Piers Faccini - Confessions of a stateless man

An Italian father, an English mother, a home in the south of France: Piers Faccini translates his deep-rooted condition of statelessness into music, extending it beyond European borders in a constant search for novelty born from the blending of different languages and cultures. The release of his fifth album “Between Dogs And Wolves”, along with his upcoming six-date Italian tour, offers the perfect chance to get to know one of the most crystalline talents on the global singer-songwriter scene.

How and when did you first approach music? And what path led you to become a songwriter?

Let's say that when I was young, and living in England, the first band I was really, really a fan of was The Smiths, whom I also saw live several times and who are sort of the quintessential band of my generation, the one that grew up in the Eighties. Right after discovering them I formed my first band, I was fifteen or sixteen, initially just as a singer. Then, when we started writing our own songs, I also picked up the guitar. Finally, around the age of eighteen I discovered the music of Mississippi, that of Skip James and the other country-blues players: at that point I changed direction and realized I wanted to become a songwriter. Alongside American blues, I added other passions and influences in the meantime: I'm thinking of British and Irish singer-songwriters and the music of West Africa, particularly that of Mali.

Lessons that, judging by your work — including the new "Between Dogs And Wolves" — you've never forgotten.

True. Now that I've reached my fifth solo album, I think the influence of British folk comes through more than anything else. But, in a subtler way, there's always a touch of Africa in there: in the rhythmic elements, in the way I play guitar.

And speaking of influences: you're half Italian and half English, you live in France — what elements have you drawn from the musical cultures of these countries?

This way I have of mixing influences from different backgrounds into my playing comes from the fact that I myself feel "mixed". When I went to school in England I was the "little Italian", when I moved to France they thought of me as English, and in Italy they call me French. The truth is I've never felt like I belonged one hundred percent to any single culture, so it's no accident that my sound is "stateless". More generally, I can also tell you that I sing and play with traditional African or Italian musicians, like Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino, for instance: that's because I love playing with them and I love their traditions. Even so, I'm aware that I come from people with different blood and cultures: my father is Italian, my mother English but from Russian and Polish parents — I carry immigration in my DNA, belonging to people who had to leave their country. I'm not French at all, today I live here and tomorrow who knows, I feel free and thanks to my music I travel a great deal: I've just got back from a tour of Canada and the United States and in a few days I'm off to Europe again.

Going back to your question, I think the whole generation of English singer-songwriters from the late Sixties and Seventies is extraordinary. I'm thinking of Renbourn, of Jansch, artists who remain a constant point of reference for me. As for Italians, I hugely admire Fabrizio De André, and more generally I love your language, even though I think these are tough times for contemporary Italian songwriters.

What do you mean by that?

Let me say first that my knowledge of your scene is necessarily limited, but as an observer I've noticed a few things. For instance, I produced Gnut's album — a songwriter I consider not just a friend but also a big fan of, and who I know is very little known in Italy. I've also just collaborated with Afterhours, who asked me to record a version of "Come Vorrei" in my own style and spirit. Now, I sing in English basically because I am English, and I get the most media coverage in countries like the US, Canada, the Anglophone world. What I notice is that today, in Italy, if an artist sings in their own language they get far less media coverage than others who choose to sing in English. I think something has changed since the Seventies, but personally I prefer people to express themselves in their own language, and I think they should be encouraged to do so and given space of their own. The reason is very simple. Writing songs isn't easy, millions of people try every day in every corner of the world, and if you don't use all your strength and all your resources, and if you don't have complete command of the language you're using, how can you possibly write a good song?

And then, as everyone knows, Italians have terrible English pronunciation (just kidding, of course).

But it's true. Italians, Spaniards, the French... ah, right, speaking of the French, I hadn't answered that part of the question. Now, I love Jacques Brel, and on the new album I wrote a song in French called "Reste La Marée". I wanted to create it like an old traditional song, but adding a typically English songwriting approach to it, namely repeating the chorus at the end of every verse. The fact that on "Between Dogs And Wolves" I included a song in French and one in Italian ("Il Cammino", ed.) let me understand how a melody changes depending on the language you choose to use. Very interesting, though I doubt I'll write in Italian again.

"Between Dogs And Wolves" is an album you wrote and recorded almost entirely alone. Was that a deliberate choice, or more or less by chance?

Let's say that, being a songwriter, I like working with both music and words, and I often find myself composing on my own. I live in the countryside, I have a studio in the middle of the woods, and I love being alone — a condition that lets me dig deeper into the writing and do everything independently. The album was basically built that way, I'd write and record, and the only additions were cello and double bass, played respectively by Brazilian musician Dom La Nena and my friend Jules Bikoko.

In the songs on the new album we find love, the relationship between man and nature, and that between day and night. But ultimately, what is the thread connecting one track to another?

My songs describe the invisible spaces between people who seek each other out, lose each other, drift apart. Ten different points of view on the most intimate spaces we hold in our lives, which I tried to portray using as wide a range of colours as possible. The album's title comes from a French saying about the relationship between dawn and dusk: it's like a circle that keeps turning forever, both symbolizing at once something that's about to end and something else that's about to begin.

I know you love painting, so let me ask you: what's the difference between writing a song and painting a picture?

Ever since I was a child, I've had the feeling that there are images within music, and music within images. I've been drawing since I was a kid, and people very often tell me my songs are full of images: I believe the two things are connected.

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