Zen Circus - Welcome to the Zen Circus

Catchy refrains, riffs that hook you in, charging drums. Zen Circus have reworked the lesson of folk-punk in their own personal way. With lyrics drawing on an imagery of proletarian neorealism, without a shred of rhetoric or melodrama, packed with bitter irony, iconoclasm and bursts of everyday metaphysics. The journey of this Pisa-based band began in the mid-90s, the golden age of Italian "alternative" rock. Andrea Appino has plenty of stories to tell, and his lyrics are never dressed up with easy slogans, but instead unfold as carefully reasoned, dense and personal accounts of urban life in our times.

The band's initial lineup, then going under the name "The Zen", was made up of Andrea Appino (vocals and guitar), Ufo (guitar) and Teskio (drums). After a self-produced debut album, About Thieves, Farmers, Tramps and Policemen (1998), which went largely unnoticed, in 2001 the trio released Visited By The Ghost Of Blind Willie Lemon Juice Hamington IV, their first project under the name Zen Circus, through which they began to express, albeit not yet fully in focus, what would become the defining traits of the band's first decade. A sound heavily influenced by Violent Femmes and Talking Heads (just listen to "Drivin' In My Car"), but one that above all breathes love and devotion for the Pixies — both in their English incarnation ("Milk Legs", "Weak Love") and their Spanish one ("Mexican Requiem") — tipped even in the song titles ("Where Is My Heart?" clearly echoes "Where Is My Mind?").

The vocals are still in English and the atmosphere is decidedly far from what would become their most successful work, but the first seeds are nonetheless evident. The band shows great versatility, alternating varied nineties-derived alt-rock flavours with delightful country-folk interludes (the pairing of "Chicken Factory" / "Jack Is American"), tormented blues (the closing "HF Modulator Blues") and thoroughly successful statements of intent. The title of the programmatic "Folk Punk Rockers" (which opens the tracklist) is the best possible summary of the path the trio would go on to follow over time.

It would take the following album, Doctor Seduction, released in 2004, to get people talking about them more widely. On drums, Karim Qqru took over from Teschio, while Appino (vocals, guitars and keyboards) and Ufo (bass and backing vocals) remained constants. On Doctor Seduction, the band's sound takes off, turning into convincing rock just faintly tinged with unobtrusive electronics, while still keeping all the vocals in English. Good songs, in which the heavy dose of irony that would characterise later work is not yet clearly expressed. The band still comes across as more serious, paying great attention to the care of the arrangements. Critics start to take notice and live audiences grow, though for the time being Zen Circus remain essentially a niche phenomenon, a cult act of the underground circuit.

The unmistakable similarities to Violent Femmes and Pixies don't yet fully reveal the strong personality that would soon emerge, but for now Zen Circus work perfectly well this way. Between youthful surf-pop seductions ("Time Killed My Love"), more serious rock ("Welldone", in which you can catch an echo of the Lou Reed-esque "Vicious"), solid post-punk ideas ("It Turns Me On"), rounded folk-pop ("Sweet Me") and the best Pixies impression ever pulled off in Italy ("Sailing Song"), the album plants seeds that would prove able to fully blossom in the years to come, allowing the Tuscan trio to reap their well-deserved success.

In the following Life and Opinions of Nello Scarpellini, Gentleman, what stands out is the band's ability to rework a broad spectrum of influences through the lens of a cutting, irreverent irony that attacks not only through the lyrics but through the music itself. Caught between lo-fi, a vintage aftertaste and the warmth of analog recording, the fourth Zen Circus album puts a contagious joy on display, far removed from the intellectualoid roughness of certain strands of Italian rock and more inclined to play the cards of a simplicity that's never undermined by the virus of banality. It's a punk-pop surrealism subjected to variations on a theme, between psych-folk accents and acoustic digressions. Split into two parts ("Face 1: La Vie"; "Face 2: Les Opinions"), the record keeps a tight structure, one that only repeated listens can truly do justice to. Loose-limbed power-pop (half Violent Femmes, half Replacements) — "Dead In July" — fits gracefully into an intriguing compositional fabric, where French lends grace and candor ("Les Poches Sont Vides Les Gens Sont Fous") and Caribbean rhythms add a cheeky exotic streak, as in the wonky dance of "L'inganno". Anthology-worthy is the enveloping country minimalism of "A Kind Of Pop Lullaby" (the record's absolute peak), while the ghost of Rocky Roberts, surrounded by howling children in "I Bambini Sono Pazzi", nicely captures their cross-cutting, surreal revivalism, as confirmed by the punk-folk of "Hellakka" itself.

Zen Circus clearly have fun playing, and you can hear it in every single note. They don't know how to take themselves seriously, and perhaps that's exactly why they can also be damn engaging at the same time. It's impossible to stay indifferent in front of their music. Tracks like "L'amico Immaginario" have that sixties flavor that intrigues and invites a singalong. The glittering sparks of the guitar, the hefty, goliardic drumming (à-la Ringo Starr), the rubbery, essential bass stage absurd tributes to the beat era, but they can also navigate murky psychedelic waters ("Colombia"), work with a two-faced soul (acoustic-noise in "Summer Of Love"), caress an idea of creative, visionary light pop that ferries the earliest Alberto Camerini works into the present day ("Aprirò un bar"), or deliver a frills-free example of a power-ballad ("Fino a spaccarti due o tre denti"). What finally sends their eclecticism into orbit is the instrumental "Visited By The Ghost Of D. Boon", which you can't help but imagine as a deluxe outtake from the recording sessions of "Double Nickels On The Dime". As crazy as we already know them to be, Zen Circus sign off with a "special bonus track" that mixes and dilutes the whole record into a blanket of free-noise, but played with the fast forward button jammed down.

After more than four hundred shows across Italy, and a decade spent in the arena of independent music, in 2008 Zen Circus chose to give themselves an international allure thanks to a partnership with Brian Ritchie (ex-Violent Femmes), which resulted in the album Villa Inferno. By now a fully-fledged fourth member of the group (and a strong draw for live audiences), Ritchie also stepped in as producer. The abundance of languages (Italian, English, French, even Slavic) and the star-studded guest list (besides Ritchie, there are the Deal sisters, Kim and Kelly, Giorgio Canali, and Jerry Harrison of Talking Heads on the on-the-nose cover of "Wild Wild Life") strike a good balance between the pursuit of international distribution (pity that the German label meant to guarantee it, Hausmusik, went bankrupt right while the record was being pressed, promptly picked up by Unhip) and the proud persistence of their generous (and unlucky) "buttero-punk" idiolect.

The latter is by far preferable in the earthy, "bad-boy" beach-folk of "Figlio di puttana" (with singer Appino, who may sport the same big mirrored sunglasses as Gordon Gano, but sings exactly like Rino Gaetano), in the healthy sarcasm of "Vana gloria", in the generational anthem "Vent'anni" and in the gypsy raw hide of "Narodna Pjesma". Fun, if a bit mannered, is the dancehall electro-punk of "Punk Lullaby", a cross between trans-genre Le Tigre and the Cccp of "Rendez vous" (Kim Deal is their Amanda Lear), while the Clash-indebted "Dear Penfriend" and "Beat The Drum" are less convincing. "Dirty Feet", on the other hand, sounds like a Violent Femmes leftover (Ritchie's bass is an unmistakable, sibylline trademark, the eternal teenager who couldn't care less about learning how to play properly), sung with the overly earnest, out-of-place emphasis of a green Springsteen. Decent folk-punk, trying to find its own place. And this is where a careful reassessment of language choice would begin: continuing to sing in English risked leading into a dead end.

Andrea Appino then decided to start writing in Italian, and Andate tutti affanculo, initially conceived as an EP and released in 2009, became their first experiment entirely thought out and realized in their mother tongue. The echo of the partnership with Brian Ritchie can still be felt — there's a bit of Violent Femmes and a lot of America in these grooves, the Eighties college rock that digested punk and ended up going mainstream. R.E.M., Pixies, Replacements — few in Italy have learned that lesson as well as they have, few have managed to blend those dirty sounds with the metrical rigidity of a language that's always said to never quite come to terms with rock'n'roll. The album is made up of ten tracks loaded with resentment and irony. From the title alone you can tell Zen Circus have a bone to pick with someone, and the thesis is skillfully declined in almost every single track. "L'egoista" is a martial ballad in which Appino goes after someone even angrier than him, without quite crucifying him. The breakneck sprint of "Vecchi senza esperienza", under two minutes without catching a breath, is pure low-fi, as if Hüsker Dü had been born in Marina di Pisa instead of Minnesota. The third track deals with death and the dead, and with how a child comes to grasp its meaning. "It's Paradise" unrolls like a ramshackle little march played by macabre, saltimbanco minstrels: plenty of people would love to imagine their own funeral like this.

After the Nomadi-esque "We Just Wanna Live", complete with parish-choir-style backing vocals, comes the gem "Vuoti a perdere": a full-bodied rockettone about love and moral(istic?) shortcuts, with a chorus launched by a weave of syncopated guitars and a bassline that Peter Buck and Mike Mills couldn't have conceived any better. Then, of course, there's Nada singing with class: the result is a potential hit. Then comes the title track, a caustic yet ultimately composed nursery rhyme in which nobody is told to go to hell, not even in the chorus — which, incidentally, doesn't exist. "Amico mio" and "Ragazza di provincia" look back across the Atlantic again (this time to the Byrds too), and you don't need much imagination to guess from the titles alone that these aren't exactly declarations of love. On "Gente di merda" we're in the territory of a hard-rock that makes no concessions whatsoever to catchy-tune appeal. Neither does Appino, who goes in hard and even finds room to embed what could be the manifesto of the whole record: “E’ solo mia quest’ironia/ ma io ho voglia di scherzare/ e di volare via/ a prendersi sul serio ci vuole molto poco/ la storia ce lo insegna”. To close things out, Zen Circus turn to their irreverent "Canto di Natale", a lullaby portraying a young junkie stuck at a never-ending Christmas lunch, and a North African pusher who won't have anything to do with a pair of new gloves offered in addition to the twenty euros in cash the junkie has in his pocket.

At this point Zen Circus start gaining a certain notoriety: ever since they opted to sing in Italian and steered their songs toward a poppier key, their weight within the Italian alternative scene has gradually grown. With Nati per subire (2011), the Pisan band keeps walking the same path, with firm conviction and more-than-decent results. Across the new eleven songs, Appino teaches us that words aren't just important, they're precious. That spitting out rage or breaking the banks of one's own stream of consciousness and letting whatever happens happen is too easy, like smashing shop windows, like trying to put out fires by hurling fire extinguishers into the flames. Make no mistake: the guy doesn't back down from anything, he talks about God, morals, conformism and utopia, but he has no need to wear any kind of mask, to put on helmets or black hoods, to hide behind anything. Appino does politics, because by now he can afford to. Listen to "I Qualunquisti", which comes roughly halfway through the album, listen to "La democrazia semplicemente non funziona". Listen to all of these songs, and you won't find any shortcuts in them. The story of "Franco", for instance — Franco the Romanian laborer who sleeps in his car or in a warehouse, who thinks about his wife and his mistress far away, and in the evening gets taken around to bars by his co-workers — is a little gem. And even if Appino never told us so, we'd picture it exactly on the night between January 26th and 27th, as cold, grey and stripped-bare as it is: a narrative touch of undeniable effectiveness.

Then there's "Ragazzo eroe", a collective mockery of a sick generation, from Caserta to Livorno, from those who spend their days in the arcade to those who listen to De André. "Nel Paese che sembra una scarpa", track number one, a terrific album opener, has the makings of a great live classic. As for the ending, a bit like "Canzone di Natale" did on "Andate tutti affanculo", Zen Circus play it with sarcasm: the financial bubble, the induced delusion whereby half the world convinced itself it could live forever beyond its means, can also be told through the debunking touch of "Cattivo pagatore". The pack of friends and colleagues called in to lend a hand is a large one. Here and there you can spot cameos, never intrusive, from Ministri, Dente, Enrico Gabrielli, Giorgio Canali, Il Pan del Diavolo, Alessandro Fiori. The quality of the songs is perhaps slightly lower than on Andate tutti affanculo, but all of them — the little marches as well as the ballads, the low-fi exercises as well as the college-rock ones — stick in your head after two or three listens. Given the weight of the words they carry, it's the best one could possibly expect from them.

In 2012 Black Candy released an energetic six-track EP titled Metal Arcade, Vol. 1, on which the trio has fun recording punchier new versions of the already-known "Mexican Requiem" and "Vent'anni", adds the demo of "Hillybilly Cabdriver" and the previously circulated ghost track "Punk-Oi Puppy Sex 2001", plus covers of "Polisii Pamputataas" by the Finnish band Eppu Normaali and "Where Eagles Dare" by the Misfits, sung respectively by Ufo and Karim.

Riding a wave of ever-growing acclaim, the following summer the trio was called on to act as backing band for a successful Nada tour, a situation that further widened the group's following as they tackled the reinterpretation of a largely mainstream-pop Italian repertoire.

2013, instead, was spent giving free rein to the three members' solo careers. In January, Karim Qqru, under the banner "La notte dei lunghi coltelli", released the well-received album Morte a credito, blending hardcore-punk, rock and electronics. Ufo, meanwhile, focused on well-received DJ sets.

But the real event was, without question, Appino's solo debut, Il testamento. He's joined by Giulio "Ragno" Favero (bass and co-production), fellow Teatro degli Orrori member Franz Valente (drums), Enzo Moretto of …A Toys Orchestra (guitars), and Rodrigo D'Erasmo (violin). Appino sings, writes, plays guitar, and pours his entire inner world into the lyrics, blending a rich variety of styles across fourteen tracks, moving from the socially engaged folk ballad halfway between Dylan and Guccini ("La festa della liberazione") to a sort of light Italian-flavored hardcore ("Solo gli stronzi muoiono", "Schizofrenia"), from the round, crystalline indie pop of "Passaporto" and "Fuoco!" to the more traditional guitar rock of "Fiume padre", all the way to the electro drift in the second half of the closing "1983". Appino shows he can both claw ("Che il lupo cattivo vegli su di te", "Specchio dell'anima") and offer tenderness ("I giorni della merla", "Godi adesso che puoi"), relying on lyrics that are always taut and steeped in raw realism.

What clearly emerges is the urge to write, to confess, to express one's own ideas and feelings, to open up completely — so much so that the record ends up being almost too word-heavy, at times nearly logorrheic, where in certain passages a more concise approach might have been more effective. What stands out is the tribute to the dramatic epilogue of Mario Monicelli's story, which defines the heartfelt title track. The great director chose a kind of voluntary euthanasia, throwing himself from a hospital window where he was due to die of an incurable illness: out of this gesture comes an imagined last testament on the importance of choice — even the choice to die, but only after finishing freely writing one's own story. Il testamento would go on to earn major critical acclaim, winning the Targa Tenco for Best Debut of 2013, and a nomination among the five finalists for the Targhe MEI Album of the Year.

But by January 21, 2014, it was already time for a new chapter under the Zen Circus name: Canzoni contro la natura. The key track is "Albero di tiglio", the most structured and mature piece, bolstered by a gripping instrumental coda. It's the supreme (and severe) reflection addressed to the world by a god who manifests as a plant in order to scold humankind, guilty of having wrongly misunderstood far too many things (“Voi credeste io fossi fatto/ A vostra immagine e somiglianza/ Perché lo avete letto sul libro/ Che vi siete scritti da soli / Io non ho mai avuto un figlio/ Come potrei io che sono un tiglio”). Nonsense and sarcasm, seasoned with further hints aimed at affirming the non-secondary role of the plant world for the survival of any ecosystem (“Guardate questa vecchia quercia/ distrutta dalla vostra guerra/ Voi piangeste mille figli morti/ Ma questa pianta ne vale altrettanti”). It's a kind of reckoning of nature against mankind and progress, strongly reaffirmed in the title track, which imagines the consequences of an animal and plant rebellion against human beings. A spoken contribution from the unforgettable poet Giuseppe Ungaretti underlines the abnormality of the human being, and its perennial clash with nature. Across the whole album, which can thus be considered a kind of concept record, it's human nature itself that's being examined: mother nature is merely a fatalistic pretext to better dissect the complex human soul. The analysis sets off direct and resolute right from the opening "Viva", a barricade-folk-rock track about the inner and outer deterioration of ordinary people in the difficult times we're living through. It continues with the following "Postumia", an anthem about intergenerational confusion and the inability to communicate: we all take to the streets dressed to the nines, but "⟦Q⟧".

Disillusionment and the struggles of today's thirty-somethings reign supreme. The band shows its intent to carry on the happy marriage between enlightened songwriting and rock attitude, openly drawing on the approach first amazingly charted by Fabrizio De André on his historic tour with Premiata Forneria Marconi. It's no accident that "L'anarchico e il generale" is deliberately made to resemble "Il pescatore", which became one of the chief symbols of that adventure. The same modern-minstrel spirit runs through "Vai vai vai!" and "Mi son ritrovato vivo", perennially mediated by the rock-wave instincts well showcased through the pulsing bass and razor-sharp guitars that define "No Way", ready to explode in the record's only stadium-sized chorus. Rino Gaetano is without doubt another point of reference, both for his mainstream-popular quality and for his irreverence toward the established order. The very Americana-flavored ballad "Sestri Levante" closes the game, gathering everyone around the fire to contemplate the record's only relaxed moment. It's a work through which Appino, Karim and Ufo don't mean to set themselves up as champions or spokesmen for a generation, nor do they intend to offer their audience absolute answers, but simply to take stock of the surrounding environment, observed through their own perspective. Often described in the first person, at other times through the use or creation of characters able to reflect their own worldview, as in the case of "Dalì" — not the famous artist, but a dissident destined for persecution. These are hard times, and no reassuring glimmers are visible on the horizon, but sometimes a song can help make life a little better, or at least light it up for a handful of minutes.

In 2015 Appino found time to make his second solo album, Grande Raccordo Animale, less successful than its predecessor and more focused on pop atmospheres, with writing centered on the experience of travel and on change, talking more about himself than about the world around him. Gone were the furious guitars, gone any trace of electronics, gone the ferocity of hard metal: Appino stripped away everything that had defined his first release, in favor of more affable melodies capable of finding broader acceptance.

At the end of September 2016 it was the turn of La terza guerra mondiale. On their ninth studio album, Zen Circus showed a very clear underlying idea: play as a classic guitar-bass-drums trio, nothing more, with no added structure, selecting the best of the roughly forty tracks written over the previous two years. The result is the most immediate and direct album Appino, Karim and Ufo had made up to that point: ten songs conceived as ten potential hits, confirming Circo Zen among the leading names on the crowded Italian independent circuit. Within La terza guerra mondiale the barricade-storming combat-folk that made them famous still lingers, at times steeped in wave echoes, especially in the basslines of "San Salvario", at other times saturated with epic grandeur, as in the opening title track, a feverish mix of disillusionment and the urge to bring a new era into being. But this time, far more than in the past, a decisive (and decisive-sounding) alt-rock streak emerges, unleashed through heavy guitar use and easily hummable choruses, as in the effective "Ilenia" (the first single released) and the more obvious "Terrorista".

There's no shortage of episodes poised to become new generational anthems, and this time there are at least two, "Non voglio ballare" and "L'anima non conta", a pair of mid-tempo tracks destined to rank among the finest songs Appino and company have written. And as usual Circo Zen doesn't mince words: "La terza guerra mondiale" is also a record bound to spark debate, because Appino is skilled at taking a stand and writes fearlessly, throwing into the fray the grim, chronic small-town parochialism laid bare in "Pisa merda" (the risk of angering anyone who misreads it is extremely high) and the anti-do-gooder lyrics of the electro blast "Zingara", perfect fodder for long (and presumably fruitless) debates. No Zen Circus record has ever felt more complete, and even if the second half may prove slightly less effective, there's a sumptuous finale served up on the notes of "Andrà tutto bene": over ten minutes bolstered by an instrumental coda in which, in the final seconds, the band whispers a request for silence, standing before the rubble left by the third world war. What will remain standing? Looking at the cover, what remains are three guys who, indifferent to the destruction around them, stage yet another selfie with smiles on their faces as they enjoy their longed-for aperitivo. Because nowadays what matters is proving you're present: everything else matters little.

It's one of the brightest moments in Circo Zen's career: the band barely has time to wrap up the tour before announcing a new record, due out in early March 2018: Il fuoco in una stanza, preceded a few weeks earlier by the single "Catene", is a puzzle of family vignettes set against small-town backdrops: mothers, fathers, grandmothers, brothers, sisters, ex-girlfriends, lovers, and a narrative thread that gives the whole thing the shape of a concept album. None of this is exactly new, neither the family stories nor the connecting thread running through the songs, both constants in Zen's songwriting. Ilaria Magliocchetti Lombi's photograph chosen for the cover captures the mood well, with plenty of carefully considered details: the hands, the eyes, the paintings on the wall, and that fire in a room which could ideally represent a reassuring domestic hearth or, conversely, a blaze raging inside the characters' souls — a question the lyrics make no effort to resolve. Il fuoco in una stanza is a less immediate record than usual, a further step in the gradual transformation of their early combat folk-punk into a more electric (and eclectic) multicolored alt-rock. But it's also a record that in some way marks a softening of themes, where talk of feelings almost entirely replaces politics or ecological concerns, and where the band's social commitment — now a quartet with the official addition of Maestro Francesco Pellegrini — centers specifically on interpersonal relationships and how people relate to the outside world.

Less immediate, yes, but with repeated listens these thirteen tracks dig damningly under your skin, carving an even sharper path than in the past: if we had to find one word to describe it we might choose "infectious" — yes, it's an album that's addictive, that pulls you in, full of small inventive touches hidden around every corner. Take "Questa non è una canzone", the most structured track on the record, over eight minutes ideally divisible into three parts, perhaps the key song here: in the central section, almost hidden, almost as if wanting to shield it, an epic crescendo unfolds, starting with a bassline onto which, with every cycle, another instrument or vocal line is layered, giving rise to a circular harmonic progression that grows ever more majestic, evoking certain 60s pop. Zen Circus's tenth album is also their most varied, containing far more influences than usual: from the unstoppable flow of rhymes and assonances of "Il mondo come lo vorrei" to ballads with a whiff of Sanremo about them ("La stagione", the title track), from the introspection of "Catene" to the Marilyn Manson-style guitar roar of "La teoria delle stringhe", from tracks destined to send audiences airborne on the next tour ("Low Cost", "Quello che funziona", a tribute to the capital) to an "Emily" that revives the tradition of female figures, all the way to the heartfelt closer for voice and piano, "Caro Luca". And then there are the unsuspected Baustelle-isms woven into the folds of "Sono umano" (just listen to that closing solo), "Panico" (which also carries a dose of 80s Cure) and above all "Rosso o nero", which bears strong similarities to the eighties-pop attitude revived with "L'amore e la violenza". Appino's lyrics often land on irresistible solutions (“Vieni a trovarci all’obitorio / Ti abbiamo prenotato un tavolo / Il dj set qui è fantastico / Salvati da questo mortorio” he sings in "Sono umano"), the result of a compositional fervor that kept stretching the album's running time further and further, leading the band to keep adding extra tracks and fragments even to records that were practically finished.

After so many albums well received by both audience and critics, yet in their own way "normal", with Il fuoco in una stanza Circo Zen deliver their best work, the most complete, the most varied, made even stronger by a clear, defining central idea, and for the first time without a single filler track. This is no longer about reaching compositional maturity — that was achieved long ago — it's rather about sealing the completion of a journey that places them on the same level as the most important names on the Italian independent circuit of the last thirty years.

Crowning their musical adventure came an appearance at the 2019 edition of the Sanremo Festival, with the song "L'amore è una dittatura", included on the compilation Vivi si muore 1999-2019, released on February 8 to celebrate twenty years of their career. At the most "indie" edition of the Festival ever, Zen Circus didn't win, but they won everyone over: even on the Teatro Ariston stage they proved their uncommon consistency and depth, without compromising themselves and preserving their artistic integrity. From the combat-folk of their early days to the never-predictable songwriting blended with the alt-rock sounds of their recent work, Vivi si muore aims to be a lucid and sincere retrospective, one that, alongside the small hits of the alternative circuit, doesn't shy away from giving room to the band's more irreverent side — the one through which they've carved out an important place for themselves over the years, becoming one of the most acclaimed acts of their generation.

A few weeks later, on April 23, 2019, a new single was released, "Canta che ti passa", a song that also gives its title to a new run of dates scheduled for the following summer, wrapping up in September with a party on the roof of Lanificio 159 in Rome. The backing vocals on "Canta che ti passa" are handled by Veronica Lucchesi and Dario Mangiaracina, better known as La Rappresentante di Lista. But the band doesn't stop there: promoted through a long tour of bookstores across the country, on September 10 of that same year Circo Zen's first anti-novel, "Andate tutti affanculo", was published by Mondadori, co-written by the band together with author Marco Amerighi.

In 2020 everything came to a halt because of Covid-19 restrictions, but at the start of October a new single came out, "Appesi alla luna", while at the end of the same month Maestro Francesco Pellegrini released his solo debut, Fragile, preceded in the preceding weeks by two EPs that had already revealed eight of the nine total tracks. The album features guest appearances from Motta, Appino, Giorgio Canali and Lodo Guenzi of Lo Stato Sociale.

In early November 2020 came L'ultima casa accogliente, a record inevitably slowed down by the Covid emergency. Just as everything was set to begin recording — which this time was supposed to take place in the United States — Appino, Ufo and Karim (plus Francesco Pellegrini, who contributed guitars) found themselves confined to their own homes. But Zen Circus's innate spirit of adaptation turned the situation into an opportunity: the chance to devote themselves to refining each song without haste, polishing even the smallest details. Despite the extra time available, the final result lost none of the expressive urgency and raw truthfulness that have always set the trio's work apart. Once again, the walls of home play host to dynamics that are often complicated and autobiographical ("Catrame"), a refuge that's sometimes hostile, but one surrounded by cherished, personal things ("Ciao sono io"). Lockdown gave us no choice: we all tried to make our homes warmer and more welcoming, knowing we'd be spending several weeks there in near-total isolation. Homes from which one might then be forced to flee, having become too cramped or too uncomfortable, as in the story told in "Bestia rara", a song about the inevitability of certain choices that remain etched on your skin forever.

It's one of the key moments on this album, both lyrically and musically, enriched by one of those instrumental codas that mark Circo Zen out whenever they feel like taking bigger risks. And the trick is repeated on the closing title track, over six minutes that raise the quality bar even further, where you can trace the influence of the trio's formative listening, from Pink Floyd to Radiohead, with Ufo's bass given real prominence and the final notes left to piano alone, played by Francesco Pagni. The other standout moments on L'ultima casa accogliente can be found in the emotional crescendo of "Non" (closed out by a vintage-flavored guitar solo), in the poetic Lusitanian setting of the gentle "Appesi alla luna" (featuring Francesco Motta's electric guitar and Andrea Pachetti's backing vocals) and in the heartfelt invocation of "Come se provassi amore", one of Zen Circus's next live anthems. L'ultima casa accogliente is a liberating record, and at the same time an introverted one, in which Andrea Appino often lays himself bare, including painful, deeply personal references, such as his father's recent illness. Andrea's authorial talent this time finds, in pandemic confinement (even though many of the lyrics predate the Covid emergency), the springboard to tell us about complex interpersonal relationships and welcoming refuges that can turn into prisons. Refuges that can be read as a home, yes, but also as the whole world, or even more simply as our own body. So fragile and vulnerable.

The next step, Cari fottutissimi amici, released in May 2022, is Zen Circus's most collective work. Ten new tracks recorded with old and new friends, through which Appino, Ufo and Karim Qqru demonstrate their innate ability to reshape themselves, adapting to the character of each individual guest, chosen on the basis of personal affinity rather than purely artistic considerations. From kitchen-ambient experiments conducted with Musica da Cucina to the urban-trap rage shared with Speranza, from a "Johhny" that truly sits halfway between Zen Circus and Fast Animals & Slow Kids to the structured mini-suite sung alongside dear friend Francesco Motta. Old acquaintances and more recent encounters, for a record born under the banner of freedom, neatly summed up by the bumper-car collision captured in the cover image.

A great funfair in which weighty singer-songwriters (Brunori Sas, Luca Carboni) rub shoulders with younger revelations of indie pop and rock, with Zen staying completely true to their own sound on "118", a track performed with actor Claudio Santamaria. The most surprising moment, and at the same time the most "pop" (pop as the Tuscan trio understands the term, that is) is instead "Meravigliosa", crafted together with Ditonellapiaga and produced by Tommaso Colliva, on which Appino seeks out and finds a more "open" vocal line than usual. Among the recurring themes of "Cari Fottutissimi Amici" are nostalgia, disillusionment, and the awareness of searching for a world that no longer exists, that of years gone by. And then there's the difficulty of communicating with younger generations, but at the same time the certainty that extremes always end up meeting, sooner or later. A fine piece of diverttissement all round, underlining the renewed appetite for collaboration among fellow musicians, something we haven't sensed this strongly over here since the golden age of Italian alternative music, which by now was almost thirty years ago…

After carving out time for a new solo venture by Appino, Humanize, and for the launch of Karim's project Dirt Tapes, a venture devoted to producing audio cassettes, in September 2025 Circo Zen returned with Il Male, eleven new tracks in which the anger remains unchanged, as does a healthy provocative streak, albeit now accompanied by growing disillusionment, the result of years spent chasing their dreams, not always successfully. This time Andrea Appino, Ufo and Karim Qqru look around themselves, look within themselves, observe closely and uncover evil, choosing to tell us about it, in their own way.

The band's sound has gradually smoothed out, record after record, but the three of them have never lost an ounce of their antagonism and irreverence, skilled at finding the right sparks to stitch together eleven intriguing new songs, producing, even this time around (this is album number 13), moments destined to endure. Starting with those ballads that have become a recognizable trademark: "È solo un momento" (but watch out for the shoegaze flourishes that lend force to the chorus) is Circo Zen's new instant classic, ready to take its place alongside landmark songs like "L'anima non conta", "Non voglio ballare" or "Il fuoco in una stanza".

Of course – and it couldn't be otherwise – there are also plenty of more “punk” moments, like the title track that opens the record, like “Virale”, like a “Miao” that, if you sniff around it, recalls the Pixies, one of the trio's earliest loves. “Il Male” is a guitar record, a direct, rock, electric album steeped in genuine feeling, with a bittersweet flavour, telling of loneliness and stories shipwrecked too soon, explaining how the world looks once you've crossed into your forties, tackled with the usual irony of likeable Tuscan wiseguys, essential for soothing the wounds of a lifetime. The creeping sense of defeat felt at the end of a relationship (“Meglio di niente”), the sense of vindication that emerges from chance intergenerational clashes (the vibrant “Vecchie troie”), the snapshots of everyday disenchantment captured in “Adesso e qui”, the drops of boundless poetry set among the lines of “Un milione di anni” and “La fine”: these are all important pieces that once again seal one of the finest and most accomplished experiences in Italian rock songwriting ever to bloom on our peninsula. Completing the project is an illustrated plate by Enzo Sferra, the longtime artist for the magazine “Il Male”, featuring visual allegories and references that recall the themes evoked in each track of the album.

Having definitively shed the label of “folk warriors” from the occupied social centre scene, Zen Circus have earned a far broader role within the more committed strand of Italian rock songwriting, rigorously free of any compromise. In particular, their most recent work has captured the definitive leap forward in the Tuscan band's maturation.

Contributions by Giovanni Dozzini (“Andate tutti affanculo”, “Nati per subire”), Francesco Nunziata (“Vita e opinioni di Nello Scarpellini, gentiluomo”) and Simone Coacci (“Villa Inferno”)

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