Soave
7 products
One of the most striking documents of Italy’s Minimalist movement, Giusto Pio’s "Motore Immobile" is a masterwork with few equivalents. Produced by Franco Battiato in 1979, at the outset of a long and fruitful period of collaboration between the two composers, and issued by the legendary Cramps Records, its triumphs were met by silence, before falling from view.
Emerging on vinyl for the first time since it’s original pressing, "Motore Immobile" now sits within a reappraisal of a large neglected body of efforts made by the Italian avant-garde during the second half of the 1970’s and early 80’s. It is singular, but not alone. It resonates within a collective world of shimmering sound, one familiar to fans of Battiato, Lino Capra Vaccina, Luciano Cilio, Roberto Cacciapaglia, Francesco Messina and Raul Lovisoni.
An exercise in elegant restraint - note and resonance held to the most implicit need. Where everything between root and embellishment has been stripped away. A sublime organ drone, against interventions of deceptively simple structural complexity - executed by Piano, Violin, and Voice. A sonic sculpture reaching heights which few have touched. A thing of beauty and an album as perfect as they come. The reemergence of Motore Immobile heralds what is unquestionably one of the most important reissues of the year.
Side A: Motore immobile 16:59
Organ: Danilo Lorenzini, Michele Fedrigotti
Violin: Giusto Pio
Voice: Martin Kleist
Side B: Ananta 13:58
Organ: Danilo Lorenzini
Piano: Michele Fedrigotti
Cut it up. Stick it back together wrong. This is Magazzini Criminali at their most deliriously inventive - a Florence-based theater collective that understood William Burroughs's cut-up method as an operational principle for sound itself. Released in 1983, Notti Senza Fine is their second LP, a document where theater becomes indistinguishable from electronic collage, where the stage disappears into tape loops and reassembled vocal fragments. Federico Tiezzi (director, electronics), Sandro Lombardi (text, voice), and Marion d'Amburgo (voice) weren't making songs. They were assembling something else entirely. Unlike Crollo Nervoso three years earlier, Notti Senza Fine cuts loose from theater - the cut-up accelerates into something almost vertiginous, fragments layering so densely you can barely trace their origins. The screams of Antonin Artaud collide with voices and instrumental shards from everywhere - tribal percussion that sounds like field recordings, sax, synthesizers - meshing and fading into each other without resolution. What the jazz critic and cultural theorist Franco Bolelli called "planetary music" emerges: no stage, no narrative, just Lombardi, Tiezzi, d'Amburgo, and Julia Anzilotti moving through a constantly shifting sonic terrain. Like Henri Chopin's sound poetry pushed through the entire world's radio frequencies at once, voices become texture rather than meaning. The track titles - Tangeri 400 Km. Nord, Honolulu Vento Solare, Kabul-Febbre, Al Hoceima 1943 - map locations that barely hold shape in the sound. The album itself becomes an "object-significant" - distinguished not just as a vehicle for music but as a physical thing. Jon Hassell's processed Fourth World trumpet runs through the mix like a ghost signal you're always about to recognize - his voice sampled and appropriated, transformed beyond recognition into the general chaos. Three years later, fresh from winning an Ubu Award for scoring Magazzini Criminali's Sulla Strada at the Venice Biennale, Hassell would become a direct compositional collaborator - commissioned to write the music, not sampled from. But here in 1983, on Notti Senza Fine, his presence is something more spectral: stolen, recombined, cut into material that refuses to cohere. There's an ironic swagger to it, a specifically Italian 80s irreverence toward the very idea of "proper" experimental music. The samples don't announce themselves solemnly. They arrive like overheard conversations in a crowded room, fragments refusing to cohere into meaning. Sudden jolts. Radio noise. Voice becoming pure texture. What results isn't theater music or electronic composition - it's something closer to sonic gossip, art half-amused by its own pretensions. The original Riviera Records pressing (RVR-4) has been nearly impossible to find for decades. Originally destined for the Cramps label, the album eventually emerged on this small Roman independent - Riviera Records, founded just the year before by Amedeo Sorrentino, Federica Roà, and jazz musician Maurizio Giammarco. Mario Schifano handled the cover design, his graphic work bringing visual weight to what might otherwise remain theater ephemera. This is collage as genuine refusal. Not quotation, not homage - transformation. The practice that would eventually feed into everything from industrial noise to contemporary sample culture, but arriving here as something stranger: theater that understood cutting and pasting weren't metaphors but literal sonic tactics.
