thank you for your patient waiting! i happen to have not posted a track in a rather long while, away as i've been from the comfort of an own place, at which to take [and enjoy using] my scuffed and soothing [sound]tools, to indulge myself with noodling and sound sculpting, if and when some time allowed.

much as i miss these priceless rewards, i can't frankly complain.
there's millions of people who've lost the comfort of their own place (and homeland) in recent weeks, while i (in comparison) enjoy the luxury of kings: a clean bed, a clean room, a warm shower, have become stuff to die for, and horribly in a literal meaning, for far too many.

what about the sound you can listen to here and now, then? 

it's a track that has somehow survived two changes of computers, and resurfaced accidentally in a directory of inherited old files, brought forward by past back-ups.

it's been recorded already three years ago, or nearly – March 31st, 2019.
and whoa, it's been some three [quite] heavy lightyears! 

our lives have seemingly been forcibly carried to some strange place – different destinations, different trains, different tracks – and i count myself among the lucky, luckier, luckiest ones (and grateful is my heart).

as i write, i've spent one evening cutting and pasting small bits off this track, shifting and nudging portions of its content onto its timeline, to the incline, perilously close to the edge of cliffs, then pulling it all back to the(apparent) safety of flatland, at the other end of the big plains... 

mixing and editing and fiddling with it... it lacks the physical purchase of fingertips on strings, the vibration of them on your bones, or the thrill of twisting knobs that tip the ground off balance... but there's aural reward in the exercise anyway – and a positive recollection of a faded picture, which seems to get even more beautiful, with the passing of time (though i can't say it ages gracefully), at when these little pleasures happened daily, or weekly, or even monthly.

hope you can get at least half of my listening pleasure from your own, if not the whole shebang – and, at the end of the tunnel, i can see a faint, pale, weak blur of light, the chance of being able to carry along with me a guitar of sorts, and at least a desktop ersatz rendition of my trusted fx chain(s)... headphones don't shake my bones, nor rattle yours, but what's not to like, in staying perfectly still, eyes shut, lulled by this viscous concoction of tones?

stay tuned for more, it this suits you fine – and thanks for stopping by, for reading until here, for listening to one more track of Bruno Lorso... 7HR33·[H34VY]·L16HT·Y34R5·L473R, indeed!

[uploaded 03.23.22]

7RHR33·[H34VY]·L16H7·Y34R5·L473R

...and i start to worry about it... 
i know i know i know, everyone's willing to wave winter goodbye...
but me – me, i don't. 
and springtime drives me to a helpless, dark-as-night sadness.
'cause i know summer will soon be knocking at my door.
and, with it, mosquitos, too...
(recorded 03.25.22)

5PR1N615H3R3

communication won't flow through, either way.
seems like reason's been unplugged. 
fierce war winds are blowing since almost a whole month, and it's enough to scare almost a whole world, the same one which, on countless other fights and conflicts, has seriously practised on ways to turn a blind eye, while conveniently choosing which side to supply with weaponry, and troops, and carefully engineered incidents that shape bespoke motives for retort or retaliation.
this time, there's a lot more imagery being broadcast, and shared online, than there's ever been before – along come the thousands of wackos, suprematists, and conspirationalists, shouting "it's all fabricated", "it's all faked", "it's all done to enslave free thinkers", "it probably isn't even happening". in the meantime, the "us and then" narrative has exhausted its statute of limitations – as has the narrative of all horrible things happening just because one single villain can rule over one third of the whole globe, all of his own will, all of his own making. 
world economy is shaped by such a complex network, at which a few thousand giants gain from the losses of billions of smaller organisations, informed by algos flagging traffic segments where probability can be patterned, twitched, and biased to taste.
there's a whole tradeshow of invisible ghosts parading in plain sight, patching into each of the puppetteers' tendons and muscles, pulling the strings that shift the range of options and choices.
and some idiots thinking it's time to play guitar, 'cause it probably can help some, on the side, and (beside) it hasn't happened much in months.
thanks for stopping by, for reading this rant until here, and listening to UNPLU66ED.

[recorded and published on 03.26.22]

UNPLU66ED

nothing else than a roadside interlude, made on the go, with what few tools one can pack and carry around – guitar, audio interface, shortwave receiver, one evening with no dinner in sight – another one, as it is, and by far not the first, nor the last of these. comfortable luxury, it's what this is, can't call it otherwise. thank you for stopping by, thank you for listening to shortwaves_serenade – e se·renata·è·caduta, speriamo non si sia fatta nulla!
[rel. april fifth, twenty-twentytwo]

[shortwaves_serenade]:[se·renata·è·caduta]

every year, around these days, neighbour's cherry tree blooms with flowers... they were not here the day before, they won't be here one week from now, and there is simply a day at which they – mysteriously unannounced – just appear: today. 

yesterday a quite solid windstorm hit the area, a few poplars were ripped off, and collapsed in the countryside, while in town leaves and branches flew around, spruce and pine needles scattered everywhere in the early morning light...

cherry gems were still safely closed, at yesterday's windstorm – their flowers popped out today, which tells how plants and nature go their way, their clock ticking on its own, regardless of the anxiety of humans – and European ones, specifically.

still, what's indeed a merrily colourful sight can't and won't dispel the gloomy feeling, this sense of ominous menace affecting anyone's view into the future, war raging at a few hours' drive, horror in pictures and stories broadcasted by news anchors on air whole day, the echo of conspiracists blowing into their "it's-all-fake" horn – maybe some five minutes after you spoke on the phone with someone actually living there, Eastern Ukraine, blasts and explosions and gunfire providing the soundtrack to your conversation... a soundscape you just can't switch off.

and i'm sure cherries are in bloom even there, or shortly will be, and wherever else they're planted, if only lucky enough to be unaffected by mortars and tanks and bombs and missiles – or drones, which still carry one "s" too many, compared to the lulling comfort of this drone-y whirr... 

you go to sleep aware that the world might be a totally different place by the time you wake up, which is unsettling – or it is such, until you realise that you going to sleep means you're among those happy few who still can go to sleep into your own bed.

don't fool yourself, though – you may still suffer and pray for those who couldn't escape, or those who did escape, only to end up in an even more horrible hell... 
but this won't make you any less responsible for what's going on (indirectly, as we like to think of it). 

and it won't make you any less exposed to face the same fate, if the worse comes to the worst, when push turns into a shove – and no matter who started it, really.

beyond my shock, and anger, and disgust, war seems so good a business that every country's ready to get its share, to keep a stake in the dividends it pays off, if you can only make sense of its blood currency superseding rubles, or hryvnias – or dollars, euros, francs, or zloties.

maybe any notion of peace that turns a blind eye toward dozens and dozens of war conflicts that are simply tagged as "local quarrels" is just as rotten as declaring war to any other country – but a war at Europe's eastern borders was as unlikely and unforeseeable as my guitar growing one extra string between now and tomorrow – until slightly less than two months ago.

[rel. April 10th, 2022]

tscherriesinblum

we all miss rain, and badly – humans, and even more a lot of other forms of life. and, beside having sold all my tube amplifiers to adopt instead newer, more efficient devices across my whole audio chain [which now draws less current]... i can't see what else i can do to help, beyond further measures of energy waste containment in everyday's life. and, as from reading most often comes inspiration... there, here you go: at least this feels like rain.
[rel. April 15th, 2022]

_4ND17F33L5L1K3R41N

...believe it or not, it was really meant to be an exercise of jazz guitar.
and, if my playing wasn't so helplessly boring, i might have kept my word at it for a while – but indeed it is, so i have not. 

which is when i started skidding on banana peel, as i failed to tap things right onto [looper • one: foreboard]; the spell was broken, gone for good.

by the time the hollow body of my hollowbody started feeding back on this monstrous howl of lo-end ringing – that's when fun kicked in, and the whole sonic crime got finally concocted.

adding one further hiccup to the hijacked practice recipe, shortwave receiver at that point wasn't working either, so i couldn't make a pad of my usual parade of shortwave statics and intermodulation... pity, it was worth to pick some holy mass being aired, Easter Sunday today as it was.

i dialled-in instead some nonsense gain setting into my audio chain, thinking hiss qualifies as statics ersatz, after all was said and done... 
i repent myself of such an audio heresy, all the worse considering how fervently i've worked to cleanse all patch points and solder custom cables, in order to get the most silent [guitar] fx pedalboard ever... only to add some noise with it deliberately, when my trusted SW radio went kaputt.

too late, though: hiss it is, then – or was. 

and, because it can only be politically correct, inclusive and parity-checked, i saw i couldn't keep at hiss and be gone with it like that.
it could only be hiss, and herss, which doesn't sound as good as hiss and herrs – like his'n'hers is named the pizza in king-sized variant, the one that's served on a single big platter for both lovers to cut and taste together... but not today, today's gone, wrapped in another scary, spooky soundtrack (not unlike all other tracks that are kept here).

maybe tomorrow i'll knead some dough, and bake a pizza or two.
it won't be one his'n'hers, though: i don't have a dish that big – or oven, either.

thanks for stopping by, and reading 'til here – and listening to h155nh3r5 if you still dare it.

rel. April 17th, 2022.

H155nH3RR5

may first is a day that's linked to an event in my family that leaves me full of sorrow and anger, again and again every year on this day. 

it's celebrated as workers' day, one that was dear to my maternal grandfather – who wasn't an activist by any means, though sympathetic he was with the ideals of democracy and respect towards those who spun the gears of progress, in the early decades of past century. 

so he celebrated the workers' day with tortellini at lunch – which, in his times and condition, was a luxury meal that called for more than a few weeks of savings. 

which is precisely why patrols were deployed, during the years at which Benito Mussolini was ruling Italy: those who went the trouble of putting savings aside for the workers' day meal were of course supporters of the workers' cause and struggles, Socialisti, hence enemies of the empire (regardless of Benito having been himself the director of the Socialist daily newspaper, Avanti!, before climbing up the palm tree of his dictatorship).

the merry youngsters of the village, sons of prominent doctor, lawyer, notary, pharmacist and landlords, were more than happy to show their power on patrol, and went along the streets nose-up, searching for the broth whiff and the sounds of dishes being filled with it and tortellini, eager to teach a lesson that would put in line those who weren't for the empire's cause, but for that of workers instead. 

they didn't even let him remove his prescription glasses, the beating so fierce that he lost his sight from both eyes forever – and those coward bastards warned him he had better be thankful to them, for they had mercifully spared his kids and wife from throwing them the boiling content of the pot.

for a number of reasons, this year i couldn't make it in time for groceries shopping yesterday, latest changes in workplace and my whereabouts conjuring against it – so tortellini weren't on the table today.

but i played some, instead. and decided to write his story, this story that i had so far kept to myself,  and a handful of close friends, and share it here, along with some noise of mine – so that the memory of what those years were isn't lost, despite today's hordes of new fascists trying to revise history at every chance. 

i chose a red guitar because i know he would have liked it, even if he wasn't even wearing the red kerchief of Socialist supporters in his times.

much as he suffered from the beating of fascists in his thirties, he wouldn't have found solace in his late years, after his very values were put to shame by the behaviour of the then Socialist Party's secretary and upper echelons.

lucky has my grandpa died before the Italian Socialist Party secretary rose to the rank of prime minister in 1983, to be [ten years later] tried and sentenced guilty of having built the standing of his party over a massive bribing scheme, until he fled to Tunis to dodge jail charges soon thereafter, consequently determining the decline and dissolution of the Socialist Party when the curtain was lifted and its inner mechanisms exposed.

i've never subscribed to any political party in my life. nor had my grandpa, for what it's worth – which is one further reason to always bring the history lesson to heart, shall there be any need to remind this – and there is not, as long as the memory is shared.

M4YD4Y·M4YF1R57

summer's got a different soundscape, by this window here... 

close to weekend, you can distinctly hear in the distance how many cars are driving toward the local seaside location at night, their speed way above limits, for why on earth waste even ten minutes of [well, that kind of] fun, when you can simply drive faster and get there sooner...

i don't take part in this frenzy – whatever it is that i'm searching, it's to be found here, in this house, out of my sound desk and guitar... which i'm clinging to, like a lifesaver amidst the sea, trying to focus all senses on the soundscape – trying to avoid obsessing over the heat, all the while starting to countdown weeks to next November – and dream of it.

and it ain't just roadside soundscape, i pride myself to add some of my home, of my own, in a drooping drone that has my eyelids falling shut, and my most honest hope that it's about to be a rainy summer, one with only a few days of real summer sun and heat...

and, every year, it just won't... it'll be hotter than last, damper than last, stickier than last... hell on earth to me is anything above 68°F / 20°C lasting more than two days – with headaches, sore skin and eyes, and a jammed neck that won't bend much (without hurting badly)...

ok, let them party, i can't see the point – and, last youth i had, it meant  riding solo in the night, v-twin gurgling and purring, maybe to the seaside, to sit and stare at waves' foam in the dark...

i'll keep my very own soundscape in check, and let it play [repeat] below attention threshold, sound level that soft that you may just forget it's running, after a few mins... and it doesn't solve, nor cure my sickness, but dispel the anxiety, and lift that ton of lead off my chest – like if i'd been jacked in some heat-shrink_wrapper.

rel. may 20th, 2022

heat-shrink_wrapper

...countryside can look spooky, and alien, too – not simply or necessarily bucolic... sudden, unexpectedly severe weather events can turn a lovely watercolours-like setting into a fierce monster in a matter of minutes, without even the luxury of a telling thunder to warn you off...
and, while humans seem to badly scare themselves in the wrath of elements, i find so fascinating that horses still don't seem to name a weather storm their enemy. 
i was there, today, the outskirts of town past the industrial area, where farming land sets in – when wind started blowing, and whatever feeble balance seemed to keep it all together, you couldn't tell how long it would have kept it under control...
released May 28th, 2022

R00·R4L

...an afternoon so torrid, so smouldering hot, that my thoughts just undo themselves, dripping to thick rivulets that run to the floor... 

guitar body feels sticky under my left arm... not to mention the strap, drenched and glued solid to my back... 

when even playing feels out of place, that's the moment i wish i could fall asleep, and wake up directly to November (and in Norway, maybe).

...this sound and noise, even more static than(my lazy) usual, while looking at old b&w pictures – lacking fjords, what else can help me?

i'm aware it feels atonal, and [stoned as i am, in my atonement] i can only agree to the notion... to my ears, this feels slippery as ice, pale and pointless as a frozen surface reaching out to arctic circle...

i only wish it scared my headache away, which it doesn't.
well... today, at least – and, while summer hasn't even technically arrived, i know this is just the start, it can only get worse from here.

at least it was a bank holiday, celebrating the birth of the Italian Republic on June 2nd, 1946 – which helped a great deal, today, able as i was to play along the drone i heard buzzing inside my head [and between my ears].

spoiled, and spent, i only got to milk the loopers and stitch this cut of fabric today – which is just as far as what little coolant i had in my tank allowed me to go, and make it to... evening, with a grain of luck.

8R3347HL355·4F73RN00N

...the vernacular expression from the Brescia province, Lombardy region in northern Italy, describes something tentatively put together without really thinking it through, failing to making it exactly right, hence resulting in something similar to walking with one shoe on a foot, and a clog on the other – 'na scarpa e 'n sopèl, that's a shoe and a clog, literally.

it's where i see most of the old world seems to sit nowadays, caught halfway between ancient fears, blood-drenched memories from two world wars, the [apparently benign] determination to foster change and innovation, and a raging fight that nobody admitted to be even likely to happen (which, indeed, nonetheless did).

let's be frank, here: in a past that's both recent and less recent, wars have raged in a lot of countries which just weren't close enough to the European borders for EU residents to feel threatened... and the perspective of shutting down energy imports and the supply of most basic ingredients for feeding a couple of dozen countries is indeed an argument that can swiftly turn consciences the other way 'round – in a matter of weeks, if not days.

there's always been comfort in sound, it's my life's experience... i'm trying to find some now, which i'd currently rate as badly needed, and failing at it, left as i am with a soundscape that's as static (read: boring) as all the others i'm posting here, and even more restricted in the portion of spectrum that carries it forth...

what gives? i honestly don't know.
and, i feel like the more i'm trying to learn and discover, the least i know of anything – except my baritone guitar is tuned a fifth lower than a standard one.

N45C4RP43N50P3L

...earlier than their usual, cicadas are back. we can't really be surprised, can't we? 

given the abnormally high temperature for the period, caught as we are in one of the most severe droughts in our whole (local) history, with not a weather forecast hinting a hard rain's gonna come ('cause it won't, period, and for some weeks at that)... 

why wonder? cicadas are but a few weeks ahead of their standard apparition period – home is where you make yourself comfortable, anywhere, really.

...first evening in the year that they got to sing their song at dark here, today, so far they were at it only by day – and, right that moment, tonight, the washing machine was spinning a heavy cotton laundry, full swing and high [rotational] speed (i'm a tad worried 'bout its ball bearings, sometimes it jumps quite wild).

forced into this unstable [n]ear·vana, i just couldn't help but play by it, at it and along it... and, somehow, cicadas on the tree right before my window started to make variations, more of them joining in, leveraging different beats at other syncs, in a crescendo that soon reached fever pitch...

i've never committed to having a set of serious microphones – can't afford the ones i'd always said were right, when my place in the world was behind a mixing console (and that was a long long stretch ago).

bottom line, the scene was recorded with the laptop's mikes, which says why it lacks a huge portion of what was really happening here, and there's hardly a way to get back the sound elements that aren't in the file already – you reap what you sow.

and, disclaimer for the critical listeners among us: somehow, trying to tame its sonic exuberance below 45 Hz, i ended up shaving it a tad too short (of breath) – and, when i played it in a more balanced listening stance, too much of it all seemed to have gone on holiday... so here is a newer version, uploaded June 25th 2022, HRS2207·CET, which shall grace your quality loudspeakers and / or headphones again.

thank you for stopping by, for reading my rant until here, and for listening to these smart-assed sick·ah·das.

Illustration By Encyclopaedia Britannica 1911 - http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39435/39435-h/39435-h.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42612631

Rel. June 24th 2022

sick-ah-das

sick•ah•das

hottest day in the year today.
temperatures vastly in excess of forty-something degrees (Celsius), feels like oven – and southern Europe's burning, literally. 
using as least energy i can [no tube amps, no mixer, no devices other that those which make the signal chain, with the smallest, most efficient amp i have], i can only try to cool down my thoughts with the usual mess of (poorly organized) guitar-generated background noise...
not that it differs from any of the tracks i've kept here for years, it's only fair to highlight... it's just that this sonic twill makes me feel cooler. 
somehow.

ardens

...silence is a luxury only a very few can afford, and even among those happy few who can, learning how to listen to it doesn't usually come from school or uni, brought home along with math or literature.

...voices fade in and out of these days' news... QEII left us, elections are coming soon, their candidates promising unrealistic rewards and unfeasible benefits, the menace oscillating between gas supply interruption, eastern war conflict, prospective inflation, all of them hanging from our necks like a sackful of bricks... 

...and you know the drill, you scare all of them off just to win their trust, while the sleep of reason keeps producing [lethally trained] monsters [whose mother's always pregnant].

what few chances i have to play, these days, i get to it for my own balance, with the purpose of manufacturing the sound content i'm carrying around with me, the soundtrack i produce for my very own use.

...it's hard to filter out these voices, it pays to actually accomplish it... and i'm beginning to worship silence more and more, often preferring it over music, and not only because of what music...

thank you for stopping by, thank you for reading thru to this point, thank you for lending your ears to 4M81ENCE·CYL3N5.

released 11.09.22, hbDIN-0

4m813nc3 cyl3n53

AM81ENC3·CYL3N5

...all ghosts gather, in what few days i can now afford the luxury of [creatively] researching the recipe of my own [healing] tone balm...
quite a trivial discovery, if you want, is that creation can't escape being linked to [and triggered by] the environment that surrounds it...
can't say i didn't try, but sound room at home beats any laptop / headcans / motel setting – and it's most likely not because of tech shortcomings, but sonic inspiration and mindset.
snippet now online here on Bruno Lorso scrapsbin, as kindly announced by Golde and Eldo Rado.
released December 4th, 2022

4LL_6H0575_547H3R

4LL·6H0575·647H3R

logbook:monday started out as a(nother) project that changed trajectory in its course of action – influence's quite the raging beast, this time of the year.

it's been in the making, conceptually, for eleven months – stemmed from reciting the exact sequence of the names of hamlets, villages and city that i drive through, in my weekly commuter experience.

i wanted to appoint a machine-generated voice to name these, to mark how robotic and machine-like the commuting experience can turn, at times (probably all of them), and not a male-pitched, because for an android's trite enough... 

it took me forever to tweak the voice output of what i had at hand, speed and duration and accents and what not, to the point that, in the end, i'm still wondering whether it was best left untreated, or more treated, or if it's fine as such (no right or wrong when shaping clay, if you like the feel of it).

toponyms are named in order of appearance of road posts: some of which often get swallowed by trees, bushes, or hit by vehicles driven under (another type of) influence, or removed and not replaced... it's a choreography in itself, at best.

from Ferrara, in the Emilia Romagna region, you cross into Lumbardy, Mantua province, at Quatrelle, then pass the Po river (on a really narrow Bailey bridge) at Révere, to finally reach Flero, in the Brescia province, about 160km and 210 minutes later, average speed 54kmh (on a weekday morning).

there was meant to be, of course, a logbook:thursday side-project, too – until it got hit by, on the very road, a (yours very truly) driver under influence, its whereabouts still unknown.

the mantra game of naming names is quite an easy, yet effective, exercise to keep your eyes and senses alert on the road out there: you start reciting it over from the start any time you get a name wrong in the sequence – it's hard to succeed, of course, which mimics the dynamics of the job i'm commuting to, for the bitch that symmetry is.

shall any of you enjoy lip-sync with such arcane lyrics, this is indeed the season for generosity [of which world could use a huge lot more], so there you're served:

Ferrara, Cassana, Ponte Rodoni, Bondeno, Crociale, Ponti Spagna, Stellata, Quatrelle, Felonica, Caposotto, Sèrmide, Mòglia, Cavo, Carbonara di Po, Borgocarbonara, Masi, Borgofranco sul Po, Bonizzo, Révere, Ostiglia, Serravalle a Po, Torriana, Libiola, Bastia, Sustinente, Ca' Vecchia, Governolo, Barbasso, Pontemerlano, Valdaro, Malpensata, Marmirolo, Marsiletti, Goito, Cerlongo, Guidizzolo, Crocovia, Novagli, Montichiari, Bandierino, Fascia d'Oro, Borgosatollo, Flero.

rel. December 29, 2022.

logbook:monday

L06800K:M0ND4Y

i've arranged a [very] minimal portable set into a shoulder bag, to carry along with me at the crossroad inn... no microphones, nor amps, nor basses or guitars, either, that's no stuff to operate in a room that has rooms with tenants on its sides.

it's "just" two Line6 HX Stomp fx units that i've physically cross-patched within each other, in order to mimic a no-input-mixing-board / feedback source device, with the aim to finding out whether i can reach a satisfactory degree of output control and variation, with the very few realtime controls at hand... 

it's a de-facto experimental set in its most elemental essence, and one that may hopefully turn out to be potentially entertaining, or entertaining enough to alternate with book reading practice when, at the end of the day, my eyes are often in need of a rest.

kit might as well include a real (small) mixing board in its send/return cross-patchwork, though this would make the set more cumbersome to move around, and fearfully too big for the "table" i have available in such room...

pasted here is a sample of its very first output... four snippets layered onto separate tracks on Ableton live, as i don't have a multitrack portable recorder, nor my trusted looping recorders on the floorboard...

surely this isn't an engineered track, nor a sensible mix, or great fun either... but a sample for the first patching and knobs-twisting activities.

4LL4·L0C4ND4

...why shall this track be all that different from those that came before it, if this one mimics, too, the flow of static that clocks our present lives, my present life, as inner noise, background soundscape?

not that it's question time, not in the least (or: yes, it always is, regardless of whomever feels like providing answers, none included), but your asking is legit. 

and: unless a change in the grand scheme of things tips the boat askew, that's how my inner furnace burns – and the stuff i play, patch, produce (and leave here) for private, unrewarded, unencumbered, uncharged, and unwarranted fruition.

feel free to lend an ear to it, and enjoy, if it serves you in whatever way.
it loops around me when i can, when i'm here (and trying to understand where on earth here is, or within my earspace).

thanks for stopping by, for reading my rant, for listening to this palindrone.

rel feb fourth twenty twenty three

P4L1NDRON35

P4L1NDR0N3

...chi ghe xe che osa a Chioxa, encoi? 
t'o digo mi, t'o digo: nisúni, purtropo!

a snippet of a conversation i accidentally overheard while filling the car tank at a gas station, on my way to Chioggia, lovely gem of a small town near to Venice lagoon:

one truck driver's asking "who's got the guts to dare, today, in Chioggia?" – at which, lacking a reply from the gas station guy, follows the reply "i tell you, i'm telling you: no-bo-dy, unfortunately!".

there's the spurious noise of two daisy-chained Strymon Timeline's idling ICE machines, the first set 1 octave down, the second down a 5th, mixed with a noise pad (of brown, gaussian, pink, white in different portions), along with a 41.20Hz (E1) sine tone slowly building up at regular intervals across the 08' 44" duration of this sketch.

obviously you won't hear much on your phone speaker, nor on your computer's ones – headphones, earbuds, or quite capable speakers, shall provide you with the low end injection that delivers this gentle serving of energy to your senses.

thank you for stopping by, thank you for having read these notes, thank you for listening to KYX3KE0544K10X4!

Rel. Feb. 12th, 2023

K1X3K30544K10X4

5734M3R tells of a difficult time in the year, winter ending into a spring that's gonna be too warm, and a lot warmer than the one that predated it.
besides: much as i need one, much as we all need one, what winter am i talking about? there hasn't been one, this year – and the quantity of water in our rivers is there to prove it.
a short stay inside a car at noon, yesterday, left me with small pearls of sweat over my eyebrows, and that suffocating feeling i always get caged into, when temperature exceeds twenty degrees (celsius), and the runaway to snow-covered mountain peaks most honestly becomes an uncontrollable urge...
a steamer, a boiler about to blow its waste-gate off, the horrific sense of a smouldering summer coming – this frozen music (in my intention) is how i plan to wrap myself into, and wait out through spring and summer, looking forward to november for feeling well again, safe and sound for a few months ahead...
knowing that, from now 'til then, it will only get worse!

574M3R

5734M3R

released on April 25th, 2023 – for a reason.

19450425_C14083LL4

while having a coffee break from driving to my commute today, i had a look at a local newspaper on the road. 
it deserves commendation that a whole town and province made a fracas for keeping alive a respectful, participated celebration of the anniversary of liberation from wwii "invaders", April 25th – which marked not only the retreat from Italy of the third reich occupation army, but the defeat of the Italian fascist regime, too.
Mantua sadly ranks third among Italian provinces for number of citizens who were sent to nazi concentration camps to never return, so the city's testimony has an indisputable standing against the revision process that's being enacted here (and there, and sadly [almost] anywhere).
i felt this deserved a higher exposure for the track i posted yesterday, with more to be said a propós the partisan troops that wrecked two entire armies with hardly more than their courage at hand.
it's a different mix and edit, with different processing, of various materials from what i played yesterday, old recordings of radio broadcasts, and intermodulation noise from shortwaves receiver.
Bella Ciao has become an anthem in its own right, maybe even sung or hummed without a full notion of what it stood for, or how it came to life... it hardly matters, and it does not necessarily need to sound the same, as long as it holds the memory to younger generations, for the spirit to be shared and maintained.
hope shows through the fabric of a thick blanket made with leftovers of ominous sounds and noises – from a guitar, in my case.
rel. 26.04.23

19450425_83LL4C140

...a rough canvas shared with a friend to point a light torch towards possible collab paths – why not sharing it here, too, with the occasion of may the first (be the best)?
it's just some guitar noodling, nothing but my usual noise, two parts from guitars down-tuned respectively to D and B.
rel. May 1st, 2023.

framing_psylens

i doubt this adds much to the catalog, and most likely nothing at all, as it hardly contains anything that hadn't already appeared in this selection – file under "yet another track of [poorly] organised noise".

still, after all's been recorded and mixed, playing's the other side of listening, inasmuch as crafting sound, and sounds, layer upon layer, takes me as close to a sacred ritual as i can get...

and it makes for a fair share of fun, while at it.

thank you for stopping by, thank you for having read til here, thank you for listening to [had·my]_fair_share_[of·fun].

[rel. june fourth, twenty·twenty·three]

[had·my]_fair_share_[of·fun]

August 15th is a peculiar bank holiday in Italy, Ferragosto, celebrated on countless movies across decades – and one at which popular culture gives a special, social-like value – almost as if not going seaside, or on a day trip someplace, or simply out to lunch to celebrate the festivity is a shameful condition, one that only the most destitute ones could forcibly deal and come to terms with.

there's hardly a place left that isn't pestered with huge crowds, groups of friends and families going all out no matter what, like there's no tomorrow, obeying the diktat of reaching far beyond, and having fun at any cost, in a pretty similar mood to end-of-year night, though maybe less extreme at alcoholic rate (and no less thanks to summer-high temperatures)...

...but the very inner towns, and outskirts of cities, are suddenly magically devoid of all hordes, almost abandoned (if only for the day) with maybe the exception of old folks let to themselves who wouldn't go out of their home anyway... empty streets, all shops and bars closed downs, only what few newsstands have remained.

and, while towns' and cities' soundscape suddenly renders a different (and emptier) spectrum, noise peaks at seaside locations and along all highways reach unusually high, what with the attraction to destination magnets where all day-trippers are headed to, and mass aggregation where they've arrived.

i'm happily at home, glad to keep as far as possible from this dance that i can't find fun within in the least, proudly going through my meditation routine at plucking strings and turning knobs to my sound table, until it whirrs the noise of humans swarms that i keep well clear of – thinking ocean waves sound way cool (only when no holiday crowds inject their noise to it). 

rel. August 15th, 2023.

oshan_waives

M15M4-7CH3D·71L35

hoemebruehe

...a timid tentative to make do with voice-only input signals.
i might even be pleased by how this sounds, somehow – how i didn't try again to make a next one maybe hints that the creative process wasn't as satisfactory as it should have been...
frankly speaking, period in which i crafted this may bear witness to how i didn't have access to my sound station – or the acoustic space in which it's been rigged forever...
which is where "satisfactory" wouldn't stand on its own legs, regardless.

57R1N63D·V0C4L5

57R1N63D_V0C4L5

May 1st, meant as bank holiday, and a feast for civilized democrats, each year brings me a load of saddening memories, straight off family's history book from a handful of decades ago.

now this year's a lot worse than the previous one, as someone's airing those words and gesturing that salute in broad daylight again, backed by corrupt media and complacent (un)justice, all claiming it's anyone's right to have an opinion and take sides.

those hateful theories had seemingly been buried decades ago, and are now resurfacing – like a nightmare that doesn't wear off and fade away when you open your eyes.

today i worked hard, harder, and hardest, to rig up again my sound table, after a 6-month hiatus that impacted me a lot more than i thought – just because May 1st couldn't simply go by without a sign, a written memo, and an audible work.

i'm starting to make noise and sound all over again, little by little – plain simple bits, and simply plain ones – with just more ache in my bones and less dexterity in my limbs, and fingers... it just has to be done – and today even more so, of all days.

i follow in your wakes, for what happened to you shall not be forgotten, won't be forgiven, and shall not be let to happen again – because what was made to you was an outrageous act of disgusting violence that spoiled an entire helpless family forever.

i shall celebrate May 1st as you were doing back then, as a feast – trying my best to ignore this bitter taste in my mouth, this stench of old, rotting cowardice from back then... 

and i taste only anger, after recollection and remembrance, before a crowd of nostalgic haters that's growing by the week, all of them failing to admit that we never moved on, history never so close to re-happen again.

i'm keeping a log in the fireplace – ablaze – to keep these hurting memories warm, and prevent them from fading away.

thank you for stopping by, for having read my words, and for listening 1NYRW4K35 – in the wakes of Eighth the Great!

1NYRW4K35

i've been pulled to, and driven by, sound, and sounds, since i can try to remember. and, while technically a former sound engineer (since almost three decades at that), it shows i've yet to off the switch in my head.
sound shapes my mood, my feelings, my heart rate, my life – it sure does the same to you, of course, just as it does to any other human and living being, at varying degrees of self-perception, on the broader scale of awareness. 
i've been playing and singing since kindergarten, like no other place on earth was an harbour, my harbour – and, not that clever a guess, sound engineering became my job, my career, and my obsession, eventually. 
until i served musicians and music in my sound engineering days, i vowed myself to silence, to start making music again only after i quitted miking and mixing, though from scratch now, no tracing back my steps, no memory of what i'd been studying, learning and playing thirty or forty years before – or yesterday evening, for what matters now.

Bruno Lorso

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