Kety Fusco - A Revolution in the World of Harp

After attending her excellent concert in Orselina, at the end of August I met up with Tuscan harpist Kety Fusco, again in Italian-speaking Switzerland. The scorching heat had given way to days of bad weather, with hail and unsettling storms: at a time when summers across Europe are increasingly marked by extreme weather events, disastrous floods and widespread wildfires, the video for her single “Starless”, taken from “The Harp. Chapter One”, seems to prophesy exactly that impending ruin. Fusco, however, has no intention of succumbing to the climate crisis and its possible social, economic and geopolitical consequences. Instead, she seems to be searching for a distinctly artistic path that might restore a sense of human empathy in an increasingly polarized and disconnected society. A path dictated, of course, by the transfigured sound of her harp, which has for some time now ventured well beyond its traditional dimension. The Italian musician, now permanently based in Ticino, talks to us about her latest album, her collaborations with Motta and Iosonouncane, and her future projects, starting with that “Chapter Two” of which she has already given us a wonderful taste during her recent concerts.

Since I recently had the chance to see one of your concerts, I'd like to start this interview by talking about the live dimension. How do you generally approach a live performance?

Lately I've been playing with two harps: an electric harp, which is the newer element, and a classical harp, which is instead what you'd expect to hear at a harpist's concert. Putting the two instruments side by side stimulates me a lot and creates a kind of “friction”: with the classical harp I often try to remind the audience what the traditional sound is like, while with the electric one I carve out my own path. Also, generally speaking, I choose the concert setlist on the spot: I have a list of pieces and, depending on the audience's vibe and how I'm feeling, I decide which ones to play.

And yet, the concert I attended seemed structured into two, if not three, clearly distinct parts, and showed a logic that was very much its own.

Good! Anyway, I really enjoy this approach. Sometimes I need a more ambient live set, other times I want to push the electronic side and really go for it.

Bringing your latest project “The Harp”, which is very experimental and avant-garde, to the stage — is that a particularly different experience for you compared to performing the tracks from your debut “Dazed”?

Yes, it really is, because with “The Harp” I step into a very particular dimension. Moving away from the classical world, “Dazed” had taken me very far from where I'd started with my studies, distorting the very concept of the harp right from the outset. Still, I felt I was missing a kind of middle passage. “The Harp” is more experimental, but it also represents me more, and it's what I want to communicate with my music now. In some ways bringing me back to the classical dimension, the sounds of “The Harp” allowed me to develop a musical discourse that progressively dismantled that starting point.

Indeed, listening to your two projects, you can tell they're two different worlds. While “Dazed” is more electronic, “The Harp” perhaps harks back to the classical, but, as you say, goes beyond it, which is very interesting.

Chapter two of “The Harp” will be somewhere in between the two. There will be electronic tracks, but composed with an organic electronics drawn entirely from the sounds of the harp, unlike “Dazed”, which had digital electronic sounds. With this new chapter I decided to build the electronic side starting only from what the harp itself can do. For example, a harp strike, pitched down and boosted, produces an electronic sound very similar to a digital one.

I imagine this fits into the logic of the digital library you created.

Exactly, my goal is to manage to write a completely electronic piece, in the vein of Moderat if you like, made entirely from the sounds of the traditional harp, obviously then manipulated.

Going back to your live shows, this year you also played at the Royal Albert Hall. What was it like for you to be in such an important venue?

It was disorienting! When I was studying, I attended a masterclass at the Royal College, right across from the Royal Albert Hall, and I used to wonder whether I'd ever manage to play there one day. And then, when I was actually there this year, I got chills. I reached that point and set a marker in my career from which I can move forward to reach other goals that I consider necessary, important, for me and for my journey with the harp.

I also imagine that when you were studying, you never would have pictured yourself ending up playing there with the kind of music you're making now.

Not at all! I always wanted to be a concert performer, but I thought I'd be interpreting classical pieces. Then I realised I was getting bored at the conservatory, because I couldn't interpret the pieces the way I wanted, without having to submit to certain imposed rules. That's what pushed me to start writing my own pieces, so I could perform them the way I wanted. And now, I'm all for it if someone takes one of my tracks and turns it upside down!

I'd read about this punk attitude of yours and, well, you can feel the break with the classical world, which is exactly what you do with your music. Still, it's extremely interesting to see how you project that onto your past musical journey as well. Now I'd like to go back to the connection between “The Harp” and your project of sampling over 400 sounds and noises with the traditional harp. Did they come about at the same time, or is “The Harp”, in a way, the sequel to this digital library idea?

Yes, in some ways it was a consequence. First I decided to catalogue the sounds, and then the idea came to me of writing a piece using exactly the sounds I had sampled.

But what pushed you to archive these four hundred sounds and make them available to other musicians?

I want to present a different kind of harp. For instance, not all the producers I've met were aware of all the possible sounds a harp can produce. Now, my catalogue can also be used by other musicians working in the most varied musical fields, including the pop and rock world.

Compared to “Dazed”, your new project, or at least its first chapter, isn't just more experimental, but also much darker, more claustrophobic, more inscrutable. Is that a chance outcome of your relentless exploration of the instrument, or a soundscape you wanted to reach from the very start?

I have to say that instinctively I write sad music, mostly in A minor and D minor. As I said before, “Chapter One” truly represents me at my core, and it's what I needed to play and communicate.

Some moments from “Chapter One” were also released as singles. How did you choose them?

Mainly there was the need to communicate that I was about to release an album made up of a single 19-minute track, which in some ways is an anti-commercial choice. But despite that need, I liked the idea of creating a narrative for an album that, to me, is tied to the theme of death. The first track, “2072”, represents my own self after passing away and is a kind of funeral march for myself; “Starless”, on the other hand, deals with a slow destruction, but on a larger scale, which is the direction the planet is heading in with all the climate change we're witnessing.

The video for “Starless” actually gathers footage of extreme weather events and natural disasters. These images, combined with the music, seem to present an imminent climate apocalypse. How does your music relate to the climate crisis and the political discourse connected to it?

For me “Starless” is first and foremost a message to myself. As we witness these extreme events, like the ones a few days ago in Locarno, I think it's important to express a need for humanity and connection. Through music I try precisely to establish this connection, intellectually but also emotionally, with people, and to stimulate empathy.

Is this one of the reasons why you make instrumental music, doing without the use of the voice and trying to work specifically on feelings, even the blurriest and most undefined ones?

Yes, exactly. The harp is my voice, and it speaks for me. But whoever approaches my music is asked for emotional participation and the willingness to keep listening until the end.

“The Harp” was recorded in a studio on San Bernardino. Did the alpine and pre-alpine landscape of Italian-speaking Switzerland influence your vision of the harp as an instrument, or inspire your compositions?

It definitely influenced the composing process. In San Bernardino you become aware of the importance of connecting with nature. There I feel part of the woods and their ecosystem, and that helps me find an inner calm, letting me vent my anxieties and free myself from them. And even though the music I composed has some unsettling shades, to me it's the mirror of total creative and expressive freedom. If I had recorded it in an apartment in Milan, it would never have turned out this way.

Staying geographically on San Bernardino, for your label's music festival, the Floating Notes Festival, held right there in the Graubünden area, you brought harpist Mary Lattimore to Italian-speaking Switzerland. What was it like sharing the stage with her?

I adore and admire her a lot. Lattimore is a pioneer of the harp: over the years she's carved out her own highly recognizable personal path. I met her in person last year at a festival where we both played, and since her performance had bewitched me, I decided to invite her. It was truly an honor to share the stage with her.

In recent years you've collaborated with Motta and Iosonouncane. What's your connection to independent Italian singer-songwriter music?

Iosonouncane is a source of inspiration for me. He contributed to “Chapter One”: while I was finishing the record, I asked him if he wanted to add something to it. He wrote a keyboard part which I then recreated on my harp. Whereas with Motta, an artist I've always liked, I made the single “SHIVERS” (2022), trying to build a bridge between his artistic world and mine.

And what else can you tell me about “Chapter Two”?

I don't want to give too much away, but I can tell you it's made up of pieces sketched out a long time ago, when I was at the conservatory, along with others written more recently. Compared to the first chapter, it's a different kind of story. For instance, on one track a girl sings in Japanese and engages in a dialogue with a choir that instead sings a part in the Ticino dialect. And here we come back again to that need for connection we talked about earlier.

(September 2023)

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