Edda - Sincerity at all costs

The Great Illusion

by Cristiano Orlando

A few years after Ondarock's previous contact with Stefano Rampoldi, aka Edda, our editorial staff once again had the pleasure of crossing paths with the Milanese artist, a few months after the release of his latest work, titled "Illusion". As always, Edda comes across as open, sincere, funny and genuinely profound in his reflections.

Good morning Stefano, first of all thank you for the time you've given us, and greetings from our Editor and the whole editorial staff. Your last full interview for Ondarock dates back about fourteen years, shortly after the release of "Semper Biot", your first solo album after your time with Ritmo Tribale.

Wow, it's been so many years since that album and I still haven't become famous. Something must be wrong then (laughs).

I'd like to start this chat with a personal memory I want to share with you. It must have been 1994 or 1995 when I attended a Ritmo Tribale concert in Susa (in the province of Turin), if I'm not mistaken shortly after the release of "Mantra", an essential album for the Italian music scene of that period.

I'm curious, what impression did that concert leave on you?

You were a band with an enormous live impact, and you were possessed, a frontman who didn't hold back for a single second. Now on stage you're much more composed, affable and certainly more measured.

That's very kind of you. You know, I only recently realized that Ritmo Tribale could actually play well. And, just to make a comparison with today, back then I could have been considered the Damiano of the '90s (laughs), and I say that with great respect for Måneskin. I knew I wasn't a looker, so I tried to make myself noticed somehow, a bit like he does now; basically I would have wanted to be a wannabe Damiano (laughs).

So, given the significant path you built first with Ritmo Tribale and especially with your excellent solo albums, what's the thing that makes you proudest of the journey you've made?

The thing that makes me proudest, and I'd like this situation to continue, is having kept playing, showing my love for music, something that's important, vital to me. I'm glad I went back to playing at fifty, leaving behind a secure job (secure so to speak, since nothing is certain these days), to pick up a career that seemed to offer little hope of success. I did it because, making music, even in small steps, I started getting some response, and alongside it I saw constant growth, and that's been gratifying. Of course I'd love to have 8,000 people at a show and be a rock 'n' roll pin-up, but this is fine too (laughs).

Well, precisely for that reason, and since we're also entering the season of the kermesse, why don't you plan to take part in the Sanremo Festival in the future, filling the independent singer-songwriter slot, a bit like your friend Giovanni Truppi did last year?

Well, first of all you need the right song, though that actually wouldn't be a problem because, in my opinion, "Lia" (ed. from his latest album "Illusion") would have worked well. Above all you need a lot of courage and confidence in your own image. That's something I get a lot of anxiety about. When I play live I always poke fun at myself, precisely to soften some of my own reticence. At Sanremo you have to act tough and clearly show that you have something to say. Right now it's not something I feel is right for me, and of course it doesn't depend only on me. Let's just say I hope no one ever comes along to suggest it to me, or force me into it (laughs).

For instance, Verdena have never been to Sanremo, but they're a band I'd love to see on that stage. It would do them good and it would do Italian music good, they'd come out winners. I'd risk being swallowed up by that behemoth that is the Festival.

A few days ago I watched the concert you gave at the magnificent OGR in Turin, officially made available on your Youtube channel, as part of the series called OGR Club, which features performances by many artists from the Italian music scene in an evocative venue, with no stage and direct contact with the audience. I saw you looking particularly pleased with your performance, a judgment I can personally share. Do you think that such a particular place, which so perfectly embodies the concept of transformation, put you especially at ease?

Yes. When these spaces are specifically designed for making music, and you can sense that the intention is precisely to create the best and most distinctive conditions for it to become a quality event, the musician feels completely at ease. The space is acoustically beautiful, very large and tall, but the atmosphere that was created was truly memorable. I haven't had the chance to watch it yet, and especially to watch myself, which I'll do when the time is right, but a lot of people have been telling me the concert was enjoyable, including in terms of the musical performance.

As mentioned earlier, Ondarock has always followed you with great interest, as shown by the in-depth reviews given to all your solo albums, which have also consistently received very positive feedback. On your latest work "Illusion" you seem to have taken a real further leap forward, both in the quality of the lyrics and in the sound arrangements. What was it like working with Gianni Maroccolo on a full project, after the previous experiences that involved you both?

He's talented, he's always shown that, his history speaks for itself. I gave it everything I had, but I think he was pleased with the final result too. I consider myself a not particularly gifted musician, but he specifically wanted me to play guitar on the record, something I myself would never have wanted to do, but Gianni convinced me to go through with it. I handed him all my songs and he did a great job putting everything together in the best way, perfectly capturing all my original ideas. You know, a few days ago I read a comment from a girl on Facebook criticizing my voice and my lyrics, which she called childish.

You know, when it comes to vocal delivery taste really is quite subjective, but as for the lyrics, I don't think I'm writing such silly little songs (laughs). And I have to say, I really liked the voice on this record too, and that's saying something, coming from me, who's my own harshest critic. I really feel like I'm singing better than I was a few years ago.

Do you write your songs on guitar?

Yes. Over the past two years I've tried to refine my guitar technique as much as possible, practicing mainly with jazz scores, which I have to say I actually manage pretty well at home (laughs).

Going back to your lyrics, they're always, how should I put it, pyrotechnic - they contain a huge number of concepts and thoughts that sometimes seem disconnected, but which, on close and careful analysis, always have an underlying red thread (love, family). Is that a fair way of seeing it?

When I write a song I never start from a subject, I never have a theme in mind. I start from the melody, and at that point I set myself the task of seeing the song through to completion; words and thoughts come to me and I blend them into the music I'm creating.

Only on "Pater" (from the album "Stavolta come mi ammazzerai?" - 2014), a song obviously about my father, did I start from a recurring phrase that popped into my head every time I saw him: "But why is it that every time I see my father I feel like killing him?". That expression stuck with me, and as soon as the right melody came along I thought about how to work it into the song. I even remember where I was when I thought of it. I was walking down the stairs of my building, out in the courtyard (laughs).

You've given me the perfect opening to go through some lines with you that struck me while listening to "Illusion". For example, in "Lia" you pose this question to the listener: "Sai perché si muore?" [Do you know why we die?]. Why do we die, in your view?

I'll give you a very simple answer. You ask me if I know why we die, and I tell you that we don't die. I deal a lot with the theme of death, because I'm convinced death doesn't exist. I believe only the body dies, not the soul. For instance, my mother died, but her soul is still alive, and nine months after that day it will enter another body - so death doesn't exist, it's only an illusion. Hence the album's title, "Illusion".

I never make proclamations. The words have to mean something to me. My aim isn't for the lyrics to necessarily communicate something to others, nor even to be understood. That's why I don't feel the need to explain certain lines or concepts any further. What matters is that, given who I am, they mean something to me. That said, there's always a meaning behind them - that much, yes, absolutely.

So, in the song "Carlo Magno" too, when you say: “Carlo Magno a 25 anni era il re dei Franchi/ La mia vita nasce già finita/ Tanto non mi manchi”, is there a meaning there?

That's a line from Alessandro Barbero. I was listening to a lecture of his. When I write lyrics to fit the melodies I've composed, I do something similar to solving a crossword puzzle.

In that case, I heard Barbero's phrase and, slotted into the piece I was writing, it matched what I was getting at. And if you connect it to the following line, "La mia vita nasce già finita" [My life is born already finished], it ties in even more with the idea that our life is born already finished because, in all likelihood, as it unfolds we're unlikely to ever achieve anything quite so significant - and with this I don't mean that Charlemagne has to be some kind of example for me. I'd rather not be Charlemagne, I'd rather have an ordinary life.

Also in the song "L'ignoranza", you write: "Com'è bella l'ignoranza/ La coltivo dall'infanzia" [How beautiful ignorance is/ I've cultivated it since childhood], a cryptic line that says far more than those seven or eight words might suggest.

That's a Hare Krishna concept. We're conditioned by ignorance, virtue and passion - the so-called Gunas of Hindu philosophy, a doctrine I've followed for forty years now. Coming back to what we were saying earlier, these words mean something to me.

I know perfectly well what I'm talking about. But then I don't spell it out. Am I talking about the Gunas? Most people don't know what they are, but in that moment I'm dealing with something I know, and I don't explain it within the song - it's something the listener could interpret in various ways. Maybe that's exactly what's both the beauty and the flaw of my lyrics (laughs).

Another distinctive feature that emerges when listening to the tracks on "Illusion" is the frequent presence of the word Sun, obviously meant as the star at the center of the solar system. It's a constant you notice in "Lia", "Alibaba", "Mio capitano" and "L'ignoranza". Is that a coincidence, or is there a specific message behind it?

You think so? You know I'd never really noticed that? It's an interesting point, also because I try not to repeat nouns. It's probably down to instinct. Being someone who's a bit of a sufferer, who has a fairly tragic view of life, at the same time I tend to let myself be swept up by light. That's actually proof that the lyrics I write come from my unconscious, otherwise I'd really be writing a load of nonsense.

What I'd like to understand is how things really stand, what the truth of life is, clarity, without necessarily trying to play the psychologist, but this very personal approach is typical of who I am. So what I write is what I think and what I feel. I'm really glad you picked up on that and pointed it out to me.

An image that came to mind during our chat is your recent performance of “Eroi nel vento” by Litfiba, again at OGR, in this case with Gianni Maroccolo himself: you, him, your guitar and his bass. To me it seemed like an intense tribute, at times even heart-wrenching.

That's exactly the moment where I wasn't too happy with myself, so for now I've decided not to watch back my performances. It's a beautiful song and a very meaningful one for me. Pelù sings it perfectly, impossible to replicate.

And you made it your own, in a way I'd say was thoroughly convincing.

It was a tribute to him and to Litfiba, thanking them for making us dream with that song. I'm throwing myself into interpreting a song that marked my youth too.

Did you notice how Maroccolo was looking at you during your performance? It was a mix of pleasant surprise, respect and real emotional involvement. The energy you were putting out was almost visible to the naked eye.

He's a great musician, with an important history behind him and excellent results. I actually felt a bit intimidated. Now that we've worked together he's also become a friend, and I'm very happy about that.

In an interview I noticed real satisfaction in his words about the work done together on “Illusion”.

For my part, I think I gave him good material, and he did an excellent job arranging it. He understood my world, he read my intentions perfectly. Only on a couple of songs did I step in to ask for a different arrangement for the track.

On “Carlo Magno”, I remember telling him I'd imagined it a bit in the style of “Song 2” by Blur. Incidentally, that track also features Flavio Ferri of Delta V. You know, Gianni would send the tracks back to me at night, at three in the morning on Messenger, and I'd listen to them while out and about in Milan, and full of emotion I'd write back telling him I found the result extraordinary.

To wrap up, Stefano, do you already have plans for the near future?

Oh yes, I'm writing new songs and I keep studying to improve as a guitarist, to expand my musical vocabulary.

Thank you for your time, and on behalf of myself and the whole Ondarock team, congratulations again on the path you're on, and above all on the excellent work you built with “Illusion”. By now you can consider yourself a reference point for independent Italian songwriting, and I think you're well aware of that. Every new record of yours is eagerly anticipated and always listened to with particular attention.

I'm glad to hear that. I have a somewhat distorted view of myself. I'm aware I'm no Jimi Hendrix, but words like these pay me back and boost my self-esteem. Tonight I'll go to bed a happier man (laughs). You know, everyone has a talent, and it's important to cultivate it. Maybe mine is very small, but I believe my talent lies in music, so I have to nurture it. Maybe in ten lifetimes I'll even become the greatest guitarist of all time.

by Marco Lo Giudice

On the other end of the line is a small legend of Italian rock music. It was the '90s, and it feels like another era altogether: twenty years have gone by since then. Anyone who was around can't have forgotten Ritmo Tribale, and above all their historic voice, inimitable and unique: that of Stefano "Edda" Rampoldi.

At 46, Edda returns to the scene with "Semper Biot", an intimate, frighteningly intense, bare record - as the title suggests, meaning "always naked" in Milanese dialect.

The first question is an obvious one. What has Edda been doing all this time? "I've been around a bit: in India, in Italy. But there's no great mystery, just the fact that I was on my own for a few years, I cut off communication with everything and everyone. No great adventure, really: I spent 6 years getting high, a few odd jobs here and there. And I completely gave up on music."

The experience with Ritmo Tribale came to an end after a handful of dates on the "Psycorsonica" tour, but the idea of leaving had already been on Edda's mind for a while: "It was a decision born out of a state of anguish that had built up over the years... I wanted to quit, but the tracks for the record were already ready, so I decided that would be the last year. The refrain of "Base Luna" ('one more year', ed.) refers precisely to that moment."

Six years of darkness. Edda is remarkable in the way he talks about it, with the lightness of someone holding onto nothing but the plain truth of what happened: "I lived in a rehab community, I stopped shooting up and started working. I do scaffolding, I still do it now: it's my main occupation."

Then music came back, after being abandoned for all those years. Meeting Walter Somà and Andrea Rabuffetti, his main collaborators on the record as well, proved decisive: "First and foremost they're people, only secondly musicians. At this point in my life I only wanted real, human relationships. And music came back as a need - I don't like thinking of it as a job now. My job is scaffolding: it's not the job of my dreams, sure, but that's where my sense of purpose lies now."

Simple sentences, crystal clear in meaning, yet emotionally intense. If Edda's lyrics are famously inaccessible, the directness of this exchange is surprising: "They keep telling me to make another record... I don't know: it feels strange to do it while working, you know? I wasn't even expecting this record! It all started a couple of years ago on YouTube, just like that, with no ambitions. Out of the pure need to create. Then somehow they convinced me, because if it had been up to me..."

The sincerity that defines Stefano is consciously at the heart of his music too, which is why he's still not convinced about recording more material: "There would be songs for it, at least fifteen more. But I only want to do it when it feels right. I want to see if I'm capable of being genuine with another record too... With Ritmo I used to make one record after another, making music was my job from age 20 to 33. But now I'm only interested in the real, genuine need to make music. Nothing else."

Talk from another planet. Still, it seems some production ideas are already in the works: despite being personally torn about it, Edda doesn't hide that he has in mind an album with more of a full-band sound, a bigger sonic impact: "The push came from Sebastiano De Gennaro joining us live on drums. He's young and very skilled... He fell in love with the record and it was actually him who got in touch and asked to meet me. I could only feel honored." As a result, the live set is now more fleshed-out than the record, which is instead defined by the minimal production of Officine Meccaniche engineer Taketo Gohara: "Well, part of why the record sounds that way is that there were no musicians. But the idea of making it stripped-down came from me. Even though I had no idea how to explain it, Taketo was good at understanding my intentions anyway, and everything came out the way I wanted." The result is a record that can't be described as easy or immediately accessible. On that note, Edda offers some interesting listening advice: "It definitely can't be a record that plays in the background to something else. It has to be listened to loud to really appreciate it. And anyway it's not as difficult as people say - to me it always sounds like the same old four chords!"

The conversation shifts to Edda's more personal side, laid bare with transparency in the record's lyrics. Many songs contain religious references to Hare Krishna ("Scamarcio", "Snigdelina", "Yogini", "Organza"), which raises the question of how important this aspect is for Stefano today: "Actually I discovered Hare Krishna at twenty, and I've never stopped following them. In a way they're the ones who convinced me the most, even if not all the way, otherwise I wouldn't be here and I'd be one of them. I like the ABC I learned and managed to absorb over the years (to this day, ever since then, I've been a vegetarian): they gave me the most convincing answers to the endless questions I had inside me. Also because, truthfully, the only thing I know about God is that I still haven't understood anything."

In many other interviews following his return to the scene, the contradiction of following Krishna's teachings while doing drugs at the same time has been pointed out. "And what can I say? Contradictions are human, they're me. There's not much I can do about it. In all these years, what I've learned from them are the only foundations of my life: the one certainty I wouldn't trade for anything is not eating animals." The one certainty. Because everything else seems like one complication after another: "Every day that goes by it gets more and more complex, truths become ever more fleeting. You'd think that at some point you mature, you know what you want, and instead it's exactly the opposite: forget black or white, here it's all shades of grey that keep multiplying."

We close with the inevitable question. Heavy as a stone: what if you could go back? In "Organza" this desire is almost screamed out loud. Edda answers, as throughout the whole conversation, with simplicity: "I'd change a lot of things... First of all I wouldn't waste all that time playing music! Don't get me wrong, the experience with Ritmo Tribale was wonderful, important. And a lot of things from those years I've only been able to understand now. It wasn't wasted time, but if I could really change something about the past, I can tell you I would have left, I wouldn't have stayed in Italy. Actually, even back then I did leave for a while, before leaving Ritmo. At 23 I ran off to England with the Hare Krishnas. I ditched the band and everything else. Then the guys sent me a cassette tape with some recorded tracks... And I went back to them. Because music was all I could think about, at that moment, and it had been ever since I was 15: nothing else existed. Now I say: maybe I really should have emigrated for good."

The final remarks are meant to be about what he's been listening to lately, but Edda admits he has little time to listen to music. He's fallen in love with "I segreti del corallo" by Moltheni, given to him recently as a gift, so much so that he's been performing a personal live version of "Suprema" (rounding out the setlist, besides the tracks from "Semper Biot", is an achingly heartfelt cover of Giusy Ferreri's "Stai fermo lì" and a few inevitable Ritmo Tribale hits).

With his music, and now with these words too, Edda confirms himself as a sincere artist, one who makes his own truth a way of life, for better or worse. And Italian music truly needs people like this. So much so that one feels compelled to echo what someone commented, nostalgically, when he resurfaced - just a guitar and his voice, out of nowhere, after 13 years of silence, on a YouTube channel that back then seemed to mean nothing, "eddaponteggi": "Now that you're back, don't run away again."