Great Saunites - The psychedelia of the neighbors

Great Saunites are a bass-drums duo (Marcello Groppi and Angelo Bignamini) based in Lodi, seeking to interpret, re-interpret and re-code psychedelia through magmatic digressions that pair heaviness with rarefaction, learned meditation with sheer sonic impact. Far from a simple hard-rock or stoner revival, the Italian combo holds its own against Grails and rediscovers acts like Bron Y Aur in terms of subtlety and original composition, alongside an innate ability to achieve maximum intensity with minimal means (besides the rhythm section's leading role, there are guitars and electronic elements). Theirs is an imperious titanism that meets the most crippling creativity.

Their debut TGS (2010), self-released in 100 copies, contains three long compositions. First there are the 7 minutes of "Bythia," a stoner-sludge fresco-theorem that is, in practice, a concerto for low frequencies, psychotic vocalizations and hallucinogenic interference that thins out and thickens obsessively. The core of "Isaiah" (12 minutes), after starting out as an acid jam (which flattens out rather than detonating), is an acoustic meditation halfway between dark-folk and the Canterbury sound, especially in the keyboards à-la Robert Wyatt, with far-off mirages of choirs and vague Eastern echoes. Everything blends chaotically together and crashes into terrible, solemn blows from the rhythm section. "Santiago" picks up "Bythia" again but with an infinitely more jittery, almost hardcore undertow, then slows down to bring out shamanic overtones worthy of the Doors and Tim Buckley, nearly dying out amid vocal agonies and whip-crack drumming. The poetry of this record radiates far beyond its most immediate reading, spreading out into the most disparate references, into the cosmic psyche and the most hidden folds of a universal soul.

Just a year later their second album, Delay Jesus 68 (Hypershape, 2011), was ready. Aside from the loss of the singer, the record features the 9 minutes of "Golden Mountain," lost in the unbridled whirl of the two instruments (with a fluency in revivalism not heard since the '80s), gradually building toward a cosmic gallop and a brief oasis-vision of howls. Compared to the debut, there's less experimentation here and more evocation, or rather re-evocation, of the great psychedelic jams of eras past. A case in point are the hypnotic tempo changes of the title track, starting from an impeccable stoner-blues base. Then comes a bewitched, impetuous Amon Düül-style ceremony, repeatedly blown apart by tempo changes. The finale is restless and Native American-flavored, complete with drums struck bare-handed like tabla. But beyond its individual parts, the track and the record stand as a tour-de-force of riffs and tempo changes.

2012 is above all the year of solo and parallel projects for drummer Bignamini, who had actually already debuted in near-total solitude with Vol. 1 (2007) under the name Billy Torello. The abysmal recording quality, little more than an Alan Lomax field recording, means that the tremulous arpeggios of "Storia di un thè con Valentina alle 6 del pomeriggio" and the meditative twangs of "Ultima notte di Giovanna D'Arco" start climbing back up the family tree of John Fahey's "Voice Of The Turtle." Just as humbly, "Danza di serpente" borrows psychedelic elements (Indian tabla-style percussion, toxic organ) from LaMonte Young's "Dream House." Everything flows together into the vast concrete collage of "Kandur riposa nel giglio" (15 minutes), a saraband of mechanical sources - a locomotive sound - and natural ones, from water to insects, framing mysterious folk-dance motifs performed on folk instruments, along with flights of metallic percussion.

Bignamini revives the project on Ultime notizie dalla tartaruga vol. 2 (2012, see No. 16 'Ten Little Italians'), settling into less demanding compositions, like acoustic watercolors. The past has clogs (2014), however, shows new signs of solemn stylistic growth in two extended compositions, "Il figlio calvo" and the title track.

Under the moniker Lucifer Big Band, he instead made Act I (2012), an almost hour-long electronic homily with free-jazz peaks of laser beams and cacophony, one of the most important records in Italian rock.

Great Saunites, in any case, haven't gone quiet. On the split with Canide, released in early March 2013, there's the medley "Santa Ertna/Untitled with Gain/Kitsune" (14 minutes), spanning a chaotic spectrum of thunderous doom-metal, manic post-rock and cacophonous post-hardcore, plus the crossing of "Trans Human Express" (8 minutes), an electronic poem of oscillations and hallucinogenic interference.

Not content with that, Bignamini puts together an EP that's a wholly in-house affair between his band, Great Saunites, and his Lucifer Big Band project, with the standout being the 9 minutes of "Rakshasa Chant", a terrifying excursion through slowed-down dissonant miasmas, a pointed intensification of "Trans Human Express".

These new creations serve to furnish the actual third album, The Ivy – also pressed on numbered 180-gram vinyl (co-produced in tandem with various labels, including Hysm and Bloody Sound Fucktory) – with a few new elements: the most superficial is the presence of short tracks, little nuggets of experimentation, like "Cassandra", spectacular in its use of elemental stylistic devices, almost a supersonic surpassing of Blue Cheer, the reversed vocals underpinning a lament in the vein of Pink Floyd's "Shine On" in "Bottles & Ornaments", and even the free acoustic arpeggio of "Ocean Raves", a piece of blues-flamenco sleight of hand.

Above all, the 8 minutes of "Medjugorje" are the most monolithic thing the duo has ever recorded, unlike the sequence of blocks on Delay Jesus, a sprint in the vein of Can that emerges from a recording of choral invocations, a race between waves and electromagnetic vibrations, a modal raga-rock improvisation.

The title track, on the other hand, is a 20-minute monument to their imagination. Watery keyboard sounds spur on an impossible rhythm, ushering in a new tribal ceremony that keeps reinventing itself through constant recombination, even taking on hysterical, satanic overtones. The ritual dance then dies away and resurfaces as a sort of hybrid between a Kraftwerk futurist anthem (complete with vocals) and an exorcism soundtrack, then as a duet between percussion and magical free-jazz keyboard in the style of Sun Ra. Until the nightmarish sequence closes with tragic guitar chords and a suspended feedback. The duo has never been so visionary and exploratory, nor the composition so hallucinated.

That same year Bignamini also delivers a new offering under the name Lucifer Big Band, Ugo (self-released, 2013), a tribute to Ugo Maffi (a painter from the Lodi area), though this time built around four short ambient compositions.

That same not-quite-essential "appendix" quality pervades "Radicalisme Mecanique" by Great Saunites, contained on the single-sided vinyl Radicalisme Mecanique (Discreet, 2014), a 12-minute improvised jam in collaboration with experimentalist Attilio Novellino on electronics.

The Lucifer Big Band's Act II, released shortly after, instead returns to powerful new cacophonous heights under the banner of a new form of abstract descriptivism, although this time the affair is more contained in length (half an hour across two distinct parts) and more recognizable in terms of sound (instruments can be heard played beneath the layers of electronics).

After a fairly long pause, Nero (2016) is once again an ambitious record that, rather than following on from The Ivy, draws on the lessons of "Radicalisme Mecanique" (and, of course, those from within Lucifer Big Band). The most creative and fascinating element is, if anything, the sound sculptures that ceaselessly but with measured gloom surround the pair's interplay and cosmic rides (which here are more backdrop, however hazy, than outright devastation). The 19-minute title track initially gathers up a few psychedelic clichés (stereo gong loops) but renews them in sonic character (a seductive electronic industrial dance), which toward the end thin out into fragments of musique concrète and diaphanous touches of marimba. "Lusitania" (9 minutes) keeps the same approach, but with greater shamanic force (the ad libitum repetition of simple tribal drum figures and glissando bass riffs still creates a solid catharsis), though it then shifts down into a leaden, Pink Floyd-like stasis. The rondo of this ideal sonata, "Il quarto occhio", ratchets the tension up further, then crosses a black oasis of dub reverb, before linking back to the title track's opening riff to close the circle. The pair are still unsure whether to take the big leap or stay on safe ground.

Shortly afterward comes the second chapter of a "chromatic" trilogy: Green (2016). The intentions are even nobler than its predecessor's, just two extended pieces aiming for trance. They only partly succeed, however, because what emerges this time is exhibitionism and sensationalism, and the effort (genuinely titanic, in truth) remains more physical than musical. "Dhaneb" (25 minutes) is an incredibly static, almost unchanging space-rock workout. "Antares" (21 minutes) sounds like an "Interstellar Overdrive" that cuts its process of disintegration short halfway through.

The ever-voracious Bignamini starts a new project, his most experimental to date, alongside Luca De Biasi of Satantango, under the name Filtro. Their cassette Reflection (2017), made with tape and modular synth, is incidental music taken to its highest (and thus lowest) extremes. The first part, "Reflection Part 1, Perno", is a drumming of frequencies dense with electrostatic reverb (a Pink Floyd's "Heart Beat, Pig Meat" reimagined in a sci-fi setting) chaotically thickened by ever-new sources. The second, "Statore, Riflesso Part 2", entirely similar, builds up tension through a rain of percussion, rustles like roars, until it drains out into an electronic ectoplasm. Both tracks, moreover, add a mysterious, naturalistic coda at the end, for a total of 13 minutes each: an elegy of vibrations, echoes, whistles and throbbing pulses, and a radioactive storm. A solid study in field-recording fantasy.

Then comes the third and final chapter of the Lucifer Big Band saga, Act III (2017), a 38-minute composition that represents the ideal intersection between Acts I and II. The use of mixed technique is notable, if not exactly flawless, and gives rise to cinematic moments like the Blade Runner-esque urban-nightmare opening, and further on, dodecaphonic adagios (the best moment), or cosmic fluctuations of jazz fragments. Six movements make up this new trip, yet another tower in his career's ongoing exploration of electronic research, and perhaps in the Italian scene of recent years too. It stands out for its courage and ambition, and also for its visual suggestiveness, even while it makes obsessive use of additive synthesis that conveys intentions more than ideas.

At this point Bignamini embarks on a solo career under his own name. The first, Imperial Guitar (2016), refines his acoustic virtuosity in new John Fahey-style ragas, never so extended and transcendental ("Ennio Vs. Reynolds in Berlino Est", "Mirra's Raga", "Notturno #2"). Ants and Orchids (2017) is a notebook of sketches that picks up the Filtro project again in further subliminal collages of concrete sounds, hisses and reverb, though in the 17 minutes of "D" his acoustic guitar reappears to lend at least a minimum of music. The 28-minute cassette Decay (2017), still rooted in electroacoustic avant-garde and built on a mass of electronic loops, is more compact and cacophonous, able to range from methodical, rhythmic bombardments of distortion (engines, lightning, discharges, shocks, gurgles) to his by-now-familiar enigmatic reverbs. These are followed by Theoretical Shelters (2018), the 18 minutes of Ottobre (2018), Bugs (2019), #07/04/2018/Cotidie Morimur, a split with Arokin, and the cassettes 36 (2019), Zimbatò (2020) and Feu de Joie (2021).

Filtro's second cassette, Materia (2018), is a subpar rehash of electroacoustic clichés. It's followed by Form (2019), still self-indulgent though with greater sophistication, and Workshops (2021).

The Saunites' "chromatic trilogy" closes and reaches its peak with Brown (2018), the most disjointed, electronic and avant-garde of the three. There are two notable additions: the title track "Brown", opened by monumental drones and tape loops of voices and branching off into faulty bass-and-drum phrases that eventually converge into one of their most precise trances. "Ago" is a chamber-jazz sonata for recorded piano and industrial noise, building in a subliminal crescendo. Rather than persisting with band-driven marathons, the duo opts for experimentation and research, adding digital clamor and assorted manipulations. Here Bignamini dominates the work, thanks to his now well-established status as an electroacoustic sculptor, though his integration with his partner's bass may be the best it's ever been. Offset by some rough-edged naivety ("Respect The Music", "Controfase"), it is nonetheless dissociated, abstract and intriguing, worthy of standing on the noble front line of Italian rock.

After so many Bignamini projects, Groppi too makes his solo debut under the name Atrx with the two mixed-technique creations on Phase One (2019). "Black Sky" (13 minutes) is a panel-built fresco founded on the bass's restless, continuous crackle, electronic gusts, found and manipulated voices and the odd sporadic percussion hit, capitulating into a dark chorale. "Calico" (16 minutes) is a prolonged post-ambient hallucination driven by a more unified (and even darker) tension, out of which springs an enchanted, post-Canterbury improvisation built on a tangled bass riff and wandering feedback (a pseudo-psychedelic flute), which in turn implodes into a cloud of dissonance to make room for a psalm-like, slow fanfare of stretched-out polyphonies, lost and despairing. This brief album crosses, with mysterious nonchalance, the avant-garde austerity of '70s Teutonic rock with the cerebral experimentalism of Hugh Hopper.

In "Phase Two" (2020), 22 minutes contained on the eponymous cassette, he devotes himself to sound sculpture, setting aside the played part of his bass. At first it's a rather undefined flow, something between the spatial and the industrial, which builds to a climax both in a concert of shredded timpani that updates Nick Mason's "Grand Vizier's Garden Party" from "Ummagumma" and in an automaton dance worthy of Black Dice. After an idyllic, rustic interlude (little birds, a stream and bells sketched out by glitch sounds) we return to abstract suspension. The whole piece is a tour-de-force of low-definition sources, progressively decorated in an almost "graffiti-artist" manner by electronics (no less lo-fi).

Third Report (2021) offers more concise collage sketches, among which a "Total Obliteration" with echoes of Residents tones (faded marimbas, a mumbling rally speech, disorienting splices) and a "meta-sampling" atmosphere (you can hear the amateurish rustle of tapes stopped and restarted) definitely stand out. "Bug Fix" is a sonata for low frequencies: nothing particularly inspired, but among these the rumble of his bass can be heard again (thus a form of "self-sampling"). Pretty much nothing else.

In a split with Palmer Generator, PGTGS (2020), we find the 17 minutes of "Zante", a collaboration with Paolo Cantù (along the lines of Radicalisme with Novellino) that marks a new peak of aesthetic-research ambition, a paddy field of sonic events that seeks, albeit without real direction and with some limitations, a new take on exotic modal rock.

The ever-prolific Bignamini continues his electroacoustic experimentation with Audioregistratore due cavalli (2021), in tandem with Cristiano Carosi, 8 Doublings (2021), Polaroids (2022), Anna (2022), Take A Seat (2023) and Abbuio (2023), and fully establishes himself as a noise-maker with another batch of recordings under the name Giacinto: the 16-minute single "Inno all'odio" (2018), the EP Distruggere ringiovanisce (2018), the trilogy of cassettes made up of Skull's Geography (2019), Leak (2020) and Black Cog (2020), then the 20 minutes of "Desertion Of Self" (2021) in a split with Grodock X Vargus, and finally River Of The Inner Slave (2023) and All Those Nails Deserve Your Hate (2023) under the name Giacinto.

Groppi brings his bass to the CMM Collective moniker on God Bless This Mess (2022) and to the doom-metal supergroup Formalist for the second We Inherit A World At The Seams (2023), and picks back up his nom de guerre Atrx to record A Glimpse Of Melody (2022), another rather bland collection of short experimental pieces for bass and found sounds, followed by Lost Memories (2024).

Bignamini releases the 49 subliminal minutes of "Battelli a vapore" (2025) and a far more contained Untitled (2025). The Filtro moniker returns with Structura Parva (2026).

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