Verdena - Psychedelic metamorphoses

Talking about Verdena inevitably means confronting some of the most interesting, problematic and widely discussed aspects of Italian rock history. First and foremost, the typically Italian dialectic built around the idea of an irreconcilable gap between independent attitude and major-label modus operandi — a conflict still unresolved today, and one that in the past gave rise to "collective tragedies," such as the one linked to the alleged betrayal of Csi, who for many became "slaves to the lira" after signing with Polygram/BlackOut.

The other two aspects are the ever-growing — though not necessarily improved — relationship between Italian rock and television, which acted as a launching pad for Verdena thanks to the famous "Valvonauta" video, and the export of Italian rock abroad, hampered as always by bureaucratic snags and the usual cultural and linguistic barriers.

Albino, Bergamo

Verdena was formed in 1995 by brothers Alberto and Luca Ferrari, respectively singer/guitarist and drummer, soon joined by Roberta Samarelli on bass. The result, to borrow a phrase from Carlo Petrini, is typical of and deeply rooted in its own cultural and social context: the valleys of the Bergamo area. The band's operational base is in Albino, a town in Val Seriana a few kilometers from Bergamo, in a former chicken coop converted into a rehearsal room/recording studio and rechristened "Henhouse." Verdena's natural habitat is a place surrounded by woods and valleys, caught between dead calm and the typical unease of provincial life. Those who have visited it, like Lorenza Biasi of the magazine XL, describe it like this: "When a traveler in southwestern Lombardy takes the wrong road, at the Brescia-Lovere fork, right after Abbazia, they enter a solitary and curious territory. The ground rises and the stone walls lined with brambles close in tighter and tighter on the ruts of the dusty, utterly dusty road."

Landscapes that might well stir the imagination and pen of David Lynch. But ones that cannot be left out of the picture if we want to understand the elusive, wild, dialogue-averse character that has often caused misunderstandings between the band and the specialist press. It's their attitude, to paraphrase Alberto Ferrari in one of the tracks from the album Requiem. Or perhaps, more precisely, it's a genuine inclination that leads the group to prefer the stage to the backstage, music to interviews.

I Wanted to Be Kurt Cobain

Success came relatively early: after two demo tapes and several live shows, in 1998 Verdena signed a contract with Black/Out Universal. A major label betting on a largely unknown emerging band shouldn't come as a surprise: this was, after all, the era of investment that saw labels like Polygram, EMI and Sony bring to market acts such as Csi, Casino Royale, Scisma and Bluvertigo — hardly chart-toppers. A fertile period, fueled by the huge success grunge and alternative rock had enjoyed in the preceding years, but one that would soon run its course in the following decade, hastened by the worsening crisis of the record industry.

The decision to bet on Verdena proved to be the right one. In the summer of 1999 they broke through thanks to the video for "Valvonauta," the single that preceded the release of their self-titled debut album, scheduled for the end of September. The track went into heavy rotation on MTV's schedule and earned them the title of Italy's first "MTV rock band": after Nirvana, here was the Italian-flavored reprise of that blend of "teen spirit" and strong stage presence that the ever-churning circus of labels always needs. A role the trio rejected, true to the wildness that makes them hard to tame: "With our first record we jumped straight from the chicken coop back home to MTV. We weren't ready, and so they tried to pass us off as a band they'd built, when all they'd actually done was air our video. The truth is we come from a completely different world, made up of a rehearsal room in the mountains, in a town where you can't even get a TV signal," Roberta Samarelli claims.

The band passed the test of time, selling 40,000 copies — a small record for a debut album. For critics, it was an invitation to give the matter a bit more thought. Indeed, beyond the personal taste that splits a good portion of the audience into die-hard fans and staunch detractors, Verdena brought with them a small breath of novelty: the sound tends toward the raw, nodding to Nirvana's grunge and Kyuss's desert rock, mixed with an uninhibited Italian-language vocal delivery, even if it's all too repetitive in its phrasing and choices. What matters most is the sound of the words, chosen above all for how they resonate: an approach that automatically alienates those who, unwilling to accept such a radical literary disengagement, can't quite stomach Alberto Ferrari's narrow repertoire. It's hard to fault those who point out the limited range of imagery on display. Yet it's equally hard not to acknowledge, at the same time, the impact of tracks built on a solid rhythmic foundation and buoyed by genuine melodic inspiration, like "Valvonauta," "Dentro Sharon," "Viba" and "Ovunque."

It's the latter that opens the record: a driving drumbeat, hunched over the toms — a trick that would often resurface later — runs parallel to one of the album's most effective guitar riffs. “È buio ormai/ non mi frega se piangi o no/ io come te/ confusione”, sings a voice still unformed, prone to occasionally raw, off-kilter inflections. And again: “Ovunque sei/ ovunque sei/ ci sei”.

It might seem partial to pick out only a few brief opening fragments from an entire album, but those few flashes are really enough to condense the vision dominating the tracks on Verdena: youthful anxieties finding an outlet in a handful of direct, essential words, repeated to the point of obsession, symbolically reproducing their own perpetually unstable centre of gravity. In this respect, Luca Ferrari's words come as no surprise: "I think a lot of kids recognised themselves in us. We reflect a certain way of feeling. I see it in a lot of people. In childhood friends. They're not doing very well. They're confused. Basically, they've either understood everything, or nothing, too soon. When you're a teenager you're inevitably a disaster."

The rest of the album keeps underlining these same states of agitation: for some an intolerable torment, for others a slow, enjoyable kind of drowning. The impression is that the decisive moment comes halfway through the listen, with the instrumental ballad "Caramel Pop", a long digression this time more monotonous and verging on filler, which in some way anticipates the tendency we'll find, squared, on the second album. It's the tipping point: some cross it gladly, others give up there. For the latter, tracks like "Viba" - which spawned the second video - and "Ultranoia" are sacrificed: still among the most beloved by fans, but perhaps also among the hardest to digest in terms of structure and musical choices, with a colourless, scarcely gripping sonic finale. The ending is entrusted to the disorienting triptych of "Zoe", "Bambina in nero" and "Eyeliner", where one can sense echoes of Marlene Kuntz and a generally less raw approach compared to the first part of the album. The closing track, in particular, opens a clear window onto the band's future directions, as if sending its critics a subliminal message: "Here's what's waiting for you." The overall flavour, however, doesn't change. If anything, the strengths and weaknesses mentioned earlier are confirmed. Worth bearing in mind a detail that's perhaps not so insignificant: at the time of their debut, Verdena were still eighteen years old.

Promoting the album takes the band to notable stages, such as the Indipendent Days Festival in Bologna and Arezzo Wave. An appearance on "Sonic", Mtv's cult programme devoted to live music, was inevitable, with Verdena laying their aesthetic bare without mincing words: ripped jeans, double-layered t-shirts and long hair, paired with a powerful, violent set, both in their approach to their instruments and in the sound itself. Many turned up their noses, baffled by the constant "ci sei", "me", "te", "perché"; many others, though, embraced it wholeheartedly, diving headfirst into this new "teen spirit" onto which, if they wished, they could pour their late-adolescent anxieties and regurgitations.

From grunge to psychedelia

After being produced by Giorgio Canali, the historic guitarist of Cccp and Csi, for the follow-up Just a Big Rock Verdena placed themselves in the hands of Manuel Agnelli, singer and leader of Afterhours. A lively intellectual figure of Italian rock, Agnelli has often shown himself willing to stir up controversy and debate but, above all, to actively lend a hand to the growth of the scene through commendable initiatives, such as the travelling festival Tora!Tora!. The album was recorded between January and March 2001 in Milan at Mauro Pagani's studio. It was preceded by the release of the EP Spaceman, whose video would later win an award for best experimental project. The overall tone and atmosphere of the record are darker than in the past. Thanks also to a decisive injection of keyboards and synths, the tracks stretch out until they take on a psychedelic touch capable of expanding the band's range; the long jam sessions at the "Henhouse" studio pushed Verdena towards a new sensibility, leading them to indulge more frequently in instrumental digressions. An attitude well summed up by the seven minutes of "Starless" and "Nova", and confirmed by Roberta Samarelli's words: "In rehearsal we start improvising on a few notes, that's usually how it happens, and we carry on for about forty minutes. 'Centrifuga', for instance, the first time we improvised it, lasted an hour and a half."

Detractors seize the opportunity for fresh criticism: tracks too long, sprawling and repetitive in structure. To be fair, a certain excess is noticeable, especially when Verdena seem to dig their heels in, orbiting stubbornly around the main idea. The pop of "Valvonauta" and "Viba" is, by now, a distant echo. Roberta Samarelli explains further: "When we finished the album, a week before recording it, the label people came to listen to it. And basically the feeling was that we were doing something crazy. That the album was anti-commercial. We took the blow, but then we did it our way: it was harder." Meanwhile, Manuel Agnelli's presence contributed to greater care in the writing of the lyrics: "He whipped me into shape. I used to write lyrics an hour before singing. Manuel locked me in the studio and forced me to hammer out the verses," Alberto recalls in an interview with John Vignola. The aesthetic, however, remains the same: "The music matters so much to us that I end up not saying anything better, not explaining anything, and I just try to give images that can enrich the played parts without invading the sound." Among the most successful episodes on Just a Big Rock are "Miami Safari", from which the second EP was drawn, the ballad "Nel mio letto" and the long-riding "Starless".

The album opens with "La tua fretta", a track for acoustic guitar, voice and mellotron, with melancholy, dreamlike tones. “Tu nell’ambiente che c’è ci sei/ e bruci ogni gioia/ ma è tutto ok”. Unlike the debut, the imaginary synecdoche - citing the part for the whole - doesn't seem to apply this time: "La tua fretta", unlike "Ovunque", doesn't exhaust a game of sounds and solutions that appears, at the very least, more varied than at the start. "Spaceman", in this sense, is a small step forward, tempered however by the apparent stillness of "Cara prudenza" and by tracks like "1000 anni come Elide" and "Centrifuga", which flare up with the impression of a whirling, solitary, repetitive dialogue with a vague, distant female presence.

When this almost fetishistic tendency towards introspection mixes with an equally overflowing stretching of structures, well, at that point Verdena really seem to lose themselves in the new mood. With a certain naivety, perhaps linked to the desire to explore to the full the possibilities offered by that new horizon that opened up before them during the exhausting jam sessions in the henhouse. The album was an immediate success, quickly reaching number six on the Fimi chart. The overall climate, however, appears to have shifted since their debut: the majors had retreated to their old strategies, abandoning those projects promoting "alternative" music aimed at giving a voice to emerging acts on the Italian rock scene. "The problem remains the record labels. The range of releases is poor and doesn't include anything non-commercial," the band itself confirms.

Meanwhile, Verdena take on a long tour across the country and in February 2002 take part in Mtv's "Supersonic", another quality niche show once again devoted to live performances. Once the album's promotion was over, in 2003 Alberto and Luca joined other artists such as Subsonica, Cristina Donà and La Crus on a compilation promoted by the magazine "Tutto", for which they recorded, together with Manuel Agnelli, three covers: "Tv Eye" and "Search & Destroy" by the Stooges, and "Across The Universe" by the Beatles. The chemistry with the Afterhours frontman was a guarantee of the tracks' success, among which a brilliant version of the Fab Four's song stands out.

Once the record was finished, it would be precisely these three tracks that turned out to be the most interesting of the whole compilation. A project that dragged behind it an annoying trail of controversy, with the then-weekly "Mucchio Selvaggio" accusing Manuel Agnelli - rightly, as it happens - of inconsistency for collaborating with a magazine belonging to Silvio Berlusconi's publishing empire, at a time when Berlusconi was Prime Minister and a frequent target of the singer's irony during Afterhours concerts.

Now we go it alone...

Two things are new ahead of the release of Verdena's third album: the permanent addition of keyboardist Fidel Fogaroli and the choice to self-produce. Il suicidio dei samurai hit stores in January 2004, preceded, as usual, by the EP Luna. The album marks a return to their roots as far as song form is concerned: the psychedelic digressions are a fairly distant memory, with a few echoes still perceptible only in a track like "Glamodrama", while "Phantastica" and "Luna" instead bear witness to a clear turn towards more conventional structures.

Reinforcing the sense of Verdena's growth is the evolution of a rhythm section now capable of gripping inventions, as in "Elefante" and "Logorrea". On the other hand, attention to the lyrics also seems to have increased. The impression is of a slow migration towards ironic, at times visionary, imagery: from the "experts at work/ ageless vineyards" criticised in "Logorrea" to the little scene painted by "40 secondi di niente", where "blue mice dance on the ocean" while "nothing is more true". Granted, perhaps not quite enough to convince the detractors. But, if nothing else with great honesty, there emerges an explicit intent to strip the words of a single meaning, steering clear of straightforward interpretations and hints at literal stories.

Il suicidio dei samurai is a predominantly rock album, less dark than Just a Big Rock and more classic, especially in its sound, compared to their debut. "It's what we wanted: a 90s album," Alberto Ferrari told "Rumore". The opening of "Logorrea" is the kind that leaves its mark, thanks also to the constant evolution of a Luca Ferrari who grows ever more imaginative and "colourful", and to the melodic effectiveness of Fidel Fogaroli's keyboards, understated but essential to the overall impact of the tracks. "Mina" revisits, in a more intense key, the rarefied atmospheres of "Spaceman", while "Phantastica" - one of the most intensely rock tracks - was chosen for the second video, directed by Roman filmmaker Alex Infascelli.

After the outburst of "Farfisa", a track that struggles to convince due to writing that's weaker than the album's overall tone, Verdena close with three of the most intriguing songs in their whole output: "17 Tir nel cortile" and "40 secondi di niente", with rarefied atmospheres and lyrics that run in parallel, and the title track that gives the album its name, a slow descent into a noise-driven, psychedelic, clearly playful finale.

Il suicidio dei samurai is also the album with which the band first ventured into foreign markets. Within the span of a year, between April 2005 and April 2006, the album was released in Germany, France, Austria and Switzerland; the real coup was distribution across the Alps handled by the label Barclay, the same one that had launched Noir Desir in the past. A European tour through those respective countries let the band take on the challenge of an unfamiliar live dimension, facing audiences free of preconceptions and full of curiosity. "A rewarding experience", according to Roberta Samarelli, which at the very least put Verdena at the forefront of exporting Italian-language rock abroad: the foreign version of Il suicidio dei samurai was in fact identical to the original, without the English vocals that record-industry conventions would theoretically demand.

In the summer of 2006 Verdena went back into the studio to continue work, already underway, on new material. The departure of keyboardist Fidel Fogaroli from the band was announced, though he still appears on two tracks of the album. From the start, early rumors spoke of a forceful return to rock, with harder and more varied sounds and arrangements than in the past.

Requiem was released on March 16, 2007. Once again, the album was self-produced. It ranges from references to 70s psychedelia to stoner-tinged touches recalling bands like Kyuss and Queens Of The Stone Age. The wandering atmospheres return in tracks like "Il gulliver" and "Sotto prescrizione del dottor Huxley", while the two acoustic ballads "Angie" and "Trovami un modo semplice per uscirne", produced together with Mauro Pagani, pick up the thread left hanging by "Nel mio letto", the track on Just a Big Rock that had hinted at a taste for slower, Beatles-tinged adagios. Overall, Requiem stands as Verdena's most mature and multifaceted album, where dark, harsh shades ("Don Calisto") merge with moments of languid sweetness (again, "Trovami un modo semplice per uscirne"): "I think that apparent incoherence is its main characteristic", explains Alberto Ferrari, "and the conflicts, even sonic ones, that you can sense are the same ones we've had with the people who've been close to us these past months. Anger and a bit of nastiness help us be prolific". The lyrics are among the most visionary and seemingly ineffable of their output: "I don't care whether people understand them or not. It's impossible for me to write linear stories. I don't even try, because I don't find them interesting". And again: "I decided a while ago that I'd stop talking about what I write. It's impossible to explain - actually, it's worse than that. I've tried, I've looked for ways to do it, but it just ends up sounding ridiculous".

The feeling is that the imagery serves as a backdrop to increasingly dense music, almost primitive in character. The accusations leveled at Verdena, beyond a certain lack of likability, are still today that their stylistic references are too blatant and their lyrics too inconsistent. Credit must be given, though, to Requiem, this time released in Spain too, which boasts a remarkable variety of solutions and expressions, but above all is carried by a vibrant inspiration, as shown by "Isacco nucleare", "Il caos strisciante" and "Non prendere l'acme, Eugenio". For many, it's an album "with an international breadth" whose developments will be worth following, not least to see just how entrenched and current the language barrier still is - the one that has so far kept Italian rock from making a name for itself beyond its borders.

Finally, the seven EPs that round out Verdena's discography deserve a separate mention. The band has accompanied the release of its albums with singles featuring not only unreleased tracks but, often, cover versions that shed light on the group's musical background and artistic roots. From Cream's "Sunshine Of Your Love" to Melvins' "Creepy Smell", via Elvis Presley's "His Latest Flame (Marie's The Name)" and Neil Young's "Harvest", this varied range of covers spans Verdena's entire career. What emerges is a passion for the 70s and the influence of psychedelic music, alongside echoes tied to late-80s grunge and punk.

The value of these EPs was further boosted by the sheer number of b-sides; a tendency linked to the desire to intrigue and satisfy their audience, borne out by Alberto Ferrari's own words: "The EPs hold the best and freest material". "Stenuo" (1999), "Blue" (2001), "Mu" and "Passi da gigante" (2004), "L'ora è buia" and "Fluido" (2007) are among the names of some of the most interesting unreleased tracks.

Expanding the boundaries

With the following Wow, Verdena once again get their hands dirty. First, because it takes nerve to put out a double album with twenty-seven tracks; second, because the cards are properly reshuffled. Short songs, quick sketches with guitars that are never really overbearing. Think of Verdena and you might picture high-octane shows, buckets of sweat et similia. Instead, the songwriting softens considerably, favoring distinctly pop melodic structures. As a result, the first half of the album glides by with almost none of the old urgency, the sole exception being the clattering minute-and-three-quarters of "Lui gareggia". The morning sunshine of "Scegli me" and the low-slung wave groove of "Loniterp", the measured psychedelia of "Per sbaglio" open the dance in disorienting fashion. Satisfying the expectations for the gritty grunge blasts of their early days is the dispersing celestial matter of "Mi coltivo", while the Air-like echoes of "Adoratorio" and the gorgeous Spanish-tinged guitar of "Razza Arpia Inferno e fiamme" follow close behind with great naturalness.

"Miglioramento" plays hide-and-seek between Arcade Fire and sugary prog, "Le scarpe volanti" pays homage to the Battiato of old, and then there's the romanticism turned into music of "Castelli in aria" and the first disc's double closer, "Sorriso in spiaggia" parts one and two, amid Canadian-school choral warmth and ever-present piano.

"Attonito", the opener of the second disc, harks back to the Seattle of twenty years ago, "È solo lunedì" rests on a spot-on piano-guitar duet accompanied by strings, while "Tu e me" offers a sliver of velvety folk. And then there's the a cappella, Morricone-style spaghetti-western vocal of "A cappello", the gaze lifted upward ("Grattacielo") to reveal a clear, limpid sky, right up to the closing "Lei disse (un modo del tutto differente)", with the piano magnificently carrying the melancholy turned into song. Verdena can no longer turn back. Wow is an album that reveals and lays them bare, that captivates without ever boring. The perfect calling card for the band that, more than any other, has known how to put itself on the line. A win across the board.

The Endkadenz saga

On January 27, 2015, the first volume of Endkadenz was released, the band's highly anticipated new work. Once again, Verdena did things on a grand scale: this is a project that Universal decided to roll out in two installments. The second volume would arrive within a few months. The recordings were gathered over the course of a year and a half, between June 2013 and November 2014, with Alberto Ferrari at the helm (as well as handling vocals, guitars and most of the songwriting), his brother Luca behind the drums, and Roberta Sammarelli serving as studio assistant as well as energetic bassist. Compared to Wow, several common threads stand out, whether in certain harmonies ("Puzzle") or in the presence of piano, which resurfaces fairly often in the compositional process ("Diluvio", "Vivere di conseguenza"). Musical ideas already well explored in the past resurface here too, such as the obliquely crystalline ballads ("Nevischio" is one of the best), or the saturated wall-of-guitars of "Alieni fra di noi" and "Inno del perdersi". But this time there are none of the blasts that made their approach so abrasive (remember "Isacco nucleare"?): instead, there's greater control over the energy being radiated, perhaps the product of a growing self-awareness and a newfound maturity which, while inevitably tending to smooth out the rough edges, never strips the final result of its necessary emotional drive.

If there are stylistic novelties within Endkadenz, we can trace them in the synthetic rhythms (and falsettos) of the irresistible "Sci desertico", in the unusual (for them) musicality of "Contro la ragione", or in the ever-present melancholy that this time envelops even the most electrically grandiose passages, like the opening "Ho una fissa", an instant classic, the first track to have been written, and not coincidentally also the one that holds most firmly to certain earlier incarnations of Verdena. When the band decides to dig in with the guitars, they do so with a breezy pop attitude ("Un po' esageri", the track chosen as the first single, even if not very representative of the rest of the batch, almost a new "Muori Delay"), with phrasing that inevitably gets stuck in your head. The syncopated alt-rock of "Derek", the energetic percussion on the instrumental tail of "Rilievo", the closing dark suite "Funeralus", are other interesting cards the trio lays on the table to enrich a project that leans heavily on the element of surprise.

All things considered, Endkadenz, at least in this first installment, once again consolidates a virtuous path shared by very few others in the history of Italian rock music. You may struggle to find here the thrills (and shocks) triggered by a first listen to "Spaceman" or "Glamodrama", but on average these thirteen new compositions don't disappoint expectations, offering pleasant confirmation of a band in constant evolution. It's a dense, important work, overflowing with sounds, lyrics and instruments, conceived and crafted with obsessive attention to detail, in which influences and styles overlap more than in the past. Alberto, Roberta and Luca show they want to keep opening their minds further, not resting on past successes but seeking new paths to spread their own idea of music. Verdena thus make yet another leap forward, establishing themselves as one of the most talented acts Italy has ever produced. Today the band from Bergamo no longer resembles Nirvana, no longer plays at being Motorpsycho; it seems to be only itself, busy making albums built to last, cornerstones of Italian alternative rock in the new millennium and a benchmark for generations of musicians to come. Not necessarily only Italian ones.

On August 28, 2015, Endkadenz Vol. 2 materializes. This second installment turns out "meaner," harsher, wrapped in a cutting electricity that rarely settles down, except for brief stretches. Fewer caresses, with the fuzz almost always switched ON, and even Alberto's voice is constantly processed with effects, in search of unexplored expressive territory. Starting with the merciless opening of "Cannibale," a song that's brilliantly (and we'd like to say "finally," though we hope the guys won't take offense) "normal," balanced between savage riffs, backing choruses and catchy refrains - "normal" for a band that loves to season its songs with "oddities" to make them unusual and unpredictable. "Dymo" is the other side of the coin, opening with piano, enveloping the listener and striking straight to the heart, built on a complex structure that flows into a memorable instrumental coda reminiscent of the most experimental side of Battisti (!). "Colle immane," right after, goes back to hitting hard, as do "Caleido" and the two parts of "Fuoco amico" - so much electric roughness hasn't been heard since the days of "Requiem." The softer moments come in the form of the gorgeous "Identikit," "Nera visione" and "Lady Hollywood," while the closer takes the shape of "Waltz del Bounty," decidedly more reassuring than "Funeralus," which closed out the first chapter.

In truth, rather than dwelling on an analysis of individual tracks (even though all of them deserve closer scrutiny), the double album Endkadenz should be taken in and absorbed as a whole, like a true encyclopedic work, patiently picking up on all the musical threads hidden beneath the layers of sound and identifying the instruments used - and some of them are quite unusual. A leaner work, perhaps picking the best 15-16 tracks, would have been advisable, and might have come close to a masterpiece, but the real problem (or the real virtue, depending on how you look at it) lies in the realization that, with this avalanche of new songs, Verdena have now truly said everything they had to say, both in words and in music. It's therefore hard to expect future moves free of sudden stylistic shifts - they'll need to reinvent themselves to avoid repeating themselves, making sure that the end of one artistic cycle provides the right momentum to surprise us again down the line, continuing on a path defined by a songwriting method that has no equal. Will they manage it?

Meanwhile, in early September 2016, a four-track Split EP is released, shared with Iosonouncane, on which each act performs two songs by the other. Verdena redo "Tanca" and "Carne," while Jacopo Incani takes on rearranging "Diluvio" and "Identikit" according to his own vision. The pairing proves far more fitting than one might expect: there are plenty of similarities, both in terms of songwriting (specifically in the construction of phrases) and in the way instrumental ideas are juxtaposed. The twist, and this is the fun part, is that while the Bergamo band is a rock outfit with a very strong guitar-driven identity, the man behind the Iosonouncane moniker operates in electronic territory, so the results of swapping songs could potentially be quite astonishing. And indeed, while remaining nearly identical in structure to the originals (and on this front we would have expected, indeed we would have welcomed, a lot more daring) the four chosen tracks are set within an unprecedented stylistic spectrum, revealing facets that in the original versions had remained half-hidden or entirely unexpressed. Verdena choose (and improve, in this writer's opinion) two songs from the acclaimed "Die," "Tanca" and "Carne," absorbing them so thoroughly that they become, in every respect, pure Verdena material, with those sonic assaults and imperious attacks typical of the first part of their discography. Then again, the Bergamo trio has always had a knack for covers: just go back and listen to the ones found on some of their old EPs, things like "Harvest" (found on "Luna") or "Reverberation" (yes, the one by 13th Floor Elevator, on "Spaceman"): stuff worthy of a standing ovation.

Incani draws from "Endkadenz" the recent "Diluvio" and "Identikit," stripping them down and transmuting them into an electronic declension, now with a churchlike feel, now with a dancefloor drive, while also remaining quite respectful of the original structure. The real marvel of this little record lies in demonstrating just how much the Iosonouncane project can be seen as a sort of Verdena for the 2010s, far more so than the many Italian bands that continue to openly draw inspiration from Alberto Ferrari and co.: Incani has found a very personal path, especially on the instrumental side, but he speaks to his generation exactly as Verdena spoke to theirs fifteen years earlier. Coming from two acts who, in their respective fields, are notoriously well above the national average, this split could only turn out stimulating and well crafted.

Who knows, maybe this is just a first building block, one that could pave the way for a shared tour or even for writing brand new material together. Because, let's face it, settling for just four covers from musicians of this caliber can only feel a bit too limiting.

The 2020s

The pursuit of visibility has never been an obsession for Verdena: half-hidden among the countryside around Albino, the Bergamo trio prefers to disappear between one album and the next, avoiding tours and public appearances outside the periods strictly tied to promotion. The problem is that their timing keeps stretching out more and more, and disappearing for seven years nowadays can turn into a spectacular own goal. It must be said, though, that lately both Alberto and Luca Ferrari have behaved somewhat less radically: Alberto getting involved with the I Hate My Village project and playing alongside Winstons on a tour dedicated to the first album by Pink Floyd, Luca lending his talents to the self-titled debut by Dunk, released in 2018.

After seven years, two of which were spent hanging in the balance of a pandemic, the follow-up to "Endkadenz" is almost ready, although after the first lockdown - during which Alberto treated his fans to a lovely home acoustic set - further songs were written that the trio wants to include in the lineup. They've always recorded material in abundance, and when directors Fabio and Damiano D'Innocenzo got in touch with them - perhaps recognizing kindred spirits - to invite them to write the soundtrack for the feature film "America Latina," which premiered at the Venice Film Festival, Verdena read the script and, won over, decided to empty out their drawers.

Technical broadcast tests, for the most part dating back to the "Wow" era, were sifted through by the D'Innocenzo brothers, who listened to this unreleased material and selected the tracks to work on. From there began a relationship of constant back-and-forth: as Fabio and Damiano shot the film's scenes, they guided Verdena's work, while the band turned those demos into powerful music capable of lending strength to the images. Released at the end of January 2022, America Latina is a strongly experimental work, somewhere between the spores that enriched "Ho ucciso paranoia" by Marlene Kuntz and the sound design of Giardini di Mirò, a balanced mix of uncompromising noise, assorted electricity, ambient situationism and disorienting melodies.

Those old instrumental suites recorded at home on a four-track, conceived for the most part by Luca, thus become Verdena's first soundtrack, built around two main themes, "Brazil" and "Scintillatore," disintegrated and reassembled a thousand times, always in a different way. There are no words, just a creative universe capable of reinforcing the band's more anarchic side, one that once again couldn't care less about any commercial compromise, focused solely on its own artistic depth, leaving yet another indelible mark, perfect for being recognized - or rather, reconfirmed - as a beacon of the national independent scene. It even grants a life of its own to the precious harmony of "Lullaby," which, with the addition of a couple of verses, could have rightfully found a place on the tracklist of "Wow."

In September 2022, Volevo Magia finally arrives, an album of impetuous guitars that lashes at the listener, strongly focused on the idea of the riff, leaving excellent impressions on the musical front and confirming the trio's usual close attention to melodic detail. The first three-quarters are of excellent quality, especially the prickly, shapeshifting "Chaise Longue," the hard-blues accents of "Paul e Linda," written and performed with the Stones and Elvis at heart, the fuzz blasted full throttle onto the battlefield of "Pascolare," and above all the two sensational, highly flammable tracks, "Crystal Ball" and the ferocious title track, a hardcore-punk outburst that stands as the hardest thing Verdena have ever recorded, a sort of new "Isacco nucleare," but played with even greater ferocity. It's telluric, liberating energy, built up over weeks during lockdown and forced into three explosive minutes of tremendous tension.

The simultaneous presence of such thunderous passages, concentrated in the first half of the album, sets the mood and strongly defines the entire work, which is nonetheless rounded out by songs played with less fervor, softer and more intimate, among which "Certi magazine" and "Sui ghiacciai" stand out. The sense is that the three of them had a great time recording these songs, but Volevo Magia doesn't hide a thousand secrets, it's not able to reveal some great mystery, tending in its final stretch to "normalize" itself, repeating solutions already heard before. The real weak point, however, lies in the lyrics, often "hidden," drowned beneath layers of sound, monothematically centered on troubled relationships, almost always a case of "him begging, her wanting to leave." Ferrari jokes about it, revealing the process that generates the words in his songs, even resorting to self-deprecation at the end of "Cielo super acceso," when he leaves in its primordial state the broken English from which everything usually starts. Misaligned aliens, never straightforward, reluctant to any compromise, Verdena continue to guarantee an intact integrity, a truly rare commodity these days.

Contributions by Alberto Asquini ("Wow")

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