Dilaila - Pop in the form of a noir novel

Dilaila are one of the best-kept “pop” secrets in Italy over the course of the 2000s. Noir shades, gripping storytelling, disarming melodies and Paola Colombo's smoldering voice characterize a sincere, at times heart-wrenching melodic path, further proof of the excellent health of the current Italian underground scene. It's also thanks to their songs that we can confidently confirm the rebirth of “easy listening” pop music in Italy. We caught up with Paola Colombo, the band's soul and voice, for a chat covering new self-awareness and sparkling arguments… 

Five years of absence is a long time. How did you spend this period?

At first we went through a long identity crisis, at times drifting away from our own music, meeting up less often in the rehearsal room, wondering how much of what we'd done up to that point was right and how much was wrong. But it helped us gain a deeper awareness… once we'd put the pieces of the puzzle back together, we got down to writing, playing and recording “Ellepi”. Then, once we had the finished record in our hands, we set to work to make sure it got all the attention we felt it deserved.

On “Ellepi” you can feel less rock energy in favor of greater intensity in the various melodic build-ups. I'm glad to notice a real care for instrumental detail. Let's say that in the past instinct dominated more, while on this record there's a new kind of “harmony” and less rawness. Everything is more elegant. Luca Bossi on piano is even more intense, almost surgical at times. The same goes for the rest of the band. Are you simply more “thirtysomething” now, or is this the result of a shift sought and wanted by every member of the group?

Age and artistic growth go hand in hand, as far as I'm concerned. It'll sound like something out of a dumb talent show, but when you're carrying the weight of life experience on your shoulders, it shows, for better or worse, in what you sing and play. After all, we're all lucky enough to be subject to an inexorable biological process. The secret is giving it a written, played and sung form that the rest of the world can actually enjoy.

Four or five years ago Claudio (guitar) had this beach-y chord progression that we ruthlessly labeled “underdeveloped”, this melody straight out of a Comunione e Liberazione rally, and barely the first line of lyrics thrown together at random, just to hear how it sounded with words. I found it absolutely brilliant. We started arranging it thinking of Nico, of Patty Pravo, of what it might have felt like to be at the Factory or at the Piper in 1967. Then I wrote deceptive lyrics: a few simple words in apparent harmony with the song's “light” tone, but with a terribly fatalistic and pessimistic meaning underneath.

Songs like “Sapore di sangue”, “Il trono”, “Il tamburo di latta”, highlight the need to confront relational and social difficulties, they cry outthe beginning of a new harmony. Where do these feelings come from?

All three songs you mentioned deal with loneliness, expressed in different ways. When you've lived it firsthand you reflect on it deeply and feel entitled to talk about it. In “Sapore di sangue” loneliness is the obvious consequence of a relationship born under bad omens. In “Il trono” we tried to imagine how titanic the inner experience of someone condemned to the electric chair – the throne, precisely – might be, beyond pure ethical judgment. “Il tamburo di latta“ (the title is borrowed from a wonderful novel) is about total isolation from others as the only defense against the ugliness of the world.

In Italy there's no counting the number of bands looking for space on the web, in pubs, in clubs, everywhere. Amid all this chaos of copycat proposals, worthwhile labels like Pippola, l'Aiuola, Snowdonia etc., however deserving of every possible attention, still struggle to fully take off in terms of mass appeal. In your opinion, what's changed in the Italian independent underground during the 2000s? What should be avoided?

Mmm… complicated question. First of all, there's an epochal shift underway that has nothing to do with the artistic side of music, but with how it's consumed. Distribution and promotion channels, technological formats… everything is changing fast and industry people are scrambling to keep up with the change. I think it just takes time for things to settle down.

Then there's a terminology issue. You see, the word “independent” is the most overused term of recent years. And also the most improperly used. I've heard people talk about the “indie world”, “indie culture”, “indie fashion”… nonsense that has nothing to do with independence whatsoever! The only definition of the term I accept is the etymological one: stuff that's produced, distributed and promoted through channels outside the major-label circuit. After that, by obsessively showing up at each other's gigs, churning out copycat material, wearing Converse, quirky t-shirts and Clark Kent glasses, we'll all feel more reassured, like we belong to some world. But we'll always be the underbrush, never the trees.

Who is “Ally”?

A fictional character. The heroine of a noir fairy tale.

Live you're even more energetic, and your voice, if I may say so, reaches even greater heights. How are you preparing for your tours?

We're trying to put together a show that has a dynamic sense to it, with different levels of intensity. In the past we were more of a “plug in the jack and go” band on stage, too caught up in our own personal journey to pay attention to how the audience in front of us was reacting. There was a certain unsettling charm to that. Now we pay more attention to the people in front of us, we bring them into our journey.

We're not after a flawless performance, I don't do vocal exercises and I haven't studied singing. I just try to express as best I can what the lyrics say, to convey the feelings that gave rise to them.　

In “Tutta l'aria che c'è” there's also a noticeable environmental sensibility. Matt Johnson and Marvin Gaye were among the first to fire off similar broadsides in their lyrics. Today, though, fewer and fewer artists tackle such themes with any real passion, despite how blatantly relevant the issue still is. Where does this song come from? Whose idea was it?

We wanted to write a song that dealt with these themes in a candid, almost naive way, as if we too had just come off Via Gluck. I'm worried about this drift towards disengagement that's taking over Italian society and the world of culture. There are enormous problems, but everyone seems to want to look the other way. I wrote the lyrics myself, the others helped me finish it off. With themes like these you always risk slipping into sterile wordiness, and on a track as sparkling as this one, that would have been a shame.

What's spinning on Paola Colombo's stereo these days?

Umm... well, first of all “The Suburbs” by Arcade Fire, which as far as I can tell is spinning on stereos across the known world. A live compilation by Mina. Franco Battiato. A collection of famous songs I'd love to sing live sometime – and who knows, maybe I will. Some demos of our own unreleased tracks. “Canzoni dell'appartamento”. Unòrsominòre. Valentina Dorme. “Armstrong” by Scisma. I could go on!?

“The Sleeper” has a certain theatricality, almost “noir“ at times. Is this the next musical “reincarnation” for you? What do Dilaila expect from the future?

It's fun for me to give the songs a visual shape as well as a sonic one. To create an imagery of sorts.

But your question is too hard, I don't know what to expect. It seems like the change of direction with “Ellepi” is going down well with critics and audiences alike, or at least that's the impression I get. And above all, we like it ourselves.

I'd rather focus on this moment, nurture it carefully and reap what it brings, if anything. We'll think about the future when it comes...

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