Dimartino - A navigator in the temple of beauty

Nearly ten years on from his debut, Antonio Di Martino increasingly embodies the figure of the realist, sincere singer-songwriter, endlessly fascinated by everyday life and the power of simple characters, as well as by the teachings of Greek mythology. His is a compelling style of writing, born of a deep, ever-attentive gaze turned with passion towards the beauty of ordinary things, in a waltz of striking emotional contrasts. The inspired "Afrodite", with its energetic, sparkling sound, marks a stylistic turning point in his brilliant career. We exchanged a series of exclusive reflections with the Palermo-born musician, uncovering the secrets behind this new work, between references and unusual fascinations.

In Greek religion, Aphrodite is the goddess of beauty, and was also worshipped by sailors. But in your lyrics, attention is also drawn to the Aphrodite "sold in the temple for nothing." Where does the choice of this title come from?

The title came from a vision. When my daughter was born, from the hospital window I could see the Castle of Venus on Monte Erice, beneath which the Temple of Aphrodite once stood; that moment was exactly one of rebirth, of spring, and I promised myself I would pay tribute to this goddess. All of this made me reflect a great deal, including on the fact that a temple to a goddess of beauty in a city could be something inspiring; imagine if, at some point, instead of statues of Padre Pio, cities started building temples dedicated to beauty, ones that could teach children the power of beauty. Well, from this vision, a somewhat surreal one at that, the whole concept of the album was born.

In this new work of yours, there's a lot of attention paid to everyday details, to "characters looking for love who live through the drama of an ordinary life." But is normality a drama, or, going back to Aphrodite, could it also carry a Greek meaning, normality understood as measure, as balance? And if so, how normal is your life today compared to 2010?

To be honest, I hadn't yet thought of normality in the sense of measure. Certainly, there are strong contrasts on the album, such as coupledom versus solitude, love and hate; lines like "ci diamo un bacio prima di farci male" point exactly to this constant misunderstanding within romantic relationships, this misreading of opposing emotions. Of course, lately I've been trying to keep a semblance of normality in my life, even though that's not the easiest thing compared to 2010. In truth, everything is always hanging in the balance. In my opinion, not even having a child — aside from the day-to-day routine you live with more consistency — gives you the certainty of a normal, more measured life.

"Giorni buoni" has a sparkling sound, and the bass takes me right back to certain stylish Seventies grooves. And yet, there's this nostalgia that constantly acts as a counterbalance. How did this song come about? Did you happen to write it in summer?

The sound of the album is mostly thanks to Matteo Cantaluppi, a musician and a friend of mine — together with him and Angelo Trabace we pretty much arranged the whole album. From the start, we set ourselves the goal of making it sound a bit like the late Seventies, at least in terms of tone, while at the same time having a flavor that could feel close to more contemporary things; and in that respect, Sebastien Tellier was the first name that came to mind. Plus, I really love him. The idea was to start from the Italian singer-songwriter tradition, which in the end, harmonically and melodically, is also my own way of writing, but also to bring it all closer to the sounds of today. The basslines are really on display here, whereas in the past they were more hidden. I was really pleased about that, it was exactly what I was going for. I wanted everything to sound much more powerful. The song was written in September, and it's set in the province of Trapani — it's more or less the place where I wrote all the tracks — where you have these beaches right up against the outskirts, facing working-class neighborhoods, so there's this contrast between tourist life and everyday hardship. That was one of the 'images' that inspired me while writing "Giorni buoni". On top of that, I was living in anticipation of my daughter's birth, so there were some major inner emotional upheavals going on. Waiting for a child always brings up doubts, because you think their life is going to turn yours completely upside down. So the song grew out of these contrasts I was living through at the end of the summer of 2016.

"Andiamoci a prendere la luna nella sala bingo". How did this line come about, and to what extent do you think disillusionment can play a redemptive role?

Both "La lune e il bingo" and "Daniela balla la samba" grew out of things I actually saw in Palermo. In the case of the first one, one night I saw two "guys" on the steps of a bingo hall — not that young anymore, in their forties — totally drunk and laughing about the fact that they'd lost at bingo, and so I asked myself what kind of relationship they had, why they were there. I liked the idea of telling a story that could capture these times; times in which everyone, even through games and luck, is looking for a kind of redemption. The song was born in a very simple way, out of observing something real, but it can give an idea of the times we're living in. The bingo hall is a bit like "today's church", don't you think?

Palermo comes back again amid "monsters that swallow it" and gets lost "in the wind of the Tropics". How have you found it lately? How are you experiencing it? Is there any young Palermo musician you'd like to point out?

Palermo right now is full of wonderful musicians. Aside from La rappresentante di lista, whom I adore, I really like a rapper from Palermo called Johnny Marsiglia; I love his lyrics, his wordplay. As for real up-and-comers, I don't know that many. I still live the city, but more through its everyday places. It's a new side, one I'm discovering only now — before, I lived more through its "damned" side.

"Daniela balla la samba sul tetto di una panda e non ha paura di cadere". All this while you set a really hot atmosphere. It made me think of Tellier, but also, going further back, of Ned Doheny. What have you been listening to lately, and where did the album's sound come from? When did you realize the chemistry between the different instruments had finally become the one you really wanted?

Yes, actually Doheny could well be one of Tellier's forerunners. Actually, before turning to Cantaluppi, I was looking for someone who could pull together all these musical ideas I had, and I needed someone to sort out the drawers, so to speak. I found someone who understood exactly what I was after. From the very first days of production on the album, I already knew where we were going to end up. The mixing was done by Ivan Rossi, who gave it a rawer sound compared even to the early demos. The combination of these two worlds — they each come from different musical backgrounds — was important for the album's sound. Right now I've been listening for a couple of months to the latest Marianne Faithfull album, it's one of those records that really has it all: a beautiful voice, and extremely refined lyrics and arrangements.

In mid-February the tour of Italian clubs kicks off — what should we expect, and how are you preparing everything?

Everyone who's worked with me over the last ten years will be there. Also, it's almost the tenth anniversary of my debut. I've also brought in Simona Norato, and we'll be revisiting some old songs and rearranging them. We've pulled out about twenty songs from my back catalogue, it's going to be a powerful live show. Rehearsals have gone really well and I'm happy with it.

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