill (“come ombre di stelle/ sono i nei/ della tua pelle”), and "Reale" gives strength to writing that's simple but no longer banal ("da oggi non consulto più nessuno/ amare basta e lo faccio a testa alta" is a line that disarms with its sheer effectiveness).

Further on, the melancholy of "L'altra guancia" becomes something of a manifesto, the irony of "Brezsny" an added value, and the mantra of "Passami il pane" ("sentenze più luoghi comuni/ il cancro di una relazione" looped throughout the track) a display of crystal-clear economy. Overall, Egomostro is a very sophisticated record, with weighty lyrics, varied arrangements and a smooth flow, even as it's packed with details that reward repeated listens. The final picture is that of an artist who has grown enormously, who isn't afraid of the present moment and who has finally managed to develop a personality as convoluted as it is unique, moving once and for all away from certain clichés – whether shortcuts or limitations.

In the winter between 2015 and 2016 came Concerto disegnato, an intimate tour featuring just Colapesce on guitar, accompanied by his friend, illustrator Alessandro Baronciani, drawing alongside him on stage. The two, who had already worked together on the graphic novel "La distanza," took this guitar-and-drawings performance around Italy, revealing the most intimate, evocative and even ironic side of the Sicilian songwriter's music.

Then came Infedele (2017, 42Records). If it weren't only the third chapter in Urciullo's discography, one might already be tempted to speak of artistic maturity. Without going too far, it's fair to simply call it the album of his first solid certainties; the product of a new, even sharper self-awareness, one that shows how, over these years, Colapesce has never lost sight of the path he'd set out on. It's no coincidence that it contains everything that has, over time, come to define Urciullo's identity, from his Sicilian roots (also symbolized by the iconoclastic cover, which depicts the songwriter as a child at his first communion) to his international outlook, from electronics to classic singer-songwriter fare.

The strength of Infedele, however, lies precisely in the knowing, razor-thin balance it strikes, one that allows it to push each of these elements toward end points that have never before felt simultaneously so distant from and so complicit with one another. Indeed, despite containing only eight tracks, it's probably his most varied and daring work, and the production dream team behind it was essential in this regard, with the ever-reliable Mario Conte joined by heavyweight Iosonouncane.

Within this kaleidoscope of perspectives, the singles "Ti attraverso" and "Totale" stand out as probably the first two truly pop songs in Colapesce's catalogue. Without prejudice, Urciullo drew freely from the last decade of Italian pop tradition, stripping it of all its excesses and crafting two potential radio hits that are fresh and intelligent, with the same obsessive care taken to steer clear of any slide into banality, both musically and lyrically (the lyrics, not coincidentally, are two remarkably cynical gems).

On the other hand, diametrically opposed to the territory just explored, Colapesce once again climbs steep, jagged paths, in search of ever more difficult and layered solutions. This is where Iosonouncane's hand is felt most strongly: "Pantalica," with light but constant echoes of "DIE", is a bold, raw and sincere tribute to his homeland, in what is perhaps the most challenging episode of his discography, a suite that perfectly blends exotic melodies and dissonance, electronics and a final sax solo; "Compleanno," by contrast, with lyrics pared down to the bone and a four-on-the-floor kick drum, spills into an orgy of unprecedented deep-house, dancehall-style sounds à-la Cosmo, remarkable precisely for the confidence and personality with which it was put together. The key, once again, lies entirely in a genuinely solid production, one capable of making a stylistic choice that is actually quite disorienting feel almost obvious.

The rest is the familiar, measured Colapesce, though this time more refined than ever: the soft guitars of "Maometto a Milano" mark an instantly recognizable sound and deliver yet another biting invective, "Decadenza e panna" smooths out every rough edge of a deliberately spare, minimalist arrangement more than ever before, while "Vasco da Gama," exotic and built on a harp riff, opens up into an erotic, evocative lyric, one of the lyrical high points of Colapesce's career. The ending of "Sospesi," one of the album's peaks, transforms a classic Paolo Conte-style singer-songwriter ballad into a show of modernity, amid piano chimes, a thoroughly classy arrangement and writing that's direct and effective, creating a rarefied atmosphere that places an ellipsis over an album which, however uneven it can sometimes be, testing the internal coherence of its songs, still stands as the most complete work in the discography of a talent who has by now become one of Italian music's sure things.

Having already worked together in the past as songwriters for other artists, in June 2020 Colapesce joined forces with Dimartino, cementing their fruitful collaboration and personal friendship with their first official joint work, titled "I Mortali" (42 Records/Picicca).

The pairing has two fascinating sides to it: the artistic one, and the fact that it brings together two Sicilian-born artists who fiercely love their splendid homeland, steeped in history.

I Mortali is a record that oozes Sicilian identity from every pore.

Alongside the musical project, the duo also made a short film, available to stream, sharing the album's title. It's a live movie in which the two singer-songwriters converse while moving through some of the region's enchanting scenery.

The core concept guiding the whole record is precisely that of mortality, the condition shared by every earthly creature, a fate from which not even man can escape. It isn't easy, nor is everyone capable, to believe in the opposite idea, that of immortality. During adolescence, every person is convinced they're immortal, stronger, able to do anything. Yet it's death, in fact, that is the most objective concept of our entire existence. Colapesce and Dimartino spell out how all our bodies are inevitably destined to vanish, disintegrate, become something else. The album is thus dedicated to all of us mortals, to our shared ordinariness, but at the same time to the infinite singularity of each human being's personal thought.

About a month before the album's release, as a tasty appetizer, the lead single "Luna araba" was astutely chosen, featuring the precious and extraordinary contribution of Carmen Consoli (in a genuine Sicilian sit-in). The track is a timely, sweeping, nostalgic journey that, with vivid imagination, projects the listener into Sicilian places and fantastical atmospheres, moving between Normans, Arab moons and Spanish influences on the ancient island of Ortigia. The single comes with a vividly colorful official video made by painter Tommaso Buldini, steeped in resolutely psychedelic sequences.

Flipping through the pages of this precious work, a wealth of standout tracks emerges. On "Cicale", introspective and sly, yet with an effective, catchy chorus, learned Platonic themes are invoked via the "Myth of the cicadas". Human beings so passionate about music that they forget to eat, and even agree to die just to keep singing and turn into cicadas, thanks to the intervention of the Muses, so they can go on singing happily forever.

"Il prossimo semestre" is a new, intense and heartfelt tribute to the figure of the singer-songwriter, following in the footsteps of what Edoardo Bennato ("Cantautore") or Piero Ciampi ("Il merlo") had previously represented.

Clear references to the infamous Erba massacre surface in "Rosa e Olindo", pleasantly retro in its melodies locked into neo-pop-style phrasing, where the nostalgic thoughts of the two lovers - now separated due to the sentence they're serving, after a lifetime spent together - live out, apart, the separation caused by prison restrictions, trading romantic thoughts.

"Majorana" is a deeply autobiographical track and, by their own admission, one of their favorites. It's a ballad driven by a sinuous acoustic guitar, where the two protagonists' voices blend perfectly as they describe, in measured cadence, personal fragments tied to their youth.

Hit-worthy qualities show up in the propulsive "Noia mortale", a song that's nowhere near as grim as its title suggests. A driving rhythm and a catchy chorus, elements just as evident in "Parole d'acqua", reflections that swirl in everyone's head but that one never quite finds the courage to actually say out loud.

I Mortali is a work that sees the two Sicilian singer-songwriters perfectly blend their best qualities, expressing sophisticated, unconventional ideas and carving them out within a safe space. A singer-songwriter pop record of the highest quality, impeccably produced with the help of skilled specialists who added extra polish to a fine set of instantly graspable songs.

Following their appearance at the 2021 Sanremo Festival with the new song "Musica Leggerissima" - which finished fourth in the final standings and won the "Premio Lucio Dalla" awarded by the press room - the Sicilian duo continued their artistic collaboration, leading to an expanded reissue of the 2020 album, renamed for the occasion I Mortali². Besides adding the Sanremo track - a genuine streaming smash and gold record within just two weeks of release - the reissue includes another new song (the title track), two covers - "Born To Live" by Marianne Faithfull, renamed for the occasion "Nati per vivere", and "Povera patria" by Franco Battiato - and six songs drawn from the two Sicilian singer-songwriters' solo repertoires (three each).

In 2023, the now well-established artistic duo decided to return to the Sanremo kermesse with the song "Splash", a tune that lacks the all-consuming appeal of their previous hit but still keeps the quality level high, both in terms of its particularly catchy melody and, above all, its lyrics - ironic, realistic and sharp, closer to the duo's actual songwriting character.

This time, Colapesce and Dimartino, spurred on by the media exposure granted by the Festival (where they placed tenth and won both the critics' and press room awards), unveiled the project you wouldn't expect: a film starring them as actors and co-writers alongside Zavvo Nicolosi, who also directed it.

The story of The Spring of My Life, which is the title of the film, deals with the breakup of their professional partnership, followed by a long period of total estrangement. Antonio gets back in touch with Lorenzo about a new, mysterious and intriguing project. The pair will have to come to terms with their past and their current personal situations, right up to a shocking revelation.

Colapesce and Dimartino – and this is what interests us most here – are the authors of the original soundtrack. Assisted by Federico Nardelli, Davide Rossi, Enrico Gabrielli, Giordano Colombo and Adele Altro (Any Other), the duo have taken on a modern reinterpretation of the stylistic devices that shaped the history of film scoring and 1970s Italian library music, drawing on the immense legacy left by giants such as Morricone, Micalizzi, Ortolani, Umiliani and Frizzi.

This is the stylistic fil rouge running through the long sequence of tracks, whose underlying nature lies in funk and jazz streaked with psychedelia. It's no coincidence that, alongside the original pieces written for the occasion, there are also some excellent contributions drawn from that golden era, courtesy of the talents of Bruno Nicolai, Lelio Luttazzi, Michele Lacerenza, Gianni Ferrio and Angelo Lavagnino.

The tracks are almost entirely instrumental and reveal the strong technical command stemming from the versatile authors' flair: the acoustic, classically-tinged waves of "L'albero cosmico", "Semeniti", "Sofia" and "La spiaggia" stand in contrast to the more sprightly likes of "Le mandorle non crescono d'inverno", "Stanco stanco stanco" and "Speedy Pizzo", where the flavours of the great Italian tradition in the field emerge in all their characteristic variations.

The only track on the album sung by the pair, besides the already mentioned "Splash", is "Il cuore è un malfattore", a captivating, ruthless piece fully in the duo's style. Worth noting is the excellent contribution from the aforementioned Madame, co-author and performer of the title track, probably the finest episode of the whole collection. The young artist from Vicenza appears in an unprecedented guise, as an accomplished chanteuse, a little Mina twirling through the notes of a composition that oozes Modugno, Tenco and Endrigo from every pore.

After composing, together with his partner Dimartino, the excellent soundtrack for the equally solid box-office debut "The Spring of My Life" – a damnably underrated film, in short a genuinely spirited yarn of a kind rarely made since the late Nineties – Lorenzo Colapesce has in some ways raised the bar, going on to compose the music for the more ambitious Iddu – Sicilians Letters, a film presented at the 2024 Venice Film Festival, written and directed by Fabio Grassadonia and Antonio Piazza, starring Elio Germano and, wouldn't you know it, the ever-present Toni Servillo, who has by now become a sort of "absurd toll" one has to pay to make "serious" cinema in Italy. But that's another story, which, sad as it may be, fortunately falls outside the scope of this review.

Conceived and composed with the valuable collaboration of Federico Nardelli on writing and production and Davide Rossi on strings, joined also by Alessandro Bottachiari on trumpet and the Schola Gregoriana Mediolanensi choir, the soundtrack to the film recounting the story of Catello, a politician convicted of external collusion with the Mafia who is offered freedom by the secret services in exchange for his help in capturing Matteo Messina Denaro, is a coalescence of major, and at times surprising, inspirations and references. Starting with the opening overture, a full seven minutes long, an electronic mini-suite that brings together Jon Hassell and the Florian Fricke of "Spirit of Peace" (!), conjuring an atmosphere of esoteric perdition that mirrors the protagonist's unease.

If a good start always bodes well for the rest of the day, then there could be no better opening than this for an album whose various instrumental interludes also tie together Tempera, Morricone, Macchi and the tradition of old Sicilian cantors, alongside the aforementioned pieces nodding equally to Hassell-esque third-worldism and the ancestral flights of masters like Fricke. Heavy-duty references indeed, no doubt about it, surfacing in flashes across eighteen movements, amid choral chants, prayers, drums, Middle Eastern strings, ancient rituals and sudden electronic incursions drawing on both the Berlin school and gypsy music ("L'ossessione del pupo").

The contribution of trumpet and strings then proves vital in animating instrumental passages that evoke a sense of bewilderment, with salvation glimpsed only rarely. Iddu – Sicilians Letters (Original Soundtrack) is for the most part a dark, anguished record, mirroring Catello's own state of mind, yet at times soothing, magically dreamlike. There's even a moment of pure rock mayhem, somewhere between Red Crayola and the Cramps, placed in the third quarter of the record ("Rita's blues"). And above all there's "La malvagità", the only proper song in the batch. It's a mournful yet at the same time epic ballad centred on human frailty ("Le promesse sono fiamme senza il fuoco"), rising in the chorus as the strings re-emerge from the dusk. In short, a small gem within an otherwise entirely instrumental album that, for whatever awards may be worth, has already deservedly won the Soundtrack Star Award 2024 for best soundtrack at Venice, confirming, if confirmation were still needed, Colapesce as one of the great new names in film scoring. Given the semi-comatose state much of Italian cinema finds itself in, the support of musicians like the singer-songwriter from Solarino can only be welcomed as a small but significant godsend.

Contributions by Cristiano Orlando ("I Mortali", "I Mortali²" and "The Spring of My Life"), and Giuliano Delli Paoli ("Iddu – Sicilian Letters")

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