Mimes Of Wine - An inner Apocalypse, for piano

On this latest "Memories For The Unseen" you chose a much more direct path compared to the previous "Apocalypse Sets In". I also read that the arrangements were much more of a collective choice than in the past. Can you tell us how this interaction with the band worked during the recording of the album? How much did it change compared to your initial idea?

The starting point this time too was my ideas on piano and voice (mostly put together in Los Angeles), but the exchange began as soon as I started sending the first clips to Matteo, Stefano, Riccardo and Luca, who would send back responses with possible parts each time. Having worked step by step together like this, the central idea grew little by little, and so did the overall sound. When we got to the studio, though, it was still a surprise for me to realize the mix that had been created; playing live, recording live, the songs filled up with very strong energies for us, sometimes different from what I expected, going well beyond my original idea in a thoroughly positive sense.

Was there also a natural evolution in the way you compose, play and sing, or did you at some point force yourself to change something?

I'd say it was a spontaneous evolution, one of many possible ones. I don't feel completely removed from "Apocalypse Sets In", but today's clothes suit how I feel and what I think I want to develop a bit more, and I'm sure that will change again too. What I listened to in Los Angeles, the shows I saw and played, the studio work with different artists... all helped broaden my perspective in a not very organic way, which nonetheless matured and eventually brought me here. Even before the way of writing changed, the way of feeling changed. My writing method stays the same, but I felt the need to simplify the parts, to change my priorities. This time I wanted the voice and the words to have more room (which maybe also changed the way I sing), and the same goes for the other instruments.

Are there moments when your classical piano training feels like a limitation? Has your approach to composition changed over time?

A contrast definitely formed between the music I was taught as a child and what I came to love listening to from adolescence onward, and it took me a long time to figure out how the two could meet under my hands. But there's so much in the music I studied growing up that I struggle to see its limits. I think of it as a vocabulary I was given the chance to use (as much as I know it), and as such I feel it more as a set of possibilities, which even now helps me. My approach, as I mentioned before, is very simple: I follow the ideas my mind keeps coming back to, whether it's a melody or a phrase, until they take a shape that feels like it could work, with the right spirit. What I look for, what I listen to and engage with, has changed, but the basic idea has stayed the same.

You've spent the last few years in California. How did that environment influence your music?

In every way, both through what I listened to and through direct experiences and collaborations, outside and within everyday life. It's always a mix of what Los Angeles has to offer and what's part of one's personal experience, which could have happened anywhere else too. For example, I live in a house where a dear friend has a collection of hundreds of vinyl records that I've gradually enjoyed over the last few years, containing everything from the darkest folk to kraut-rock to Prokofiev, and it's accompanied me every day with tremendous richness. Outside the door, as soon as I tried playing more seriously, things started coming my way; the city's musical density washes over you naturally, and you get to choose what resonates with you most or intrigues you. I haven't taken part in any local "scene" in a stable way, but what I always love is that beyond the strange world of Hollywood there's a world made up of scenes of beautiful variety and quality, which lives a life of its own beyond trends. This world has given me a lot every time I've gone to see bands live, or collaborated with musicians who are part of it.

What's the one thing about the music scene you found there that you'd like to "import" to Italy?

The openness to new things; the seriousness with which music is experienced and considered a genuine, full-time job; how widespread it is across venues of every shape and size. More than anything, the feeling that things can be done, that it's worth it even when it's hard. All things we can have, and that in fact we already have here too; I don't think we lack anything to grow further in all these respects, certainly not the talent.

Let me satisfy my curiosity right away, if you can. You mentioned collaborations, projects started there. Can you reveal anything?

The first project is with Adam Moseley, started this year (he did a beautiful job mixing "Memories For The Unseen"), for which we're planning to write soundtracks for films and documentaries.

The second, partly connected to the first, is the idea of a small artistic collective to create audio-video pieces with animation, drawings and installations, in collaboration with the artist who did the album's artwork, Brett Erzinger.

Aside from that, there are small collaborations with various musicians, including, right now, Penelope Fortier, Drew Pearson of Twin Steps, Kid Moxie, and Jonathan Tehel (now in New York). With Jon in particular we've started a duo called Celacanto, with guitar and voice, with which, time permitting, we'd like to release a seven-inch next year.

You came back to Italy to record again at Enzo Cimino's studio. If you were forced to leave it and could choose freely, where would you go? I was thinking of Thomas Bartlett (Doveman)...

I'd go back to Boat Studio in Silverlake, where Adam and Jon worked, and where Jon and I recorded the first Celacanto demos a while back, in late-night sessions after work hours. There was an atmosphere in that place I'll never forget, as if it hid in its walls the secrets of everything that had happened there before we walked in, and the sound in the recording room, even when empty, had an incredible warmth.

I think the album shows a clear contamination with the American female singer-songwriter tradition of recent years (Chelsea Wolfe, St. Vincent). Which artist of recent years influenced you the most during your time in America, maybe even through direct contact?

The two female artists who have influenced me most in recent years remain, in different ways, PJ Harvey (especially with "Let England Shake"), even though she's not American, and Meredith Monk, whom I was lucky enough to see at the Red Cat at Walt Disney Hall. In terms of more direct contact, it's actually Chelsea Wolfe who left me most speechless, seeing her play at a small venue in Echo Park. Another female live show that moved me deeply was Scout Niblett's, last year at the Sanctuary in Santa Monica.

In an interview you say: "I think you can only make good music that you feel is truly yours." Very true, no doubt. But what do you mean by 'yours'? How do you keep hold of that reference point when writing your music, which rarely deals directly with "average" emotions?

Mine as in the music we love, the music we recognize ourselves in, that's all. When it's my turn to write, I almost never draw on "average" emotions, because they don't take me to the part of myself where things move with the force I need — that's not where I naturally end up going. Even "average" emotions can be very interesting, I just haven't yet found a way to turn them into music.

Let's talk about your appearance on the latest episode of OndaDrops, dedicated to "Down Colourful Hill" by Red House Painters. Can you tell us about your relationship with Kozelek and the song, "24", which you covered?

It was a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with Red House Painters, a band whose songs I never thought we'd cover, given how strong their identity is. I really love Mark Kozelek's voice and the way he sings, so powerful and intimate at once. We chose "24" for the melody, which stayed in my head for weeks after we recorded it, for its cadence (extremely difficult to recreate), which we all tried to bring down to with just the right intensity, and also for the lyrics, which contain some beautiful images. I love the way it looks at extremes with such a realistic eye, and yet almost with tenderness. Oldness comes with a smile...

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