Juri Camisasca - From Progressive to Spirituality

The musical career of Roberto “Juri” Camisasca seems split into two sides, as if it were an LP: if the first is dominated by the existential unease that accompanied him through the Seventies, the second shows an illuminating spirituality, the result of his choice to withdraw into monastic life. Seeing him today, Juri seems like a man at peace with himself and the world around him, yet his recording debut was a bolt out of the blue for Italian music. The singer-songwriter himself says he doesn't recognize himself in his first album, written when he was just twenty-two and working as a bricklayer to pay the bills: despite his personal opinion, The Window Within (1974) is a remarkably bold album, capable of blending folk elements with hallucinatory acid-prog turns, painting unsettling yet, at the same time, extremely evocative stories and landscapes. Helping him in the endeavor is his friend Franco Battiato, whom he met a few months earlier during military service; the Sicilian was immediately fascinated by Juri's shy, wild personality, and soon became a sort of musical godfather to him.

Besides the sound of his synthesizer (the famous VCS3), Battiato brought along a cast of considerable standing: Aktuala percussionist Lino “Capra” Vaccina, Maurizio Petrò and Mario Ellepi on guitar, Gianni Mocchetti on bass, Gianfranco D'Adda on drums, Marco Ravasio on cello, and producer Pino Massara on keyboards. Precisely because of this large cast of guests from different backgrounds, The Window Within isn't a progressive album in the purist sense, but rather a solipsistic, transcendental projection of the genre. While the rest of contemporary Italian progressive was weaving luxurious, baroque tapestries, Camisasca's archaic sounds point back toward the East and the golden mosaics of Byzantium. And while his controversial lyrics likewise secrete the same “male di vivere” found in our own Jumbo, Biglietto per l'Inferno or Mauro Pelosi, from a purely musical standpoint some parallels can only be found with experimental singer-songwriters like Tim Buckley, Claudio Rocchi and Alan Sorrenti.

At the time of the debut album, my ideas were a bit confused; some things were mere effects, though I think I was also expressing, even unconsciously, a certain existential unease.

Camisasca's world is painted in bold colors, his murky singing constantly smothered by discordant melodies, crowded with percussion and electronic inserts, describing the turbulence of an inner journey toward asceticism. His goal is to free himself from material cravings in search of the spiritual, starting precisely from the hidden anguish of a man struggling with the urges of his own body: this is the case with “Un galantuomo”, which manages to shape an empathetically desperate atmosphere, thanks above all to Camisasca's voice-as-instrument. As he himself will confess in the booklet of the 1991 CD reissue, in the opening track the visionary singer-songwriter paints his malaise of that time, giving it a rather peculiar connotation: “Nel mio corpo ci sono delle fognature e tutti le chiamano vene/ ma dentro ci sono dei topi che corrono”. This form of neurosis is reflected in the protagonist's self-harm, who finds himself forced to hit himself with a hammer so that those negative thoughts — represented by the rats — can escape through his nose and ears.

Further on, the galantuomo looks beyond his own self, glimpsing a social and political situation no less desperate: the paroxysmal ballad “Ho un grande vuoto nella testa” is driven by piano, which pleasantly contrasts with Camisasca's hoarse vocal attack. With “Metamorfosi” the album then returns to its folk roots, amid ethnic percussion, docile guitars and a placid synthesizer, a setting still at odds with the monstrous discovery upon waking. These Kafkaesque images of the man-insect, however, are not to be taken literally, but allude to the possibility of discovering oneself different as the days go by.

Unlike Kafka's tale, the insect eventually breaks free and flies away: this joy, however, is short-lived, as it finds itself thirsty in a waterless desert. Yet the journey doesn't end there, since Camisasca takes us to an even more frightening place: with astonishing dialectical skill, "Scavando col badile" overturns the slave-master relationship between man and animals, always seen from a subaltern perspective. Juri tells us of a world that works in reverse, like "Alice in Wonderland", except that in practice it more closely recalls Orwellian dystopias or Gulliver's allegorical-satirical travels; so, for instance, we find crocodiles using women's skin to make handbags, pigs mincing our flesh to make sausages, or a snake that plays the flute and hypnotizes a man.

Juri descends underground, gets his hands dirty and once again places himself in a dangerous position, forcing us to ask ourselves certain questions about the soul; an even more striking example of this intent is given by the martyrdom of the cross-dressing friend "John" who, through an autobiographical account emphasized by synth, invites the listener to reflect on the theme of homosexuality at a time in history when it was regarded as akin to a disease. Afterwards, precisely from these harsh considerations, a glimmer of hope emerges with "Un fiume di luce", where the sound of organ and voice pours out the first ray of light onto a flat, pathologized life.

Having opened Pandora's box, the quest can then be said to reach completion with the approach to the divine: “Il regno dell'Eden” is born and grows by photosynthesis precisely from the luminous glimmer of the previous track, and could be the best prototype of Camisasca's music, since it perfectly sums up everything this album has to offer, wriggling between folkloric moments and more experimental passages, right up to the final parousia: “Sono io il Creatore/ e rimango seduto sul trono principale”. For an album that begins under the sign of rats, it's a rather unexpected epilogue: it is the beautiful triumph of free will but — paradoxically — also the hard-won acceptance of God's design; it is the definitive opening of our “window within” toward the divine essence of life: the latter, in fact, already lies within ourselves, to paraphrase a splendid line from Saint Augustine's “Confessions”, so dear to Camisasca (“Tu eri dentro di me, e io fuori. E là ti cercavo”).

I always wanted to be a musician, to write songs. In the first half of the Seventies I lived in Milan, there was great ferment, the times gave musicians the chance to express themselves, to do things. [...] Back then I thought I could fulfill myself through music, I tried to shock for the sake of shocking, it was a matter of vanity.

The overall result of The Window Within is far more energetic than Alan Sorrenti's “Aria”, perhaps the only one in Italy at the time capable of similarly using his voice as an instrument; the difference is that while the future “figlio delle stelle” managed to sublimate the era's psychedelic dreams in an ethereal way, Juri's vision is instead stained by the innate nightmares that every man carries with him like an invisible but crushingly heavy burden. The existential unease running through the record indeed reflects that of its author, who also poured his malaise into a pair of singles (“La musica muore” and “Himalaya”) released during 1975.

That same year Juri joined the supergroup Telaio Magnetico alongside Franco Battiato, Mino Di Martino, Terra Di Benedetto, Roberto Mazza and Lino “Capra” Vaccina; the project, however, was born and ran its course over the span of a small tour in Southern Italy, the only record of which remains the posthumous album “Live '75” (1995).

In the following years Juri Camisasca recorded nothing of his own. He did, however, lend his voice to Franco Battiato for "Clic" (1974) and "Juke Box" (1978), as well as contributing to the backing vocals on Alfredo Cohen's album "Come barchette dentro un tram" (1976). In 1978 he returned the favor to Lino "Capra" Vaccina by playing violin on "Antico Adagio", while a year later he sang the track "Amon Ra" on Raul Lovisoni and Francesco Messina's album "I prati bagnati del monte Analogo". These collaborations were followed by several solo concerts in which he used his voice in an Eastern style, without lyrics, accompanying himself only with an Indian harmonium. In those days Juri was still living in depression in the Lombard capital ("I felt like a stray dog in Milan, an outcast: nothing made sense to me"), and to find some comfort he studied books on Eastern philosophy and withdrew from his friends, only re-entering society to work as a children's entertainer in nursery schools. When a book by Saint Teresa of Ávila happened to fall into his hands, however, he finally began to understand what was missing in his life.

By the late Seventies, the unease that had dogged him for years led him to take vows and retire to a Benedictine monastery, first at Praglia (Padua) and then at San Silvestro Abate on Montefano, in the Marche region. He would leave those cloisters eleven years later in search of something even more extreme, becoming a hermit on the slopes of Mount Etna. During this period he began painting icons, breaking his silence only in 1987 to take part, as narrator, in some performances of Franco Battiato's theatrical work "Genesi". A follow-up to The Window Within would not arrive until 1988, with the release of Te deum, a work marked from its very title by a strong religious influence, made up of a series of Gregorian chants and original pieces electronically arranged by Camisasca himself.

In the same years Juri once again proved himself a great songwriter for other artists, writing "Nomadi" for Alice ("Park Hotel", 1986), a song later included on Franco Battiato's album "Fisiognomica" (1988) and on Giuni Russo's "Voce prigioniera" (1998). It was precisely for Alice that he wrote some of his finest songs, most of them gathered on her "Sun in the rain" (1989); that same year he also penned a series of tracks for Milva's "Svegliando l'amante che dorme" ("Potemkin", "Angelo del rock", "Una storia inventata").

Before converting to Christianity I was someone who followed Kerouac, Hendrix, the Beat Generation, the myth of Woodstock. Then something concrete happened in my life: the encounter with Christ, which turned everything upside down. Being a Benedictine monk is a consequence of that choice: finding the right space for a Christian way of life.

In 1991 Camisasca officially returned with Il carmelo di Echt, a musical testimony of faith with artistic supervision by Mauro Pagani of Pfm, though his influence on the final result is slight: the album is closer to the cultured electronic rock of Battiato. Still steeped in a profound contemplative mysticism, the record opens with its title track, which the Sicilian singer-songwriter himself would later cover on "Fleurs 2". The song is about Edith Stein, the Jewish philosopher who converted to Catholicism and died in the gas chambers of Auschwitz on 9 August 1942.

The religiosity of Il carmelo di Echt seeks no converts, but rather reflects its author's wide-ranging studies. While Juri turns to scripture in "Le acque di Siloe" (the waters of eternity, according to the prophet Isaiah), he also casts a glance eastward in "Nuvole bianche", alluding to the Buddhist metaphor of free spirits. In this same vein, "Revolution Now" refers to revolution as spiritual transformation, while "L'urlo degli dei" and "La nave dell'eterno talismano" are linked to a form of Eastern meditation - though also traceable back to the Desert Fathers - aimed at freeing oneself from the din of the phenomenal world. "La nave dell'eterno talismano" in particular stands as the manifesto of Juri's transformation: whereas almost twenty years earlier his negative thoughts had turned into rats on his debut album, the singer-songwriter has now overcome those troubles, finding peace in his hermit's life (“guardali passare come degli aeroplani in volo/ non fermarli/ lasciali dissolvere”).

In 1992 Juri lent his voice to Battiato's new work "Gilgamesh" and to Lino "Capra" Vaccina's album "L'attesa", with whom he also collaborated in 1995 on "In cammino tra i sette cieli". Then, in 1999, came Arcano enigma, a record of enveloping electro-pop sounds in which Camisasca's admiration for Saint Augustine spills over into the lyrics as well, some drawn directly from his "Confessions" ("Arcano Enigma", "Sant'Agostino"). Besides marking his return to Battiato's production, the album also features studio contributions from Bluvertigo, largely responsible for the record's more melodic, less experimental direction. The songs are indeed more immediate, moving between airy refrains ("Tocchi terra tocchi Dio", "L'evidenza di un amore"), mild inquisitorial moments ("Zodiaco", "Vegetarian Song") and engaging Latin chants ("Non cercarti fuori", "Ecce panis").

Since the budget was limited, we recorded the album in the space of a week. Everything you hear on 'Arcano enigma' is the result of 'first take, best take'. A truly interesting experience. For instance, in the track 'Zodiaco' you can find a riff that I later reused for 'Zero'. I had asked Franco Battiato if I could reuse that riff for our record, and he told me: 'Go ahead, Juri won't even notice'. Juri is an extraordinary musician, highly evolved, completely outside of any globalization. He makes music and moves in the direction of mysticism. I find everything he does mystical. He reads in Latin, he paints magnificent icons.

(Morgan)

In the Nineties and 2000s, Camisasca continued writing songs for Giuni Russo and Alice, and co-wrote with Battiato "Nuvole nere" for Pfm, featured on "Serendipity" (2000). In 2008 he reunited with Battiato, duetting on his song "La musica muore" for the album "Fleurs 2". Again for Battiato, he took part in the new work "Telesio" (2011) and appeared in his three films "Perdutoamor" (2003), "Musikanten" (2005) and "Niente è come sembra" (2007).

After briefly taking part in 2015 in Lino "Capra" Vaccina's album "Archaic Harmonic" (on which he sings the hymn "Andante ancestrale"), 2016 saw Juri's unexpected return to the music world, alongside his friend Rosario Di Bella. Both had for some time been living in solitude on the slopes of Mount Etna, until Rosario felt the urge to share with Camisasca his idea for a concept album about archangels; and so, after 17 years of recording silence, the monk returned to the scene, recording with his friend Rosario his own personal idea of "spirituality", marked by electronic backdrops and Gregorian chants, where the former's experimental spirit merges with the latter's pop sensibility to outline a persuasive religiosity that, through hesychastic teaching, invites the listener to seek peace and harmony with nature.

Spirituality opens with the splendid benediction of "Pace", a syncopated, electric blessing for a world that creates and possesses everything, yet cannot find peace, shaken as it is by an alarming crisis of values (“io potrei augurarti una montagna di cose/ ma ogni cosa ha un prezzo e poco valore/ e per questo adesso io ti auguro pace/ pace ai tuoi occhi, pace al tuo dolore”). It is a mass for lonely, weary souls, continuing through the pianistic liturgy of "Gabriel" and the synthetic consolation of "Il canto della beatitudine", in which the echoes of early Battiato are strong, while the evocative Latin prayer of "Deus meus" eventually veers off into the vertiginous territory of Enigma.

At this point we find one of the record's most representative songs, the controversial "Se incontri il Buddha", which recalls a well-known Zen koan urging one to kill the Buddha whenever he appears on your path: the track is, clearly, a drastic and allegorical rejection of one's own physical and psychological dependencies, also recalling the biblical episode in which Jesus urges his disciples to hate their own children and parents, alluding - obviously, in a figurative sense - to the renunciation of the earthly bonds they represent.

Later on, there is room for a jovial reggae number railing against appearances ("Cogli l'essenza") and for an angelic, mystical reverie ("Uriel"), but elsewhere too the duo's vision proves just as evocative: the English-language electro-pop infatuation of "Space And Flowers" and the divine, minimal-pop emanation of "Suprema identità" then carry us into the cosmogonic revelation of "Il mondo è costruito sull'amore", sung with tenderness by Di Bella who, with touching sincerity, reminds us how often humility is the key to a fuller, happier life.

Also within its author's vocal range is “Sun in the rain“, a song already made unforgettable in Alice's version, and the sincere love that ties Camisasca to the East also returns (“Luce dell’India”). Closing the tracklist are the transcendental title track, an instrumental, cosmic symphony in the style of kosmische musik, and the brief Marian prayer “Shlom Lech Mariam”, recited with emphasis in Aramaic.

Without a doubt, Camisasca's return to the scene has not betrayed expectations: with Di Bella he gives us an intimate, solemn record, charged with a wonderfully pantheistic spirituality, showing us with the affection of a loving yet strict father just how much we need “peace in this time that speaks not of love”. With Spirituality the Camisasca-Di Bella duo thus wants to remind the world that there is still nobility in human beings, reminding us of the urgency of interfaith dialogue and of a return to simplicity, because while it's true that fear often divides us, we must never forget that the world is (still) built on love.

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