Music
Every human being listens to the world long before learning how to describe it.
Before words, there is sound.
Before meaning, there is perception.
Before the answer, there is wonder.
Perhaps this is precisely what some works instinctively try to give back to us:
not knowledge,
not certainty,
but awareness
and openness.
I don't like clichés, genre classifications, tribes or musical currents. In fact, I dislike all of that. I believe great music has always grown out of the meeting of genres, cultures and eras — in a word, contamination. Contamination is my goal, and the constant search for it is the main ingredient in my musical recipe. It comes from everything I have listened to and experienced over the years, from every corner of the world I have had the chance to encounter.
A language built through images
In my work, visual images merge with harmony, rhythm, timbre and silence. In essence, through music I try to unite the imaginative with sound, as if they were manifestations of the same expressive principle.
Metaphor in the literary tradition
In poetic and narrative tradition, metaphor generally constitutes a tool of representation. It substitutes one image for another, allowing language to express an idea, a feeling or an experience with greater intensity. From this perspective, metaphor remains an element of discourse. It can be particularly effective. It can even become the symbolic centre of an entire work. Yet it remains confined within language.
Metaphor in my music
In my music, I try progressively to remove this representational function from metaphor. The poetic image does not remain confined to the text, but tends to spread throughout the entire construction of the work. Every element must respond to the same generative principle, as if metaphor ceased to be a simple instrument of language and became the architecture of my compositions itself. It is within this architecture that text, rhythm, melody, harmony and the imaginative merge into a single body.
Complexity without weight
Harmonic complexity may be present, but my effort is always to prevent it from becoming predominant. Nothing should feel heavy or draw attention to its own complexity; that would be a stylistic artifice in which I have no interest. Chromatic movements, harmonic alterations and rhythmic changes must dissolve into the unfolding of the piece. Everything must remain intelligible and understandable: complexity must serve the music, not the other way around.
