“We entered the shadowy mouth of a new space, descending into a realm that precedes the underworld, the arcane, far from our time. We met beasts that gave us lessons about their language which we started learning without grammar.”

Bocca D’ombra is built on a series of whispers and breaths, panting and rustling. A closeness sometimes verging on claustrophobia is fissured with the sounds of crackling fireworks, birdsong, church bells, muffled cries from a children’s playground, like shafts of faraway light, or an insurgent subconscious. A kind of musical animism — influenced by ecological writers like Timothy Morton and Gregory Bateson — with a heavy heart it haunts the porous limits of human and natural realms. Improvisations with traditional instruments like electric and acoustic guitars, monophonic synths, horns or flutes meet natural noise-making tools like branches, nuts, and rocks.
Heady, intoxicating, highly personal, thought-provoking music from Milan. Check it out.