𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙈 𝙄𝙎 𝙈𝙔 𝘿𝙀𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙀 is the story of a vampire who struggles to break through infinity and who finds himself drying out, fading away with each new day that passes. The album is essentially a documentation of final words, first words, regret, abysmal disconsolacy and the absence of hope. Set within mysterious and reverberant soundscapes of pianos, eerie vintage keyboards, mellotrons, various samples and occasional drum programming, it is a deeply psychological exploration of all things dark and uneasy but beautiful. 

All songs were written, recorded, mixed and mastered from May to November 2020 by Victor Primavesi. “The Pink Circle” is a song-adaptation of Holly Raeburn's poem “to love and to honour you,” published in collaboration with Giuseppe Lama as part of their sensational book 'Visions from the Other Side.' Accompanying artwork for 𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙈 𝙄𝙎 𝙈𝙔 𝘿𝙀𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙀 was shot on location at Villa Uhlenhorst in Wernigerode, Germany.

Vampirism Is My Demise

Victor Primavesi debut album 𝑰𝒅𝒚𝒍𝒍𝒔 is a concept album following a character – the so-called Knight in Fractured Armour – on their search for reinvigoration, a hiding place, a brother, growth, alliance, equilibrium, transcendence, a light of their own, missing pieces, enfranchisement, an idyll and a new heart. 

Written over the course of eight years, the music on 𝑰𝒅𝒚𝒍𝒍𝒔 explores deeply personal subjects such as the complexities of human relationships, longing, loss, solitude, trauma, hinderances, art and mythology. 

At the heart of the album lies the pursuit to trace constellations of light in ever-present darkness with about the same oxymoronic arbitrariness and predetermination as the stars in the night sky align to constitute structures of etherial meaning, history and beauty.

Buy & Listen

Idylls

22nd LOBOTOMY 

Kind stranger, take the knife and put me back together
I don't mind the scars, marks… 				
Make me live, make me last forever

Make me live forever, make me last forever
Forever

Kind stranger, let me off my meds
Make me feel better
Every inch that leads to my tether makes it harder to forget her

It was about time that I did it
That I shed one of my many skins
The one that was the heaviest
My most hated invariant

It was about time that I did it
That I got rid of my medicine
The one that was the deadliest
My most hated nutrient 

Who would have known that machines do break down?
Who would have known how pathetic I’d look in my hospital gown?
Who would have known that I’d end up at a lost a found? 
Who would have known that I’d grow deaf to words and sound?

Kind stranger, Lord knows I’ve tried
Just know it’s my pleasure
Make that needed incision
I trust your heart, eye and precision

Kind stranger, hear me speak	
I’m so tired, send me to sleep
Ram that icepick into my eyes 							
Let me feel where silence lies

Who would have known? 
Who would have known?
Who would have known? 
Who would have known?

22nd Lobotomy (Rough Mix/25-10-2022)

Muddy the Waters

Achilles' Heel (Memo/01-02-2024)

Victor Primavesi debut album 𝑰𝒅𝒚𝒍𝒍𝒔 is a concept album following a character – the so-called Knight in Fractured Armour – on their search for reinvigoration, a hiding place, a brother, growth, alliance, equilibrium, transcendence, a light of their own, missing pieces, enfranchisement, an idyll and a new heart.

Written over the course of eight years, the music on 𝑰𝒅𝒚𝒍𝒍𝒔 explores deeply personal subjects such as the complexities of human relationships, longing, solitude, trauma, hinderances, as well as art and mythology and the remedy they bring.

At the heart of the album lies the pursuit to trace constellations of light in ever-present darkness with about the same oxymoronic arbitrariness and predetermination as the stars in the night sky align to constitute structures of etherial meaning, history and beauty.

Damiel

Kew Gardens

Revenants

Hiding Again

Planemo / Andorra

PYGMALION

When my hope ran empty and love had passed me by, 
I turned to you to testify if I had lived a lie

As days turned to weeks and to years, 
daylight had deprived me of my ability 
to let the dark subside

All the offerings made to charm my ill-designed fate… 
On top of the hills I had tried to climb 
appeared a ghost of curved lines

I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to life
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to my side
I can only go as far as I have gone before
to feel the warming, soft embrace of what I asked for
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to life
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to my side

In the hands of the sculptor lies their own fate
A tool that needs to conquer all envy, vice and hate

I fall into the open arms I carved from noble stone
Rested in this ice-cold bosom, I feel less alone

What will become if you, my darling,
When I will find the key to that hidden heart of yours 
that is meant for no-one else but me

I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to life
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to my side
I can only go as far as I have gone before
to feel the warming, soft embrace of what I asked for
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to life
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to my side

If I need to, I will find a way to crawl inside of you
To hear my heart echo in the darkness inside of you
Now I’m in yours as you were in mine, that is now past our time
Until the end of my days,
I’ll whisper to you until you understand

I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to life
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to my side
I can only go as far as I have gone before
to feel the warming, soft embrace of what I asked for
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to life
I’ll love you, I will love you, I’ll love you to my side

In the Hands of the Sculptor

Pygmalion

ANAEMIA

With gloves slipped over my smutted fingers, I try to solve the riddle.
Afraid to touch it, I follow up its contour to the middle.
Empaled by motionlessness and prevalent dismay, 
I feel compelled to turn off the lights and their monstrous shadow play.

Zero and the negative is all I can conceive.
I am a piece of maimed chalk 
turning into a bereaved pile of sorry chalk powder.
A vanishing point of horror

Beware of the vampire lusting under my skin 
For a rush… of something. 
A rush… of anything.
Beware of the vampire who longs for just one thing: 
to be touched by the faintest form of colouring.
Beware of the vampire lusting under my skin.

The brother I felt was my predecessor won’t return my call. 
He’s closed his eyes to our shared trail 	of blood.
Now I’m hitting the wall.
I still have a sister or two out there and maybe another brother 
whose light always watches over me and helps me rediscover:

Why zero and the negative is all I can conceive.
I am a piece of maimed chalk 
turning into a bereaved pile of sorry chalk powder.
A vanishing point of horror

Beware of the vampire lusting under my skin 
For a rush… of something. 
A rush… of anything.
Beware of the vampire who longs for just one thing: 
to be touched by the faintest form of colouring.
Beware of the vampire lusting under my skin.

I can’t bear to cast off my garments to reveal the scars I hide.
Peeled down to my bone marrow, I become the focus of my cynical eye.
A mirror to me is an empty frame displaying a travesty.
No, I don’t want to see what’s become of me.

Beside my bed I keep several oaken bullets.
I know they’d fail when put to the test, 
but they ease the brunt I bear 
of every paper-thin day whose page I turn to no avail.
It’s said life is precious in every way but is it still after a thousand years?

Anaemia dictates the tides and waves of life force in my veins.
Every nightly act of defiance was an uproar choked by silence.
My glass isn’t half-full nor is it half-empty.
It broke to pieces, maybe that will tempt me
to finally admit and realise that vampirism is my demise.

Vampirism Is My Delight

Anaemia

TIRED

I am tired, I am tired 
I’ve made up my tired mind
This is my last chapter to write
I’m tired of me, tired of you
Tired of us and what you put me through

I will rise one last time
I will see the sunshine
Before I grow cold, 
before I grow old
Before my story’s told
This is my last chapter to write
	
What about my mum? 
What about my dad?
What about my friends? 
What about my plans?
What about the things 
that are still ahead?
What about the tears that I have shed?
Don’t think I didn’t ask those questions
I’ve had far too many interventions
I will sleep through the centuries 
That’s what my tired mind needs

I’ve made up my tired mind
This is my last chapter to write
I’ll be with my heroes, 
I won’t be imposed a story arc I didn’t chose
This is my last chance to say goodbye

Tired

AN ORPHIC ORDEAL

I can see and I can hear…
Am I past the inferno or is it near?
What’s that noise?
I can tell there’s a riot in every cell.
For how long will I lie here before I will disappear?
Am I gone or on my way?	
I’m still where I never meant to stay.

Six feet above and overpowered,
I woke up from my final hour.
Dug my hole too deep, I guess I tried.
I am tall but too small inside.
How can I make this right?
How can I stand upright?
With a secret that buries me
deeper than I’d longed to be.

From the familiar I am estranged.
What is real? And what has changed?
A sour taste on my dry lips.
A burning fire in my finger tips.
I can’t breathe, I can’t make a sound.
My knees give in, I kiss the ground.
There is nothing feathery
to how gravity summons me.

Six feet above and overpowered,
I woke up from my final hour.
Dug my hole too deep, I guess I tried.
I am tall but too small inside.
How can I make this right?
How can I stand upright?
With a secret that buries me
deeper than I’d longed to be.

I had licked and sealed every envelope...
Wishes to loved ones full of hope.
A solemn greeting from beyond the grave.
Blood-stained last words I had saved.
I burnt all of them but I could not erase
the act itself, it did not incinerate.
How do you announce, how do you to say:
“Hey, I am almost died, by the way.”

Six feet above and overpowered,
I woke up from my final hour.
Dug my hole too deep, I guess I tried.
I am tall but too small inside.
How can I make this right?
How can I stand upright?
With a secret that buries me
deeper than I’d longed to be.

I never mentioned it to another soul.
Pretended it never happened.
But it had happened and that is why
every day since felt like a lie.
(I thought I could forget)
“Actually, I'm doing quite all right,
well… I mean… you know what it’s like.”
(What am I still doing here?)
I swallowed every subordinate clause.
I had no strength to plead my cause.
(I had made my peace with the past)
	
Six feet above and overpowered,
I woke up from my final hour.
Dug my hole too deep, I guess I tried.
I am tall but too small inside.
How can I make this right?
How can I stand upright?
With a secret that buries me
deeper than I’d longed to be.

An Orphic Ordeal

MY HURT IN YOUR HEART

Yes, I can hear them
Your nervous steps on the upper floor
Yes, I can still hear it
Our fight from the night before
Yes, I can’t unsee them
Your faint tears when I stormed off
Yes, I can still hear them
Your muffled cries amidst choked coughs

It is confirmed, we do incur the same sorrow
How I’d prefer diverged form of our concern,
for our grieve not to concur
In Jungian terms, that’s what occurs
when the tortured become torturers

I bleed into you with certainty
And you will always bleed right into me
The look in your eyes, it’s hard to miss
I hate for you to see me like this
My hurt in your heart
My hurt in your heart

Yes, I can I feel it
The rope that cords the three of us
Yes, I still remember 
All the things we did discuss
Yes, I told you I can’t
bluff a faith I haven’t got
Yes, I know you must impede
my self-destructive desire to bleed

It is confirmed, we do incur the same sorrow
How I’d prefer diverged form of our concern,
for our grieve not to concur
In Jungian terms, that’s what occurs
when the tortured become torturers

I bleed into you with certainty
And you will always bleed right into me
The look in your eyes, it’s hard to miss
I hate for you to see me like this
My hurt in your heart
My hurt in your heart

I know I’m broken but you know I will put myself together
Without your help, I’m afraid,it would take forever
I show my pain but you don’t show yours
although I know what you’ve endured
But how can I live for all of us
when I can’t earn my own trust

I bleed into you with certainty
And you will always bleed right into me
The look in your eyes, it’s hard to miss
I hate for you to see me like this
My hurt in your heart
My hurt in your heart
My hurt in your heart
My hurt in your heart

My Hurt in Your Heart

OF THE SILENT AND UNQUIET

Demons, meet your host for the day:
A haunted man in disarray
Enter a history of intrusion 
The kind of harm that I am used to
A million teeth sunk into my back
A knot of hands tied around my neck
Courting death and obsession
The grip of madness that won’t lessen 

Hear all of my ribs quake
Hear how my spine starts to break	
Hear my skull break in two
My voice starts to shake, 
but what else is new?

Let me go, cut the strings
Pour tar over my hinderings
I know the state of our acquaintance 
I’m out of my last drop of patience
Let me at least see your face
before you proceed to misplace
Every bit of who I am
out of the body that I’m still in	

I strain every nerve and sinew
every time I begin to
hold the globe with a single finger
in denial of dangers that linger
in mistaking dazedness
for a case of weightlessness
Countless times I have fallen
from the ceilings I’ve been crawling

Feel my heart race
See my eyes peeled for a chase 
See my empty ego rise 
to deceitful amounts of highs

Let me go, cut the strings
Pour tar over my hinderings
I know the state of our acquaintance 
I’m out of my last drop of patience
Let me at least see your face
before you proceed to misplace
Every bit of who I am
out of the body that I’m still in	

And there it comes, the rain of ashes
It covers me as it that detaches
Language from feeling from agility
until nothing is how it used to be
It’ll take a few deaths and a summer
before the pieces of my mind recover
My burnt flesh will take long to heal
The sight of ember has lost its appeal

Reversed by silent, unquiet demons:
The certain change of the seasons
My line of sight bent into a maze,
I am stuck in my own ways
Where the fuck have I been?
Who did I invite in?
Was mercury in fucking retrograde?
Is that why my life has been delayed?

Let me go, cut the strings
Pour tar over my hinderings
I know the state of our acquaintance 
I’m out of my last drop of patience
Let me at least see your face
before you proceed to misplace
Every bit of who I am
out of the body that I’m still in	

I don’t go out, but I scream loud
into my closed mouth when in doubt
I hate myself and then I hate you
I guess that is what I have to do
to feel something I can really feel
I have no sense of what is real
I must bleed dry, that’s what I do
Every time I’m halfway through

Of the Silent and Unquiet

THE PINK CIRCLE
Adaptation of Holly Raeburn's “to love you and to honour you” from 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘪𝘥𝘦, published by Volcano Digital Art in collaboration with Guiseppe Lama. Find the ebook here: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1514771346

The pink circle was my favourite
It was originally the hem of 
an old nightgown, it felt more shiny 
than the other fabrics did 

I always had the blanket thrown
so the triangle with the pattern 
of stars was always in the top 
left corner of my bed 	

I don’t know why 
I don’t know why
I don’t know why
I don’t know why 

So many old shirts, childhood clothes, 
old uniforms went into this patchwork quilt
They were stitches in time
What we used to call the fabric of life

My grandmother made it for my mother, 
who then handed it down to me 
I don’t know where it is now
It’s one of the things I regret 
either giving away, damaging, 
or losing along all the moves in my life

I don’t know why 
I don’t know why
I don’t know why
I don’t know why 

Somewhere, someone will cherish it now, 
or I like to think so anyway 
Discarded scraps, each with their own story, 
stitched together to create a whole other story 

A timeline of memories, each new owner 			
adding to the narrative Patches of life, 
slung over chairs and children, 
crumpled under dogs and feet, 
snuggled close to hearts, cried into with 
chewed corners over night

I don’t know why 
I don’t know why
I don’t know why
I don’t know why 

The pink circle was my favourite
It was originally the hem of 
an old nightgown, it felt more shiny 
than the other fabrics did 

I don’t know why 
I don’t know why
I don’t know why
I don’t know why

The Pink Circle

SEND IN THE CLOWNS
From 𝘈 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 by Stephen Sondheim

Isn't it rich? Aren't we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground, you in mid-air.
Where are the clowns?

Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve?          			     
One who keeps tearing around, and one who can't move.
But where are the clowns? 
Send in the clowns.
 
Just when I stopped, opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was  yours;
Making my entrance again, with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines, no one is there.
 
Don't you love farce? My fault, I fear;
I thought that you'd want what I want – sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns? Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother, they're here.

Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late, in my career?
But where are the clowns? 
There ought to be clowns  
Well, maybe next year

Victor Primavesi

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