Luigi Porto - An Italian in New York between classical and electronic music

Italian musician Luigi Porto has reached his fifth album, following the well-received “Scimmie”, with the just-released “Tell Uric”. Luigi has lived in New York for years, which has allowed him to witness American reality first-hand and fully grasp its differences from the Old Continent. We caught up with him to learn more about the genesis of “Tell Uric”. Here's what we talked about, among other things.

Almost seven years. And for “Scimmie”, it was seven years since the previous one. I've written music for several films, put together a few installations, and above all I've been dabbling in symphonic music. It was a period I needed. I also wrote an opera, “Anita di Laguna”, which had partial premieres at various venues, including Carnegie Hall.

In recent years you've been working in classical music, while “Tell Uric” moves in other directions. Did you feel like a change?

It's complicated. Let's say Carnegie Hall itself was a turning point on a psychological level. It's as if a demijohn had been filled beyond capacity. For now I've had enough of concert halls, fine clothes, and a refined, intellectually privileged audience. I'd already started taking the odd evening to play live “electric” sets in Manhattan and Brooklyn, then the pandemic came and everything was cancelled, but it gave me time to finish “Tell Uric”, and that was the direction: an electric, analog record, with electronics pared down to a minimum, at least on the purely sonic level. I wanted to go back to writing songs that could be played live with a classic band without losing meaning or energy.

“Tellurico” is meant in a negative sense, the way traditionalist philosophers conceive of “inferior” cultures and individuals. It had been going round in my head for years, and having lived in Italian working-class neighborhoods and especially in America's working-class districts, seeing above all the mental contrasts of people who live on one side of the city and frequent another, I understood a little more who I was, where I came from. In other words, I've spent time in New York's jet-set world and in the world of workers, and I realized I always went back there, because that's where I belong. It's not a radical-chic pose, it's simply a fact. I come from the bottom, and that's where I returned. Whoever comes from the earth returns to it, always. “Tell Uric” is also about my latent sense of not belonging.

Maybe because I see music as an artistic journey, and luckily I never had a band with which to sell a “branded” sound to please fans and the booking agent. If we count “Look At Me” by Appleyard College, we're at four albums plus an EP (“Respirano”, a record that got very little attention but that I'm deeply attached to, so much so that it became the name of my label). Anyone who knows my music, probably you included, can hear my hand in everything I do, even if the means are different. Actually it's quite simple: over the years I moved from the song form to instrumental writing, and then back to the former, perhaps with a bit more awareness. I always feel my records are very organic, but of course each one is its own self-contained statement that begins and ends; there is continuity between them, but it doesn't necessarily have to show up as writing songs that all sound the same — it can be something subtler. If I were as famous (and as good) as Sakamoto, Bowie, Battiato or Queen, no one would be surprised to find wildly different records in my discography. But even though I'm not, I claim the right to have a path of my own.

Before Lunch, Patti Smith said the same thing. Up until the pandemic, that was true — we'll have to see what happens now. We've talked about this before: the working-class city famous for cheap rents that drew in artists and musicians throughout the last century no longer existed by the time Covid hit. Bands were a thing of the past — aside from jazz groups (which are part of the tourism industry) — you only saw singer-songwriters with voice and guitar, and people in hoodies behind laptops, and I've seen many of the historic venues close for good since I've been here. I do get the impression, though, that something has changed now. Many of us have gone back to making electric music. This year I founded Respirano Records, which, after “Tell Uric”, will release the debut of a band called Manicburg.

I don't really deal with the future, although like all artists I run into it every now and then. I certainly don't have much faith in my generation — unfortunately we really are the most boring, “born tired” one. The newer generations might have something to say, and they definitely have more energy. In my neighbourhood there isn't, yet, a ferment that crosses class lines — you can have as many ethnic clusters as you like, but if a rich Japanese guy, a rich American and a rich African make music together, what comes out is multicoloured music for rich people, which can be beautiful, sure, but there's already plenty of that in the city. If social classes actually start mixing, then maybe the magic will happen.

No. When I understand what a song means, I often stop liking it. Mystery is better.

I play guitars, bass, piano, synth and sing, and on a few occasions I have fun with cello and a few other little instruments, obviously in minor roles. There are American musicians coming from contemporary music, like Ray Lustig, and Italians from the world of traditional and rock music, like Al the Coordinator; there's Alexandra Linde, who's Swedish, and a family of Filipino hippie musicians (An Outskirt) on backing vocals. As you can see, the habit of mixing different things continues. I also took care of the entire visual side myself, from the graphics to the videos, which I shoot and edit on my own (with some skilled help from Giacomo Triglia and Awén Films). I've worked in film for 15 years and I deal with the extreme professionalism of pretty much every role nowadays, from the color corrector to the drone operator to the focus puller; I've had films in festivals all over the world, and I could put together an all-star crew just by opening my address book and calling random friends. The pleasure of shooting my own videos alone with a phone that isn't even an iPhone is liberating, punk — a middle finger to “quality at all costs” that you can't even imagine.

What music scene do you see in New York these days? Is there a band you'd recommend to us?

Again, in my opinion, the city is one to keep an eye on right now. A million people left New York in 2020. Do you know what a million people means? Many of them were artists, who obviously couldn't afford to keep living there anymore. White people and Asians, because Black and Hispanic people had to stay — they couldn't even afford to leave. Will there be a turnover? Maybe with angrier people this time.

The only one is the second film by Ashish Pant, which I'm scoring, after “Uljhan,” which is currently in competition in Shanghai after Santa Barbara and the Marché du Cannes, and which will be followed by a TV series by the same director. Other than that, every morning I wake up and ask myself if today is the day I'll go back to a symphonic piece I was working on until last year, but every morning I answer myself that no, today isn't the day. I'm writing new songs, I'm collaborating with this band, Manicburg, whose members come from very different backgrounds. And I've also put together a band in Italy with some excellent musicians, with whom I'll be taking “Tell Uric” on the road, strictly “electric,” viruses permitting.

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