Concert from the little balcony

As part of the initiative undertaken by so many, in these dramatic days, to play music from windows in order to "make themselves heard," the major national newspapers and broadcasters have talked about the story of the Concertino dal Balconcino in Turin, as an example of spontaneous music, of art happening in real time. Every Sunday for eight years now, from 5 to 6 pm, the courtyard at Via Mercanti 3, right in the heart of Turin's historic center, fills up with people, and Daria Spada and Maksim Cristan lean out from their own home balcony to bring to life a genuine happening, a unique performance, in which, alongside the "lyrical punk" songs of their repertoire, other artists are hosted, coming from Turin's underground scene and beyond, who perform theatrical acts, poetry readings or other numbers on that balcony. A simple thing that has become huge, like a wave, carrying with it, in that simple gesture of leaning out from the balcony and singing, the power of music that overflows, that won't stay within the margins. Putting opera on top of rock is the project, with Daria Spada's voice bouncing off the walls and windows of the other residents, accompanied every single Sunday by Maksim Cristan's guitar and irony.

There is something uncontrollable and free about it, as well as something fascinating, so much so that the city of Turin has been both seduced and frightened by it. And so, inevitably, a complaint arrived from the former condominium administrator, which in turn triggered proceedings for disturbing the public peace, with no civil parties involved, into which Daria and Maksim have thrown themselves willingly, because they feel they are carrying out a crusade charged with civic meaning. After all, there's a delicate issue at stake here, since it touches on the theme of freedom of expression, which of course must be exercised with respect for "public peace," but which must also be able to avoid being forced down the official channels laid out by the show-business establishment.

So, from their legal battle and their initiative — which, incidentally, has extremely interesting social implications, given that the Concertino dal Balconcino is often attended by families and not just the crowd from social centers one might expect, and in any case not just a young audience — emerges the figure of two complex artists, capable of getting to the heart of things and recovering the primal meaning of making art, beyond the individual performances, of reaching the essence, the music when it truly moves you, and you can't contain it, and it doesn't stay where you put it, and it knocks. As Bob Dylan would say. With a revolutionary spirit as innate as rock should always be.

Daria, can you tell me the story of the little balcony?

It all started spontaneously, because right when we moved from Puglia it just came to us, naturally, to think of performing for half an hour from our home balcony, every Sunday, to get to know our fellow residents. Then the thing took off, especially thanks to the dense network of artists, poets and musicians here in Turin, and so this little homemade event grew richer with other contributions and, above all, with lots of people who, every Sunday from 5 to 6 pm, bring our courtyard to life and give it new purpose. That's why the Concertino dal Balconcino has such a beautiful story, made of people, on top of the fact that it has received many accolades. But it also has a legal story, since Maksim and I are defendants before the Turin Court in a criminal case in which we've been charged with disturbing the public peace under Article 696 of the Criminal Code.

What I like about your project is that the music overflows, doesn't fit into set patterns, goes beyond the concept of a studio recording, becoming an event, an occasion for encounter. Beyond music. Was its dimension as a happening a project you had clear in mind from the start, or is it something that grew and that you found yourselves holding in your hands?

The fact of bringing together music and happening, as you call it — that is, social life, but also what an artist hopes for most, which is having someone listen to them and maybe even applaud them — isn't something we found ourselves holding, but something we built, because we believed in it, as if it were an absolutely beautiful thing, and so, like all beautiful things, it had to have a positive outcome, which is indeed what happened. In short, we believed in it and built it over time.

What happens in the courtyard when you play?

At the start, for a quarter of an hour, before the main door opens, a radio broadcast comes through our home intercom. And people stand in the street listening to it. It's called "Radio citofono," and it's our building's own radio, which neighbors can also take part in, naturally, from their own intercoms. It's hosted by an anthropologist and it's meant for the audience that starts gathering in the street and listens to this radio before coming in. After that, at the entrance, spectators find two people, Riccardo and Alberto, two young men on the autism spectrum, who handle security duties here at the Balconcino, so they inform people about the program and what's happening, direct the crowd a little, tell them not to crowd together, to keep the stairs clear... In short, everything a security team should do, because we care that our event always takes place in complete friendliness. After all, the fact that an association like Angsa (National Association of Parents of Autistic Individuals) collaborates with the Balconcino means that, over these years, we've created a safe environment. Even though, if you will, it's still "semi-illegal," our event is absolutely peaceful: there's never been a fight or the sound of a bottle breaking, even though our courtyard is packed with 200 or 300 people every Sunday, and maybe even more.

Your story, your incredibly strong artistic bond, reminds me of the one between Marina Abramović and Ulay… I'm referring to being together in an inseparable way and blending life with artistic expression. A kind of playing with one's own existence. "Being," even before expressing oneself. I'm thinking, for example, of how you turned your studio apartment into an artistic workshop… Putting yourselves on stage. Bringing life onto the stage, or rather, onto the balcony…

Well, let's just say that living in a 24-square-metre studio flat isn't exactly a choice. We ended up here, and we've loved it, that's for sure, and we love our balcony even more. Our life is definitely intertwined with music, that's true, and with the experience of living together, and that's actually the cool part of it all, because being two in this "ruthless" world is always better than being alone. So in the end, two birds with one stone…

What do you give each other? Where does the idea of the "lyrical punk" that you pursue with your band MCCS come from? What are your reference points?

Lyrical punk is exactly the expression of this union, of this desire to share what you have, so our music is made up of punk arrangements and lyrical parts, and that way we like to think we've invented a genre that manages to reach a very broad audience, let's say from bourgeois living rooms to the audience of Vasco Rossi.

Playing the way you do is a gesture that goes beyond a simple musical performance. The way you throw your arms open from the balcony conveys freedom. A powerful, uncontrollable gesture that maybe, precisely because of the sense of freedom it carries, is even frightening…

Yes, we think so too, that singing from the balcony is first and foremost an act of freedom, and that's how it's been for us and for everyone who has played and performed here. And keep in mind that in eight years more than a thousand artists have taken to this unusual stage. In the same way, we also think that the trial we're facing is an attack on a freedom. The fact that today in Italy, in these dramatic times linked to the epidemic, this idea of sharing is being reappraised, starting even from the apartment block, from one's own space beyond which you can't retreat any further, which is the balcony, proves it. That's why the attempt to stop us from doing a one-hour performance, once a week, sounds like the story of an attack on freedom, and this is our own small battle. A small battle, but a big one too in its symbolic implications, so much so that we're happy to face a trial to find out whether, in our country and our city, what we do is illegal or whether it is instead something worth sharing and positive, something that broadens the cultural offering, but above all raises awareness. And then the gesture of playing from your own balcony is also a simple but direct answer to those who say there's no space or no money… I simply say: no one's going to tell me Italy is short on balconies!

There's a real desire in you to mix languages, hosting poets, artists, jugglers from Turin and beyond on the balcony, as if at the heart of your project there wasn't just music but the importance given to the human dimension, to sharing, to cultural ferment… Who has passed through your balcony?

Many talented artists have passed through our balcony. Some very often, like Carlo Molinaro, poet and winner of the Montale Prize, others came from abroad like Kara Gunes from Istanbul, and others still who are far more talented than us, like the poet Guido Catalano, or Laura Curino, actress and director of the Giacosa theatre in Ivrea, and last but not least Moni Ovadia, who gave a kind of lecture/talk on the Palestinian people right here from the balcony. We think it's essential today, as artists, to understand what our role is and where we can actually make a difference. In this sense, ours has been a great experiment and we hope it can continue, even once the lockdown is over, because it allows different voices to intertwine, including those of small associations, not just artists, who get to speak to a real audience. On this point, all the Arci clubs envy us, because on Sunday afternoons our courtyard fills up with genuinely interested people, partly thanks to the quality of the cultural programme we've built, in a place where no phone rings, where people actually listen to what's happening on stage, so we think it can be called a fully successful experiment.

At certain moments over the years, the little balcony hasn't just been a stage, but a free space that has hosted people and given a voice to minorities in the city of Turin who otherwise wouldn't have been able to express themselves. Can you tell us about some significant moments?

We're honoured when civil society recognises us. There have been quite a few significant moments. I'm thinking of when Mau Mau came, or various associations, like the students from the university association Bds Palestina, or when representatives of the Kurdistan association came. And it has to be said that the audience has grown used to a cultural offering of a certain standard, including musically, in the sense that no covers are played here and you certainly won't see the usual mainstream acts perform, because we try to give a voice to people who have something original to bring.

Are there any developments regarding the ongoing trial?

As for the trial, we're at the ninth hearing… and the next hearing, which was scheduled for the end of March, has been suspended because of the epidemic and postponed until things return to normal. In any case, the trial isn't stopping, it's moving forward. Specifically, what will happen at the next hearing, since the witnesses have now all been heard, is that it will be our turn to give our own voluntary statements and be questioned by the judge. After that there will be the verdict. So I'd say there are no new developments at this precise moment, apart from the fact that we're obviously happy with how things are going. Among our witnesses were representatives from the cultural world as well as neighbours. And from their testimonies, and from what has come out, we can say we have very good hopes of being acquitted!

Ride the wave of great music

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