MOROSE - People Have Ceased To Ask Me About You

If your girlfriend has left you, wait until people stop asking about her before venturing into the fascinating darkness of this new work by the Ligurian band.

Strip yourself bare, just as the sound (this sound…) has chosen to do, skirting the edge of despair, cradling you at the limits of its mystery, dazzling your eyes with indecipherable glimmers, unsettling and unsettled nuances.

A Dada poem by Hans Arp; a light pianistic drizzle; a disenchanted brushing of drums: "Ich Bin Der Grosse Derdiedas" wearily thins out a tangle of superfluous emotions, letting the vertigo of absence seep through. An impalpable half-sleep. Like when, dozing in a corner, life flows on within a bed of noise.

An unfathomable sense of belonging, projected outward ("Words Are Playthings"). Listen to the free chatter of children. Words hide and preserve time as it withers, and the urge to cling to memory takes on morbid, sinister tones, hypnotic as the percussion that in "Some Squeaking Bones" dances in a circle with guitar and glockenspiel.

After all, what are we, as we try to find ourselves in a solitude we never chose, if not bridges suspended over the void? (the precarious, "Breton" sweetness of "Un Plaisir Funeste").

The wait for everything to regain meaning is tinged with chiaroscuro. The minimalism of nostalgia, with that claustrophobic breath taking on "Mitteleuropean" tones in "Cascando", crossed by rough blades of cello. It's all a stunned, silent self-contemplation.

Morose's music depicts a world in which it's possible to stare at the ruins with a gaze that is finally resigned because, deep down, at peace. And yet, moments of unexpected, redemptive echoes creep into the soul ("Francoise & Christophe", with its Tiersen-esque breath).

Moments that re-establish a confrontation with the other face of pain. In an endless fall, the strength never to fully surrender to fate ("Imaginary Walk In Grozny").

Before the fairy-tale half-sleep of "Lonesome" (in which everything descends into memory's final embrace), the sonic-linguistic babel of "Mourning Song", in its murky, visionary journey, delivers to us the naked despair of a world where communication is nothing but an indistinct accumulation of misunderstandings.

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30/04/2026