Part 1

Name: Andrea Burelli
Nationality: Italian
Occupation: Composer, multi-instrumentalist
Current release: Andrea Burelli's Sonic Mystics for Poems (of Life and Death of a Phoenix) is out via Andrea's own bandcamp store.  
Recommendations: 'Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom' was Pasolini's final film, released three weeks after his murder. Another notable work is his movie 'Il fiore delle mille e una notte,' a pinnacle of beauty.
Franco Battiato's song, 'L'ombra della luce,' is particularly captivating, especially the Arabic version performed live in Baghdad in 1992.

If you enjoyed this Andrea Burelli interview and would like to keep up to date with her music, visit her official homepage. She is also on Instagram, and Facebook.



When I listen to music, I see shapes, objects and colours. What happens in your body when you’re listening? Do you listen with your eyes open or closed?

The most mystical thing that happens to me in terms of perception is when, generally at Berghain, amid the kicks of techno, I sometimes hear choruses of women's voices repeating like mantras. It's hypnotic, and I can't distinguish where the actual music being played ends and where the choirs that only I am hearing begin. Sometimes, in the total chaos of the dance floor, I record myself singing in order to remember them. They are like small sacred revelations.

Whether in these moments or in almost any other listening situation, I do it with my eyes open. I observe a lot of what surrounds me, the poetry of things, which music only elevates.

What were your very first steps in music like, and how would you rate the gains made through experience - can one train/learn being an artist?

My first steps in music were childhood experiences with voice and violin, and my latest album Sonic Mystics for Poems partly honours vocals and string instruments, like a return to my origins. My musical progress has been gradual and very long, consisting of periods of studying and experimenting with various formal and aesthetic aspects of electroacoustic music and other fields of art. It's an ongoing, growing, changing, practicing, and learning experience that has lasted and will last a lifetime.

If I need expressive tools, I learn them, but this is almost purely functional. I can't tell you if being an artist has to do with what you know how to do things, but I know that it's a way you have of perceiving and representing the world.

According to scientific studies, we make our deepest and most incisive musical experiences between the ages of 13-16. What did music mean to you at that age and what’s changed since then?

At 14, I stopped studying the violin and took a break until I was 16 because I was frustrated with the instrument and the teaching method. I loved music a lot; it was important to me, but I found the instrument unrewarding. Now, however, I appreciate it a lot, and I play it regularly.

At 15, I moved to Spain, where I started studying art and soon resumed playing. When I changed countries, music, especially listening to it and singing, meant refuge and release; it was a very intimate sphere of my reality, and in this sense, nothing has changed.

Where does the impulse to create something come from for you? What role do often-quoted sources of inspiration like dreams, other forms of art, personal relationships, politics etc play?

The impulse comes from potentially continuous ideas and from releasing tough emotions. I feel that materialising whatever idea that comes to me, is my role in the world, as if it were my duty as a human being, and to release my feelings through music is a way to survive. There is a physical, spiritual, and psychological need that drives me to realise my projects.

Realities of the unconscious, the poetic being, are often sources of knowledge that help me in this journey. Dreams are important to me in this sense; I made a whole album called I Could Go Lucid with my old project Bodyverse, referring to the moment of lucid dreaming, and the track titles are all images of some dreams.



Sometimes I wake up with melodies in my head or with images to which I attribute sounds, but some other times the material is much more desperate and earthly.

I also derive significant inspiration from my previous experience in painting. This background empowers me to compose music by utilising my perception of dark and light contrasts, attaining balance between elements, and refining my understanding of composition.

The partner of a musician once told me that he often felt jealous of her guitar. How would you describe your own relationship with your instrument, tools or equipment – is it an extension of your self/body, a partner and companion, a creative catalyst, a challenge to be overcome, something else entirely?

I think the only instrument I am truly attached to long-term is my violin. It's an eternal challenge for me; it signifies musical practice, discipline, and patience, and it's an instrument that I curiously keep more for my private sphere.

I love synths, but I don't have a similar attachment to any of them. I see them more as wonderful creation tools that serve the sound I am seeking.

Are you acting out certain roles or parts of your personality in your music which you couldn’t or wouldn’t in your daily life? If so, which are these? If not, what, would you say, are the key ideas behind your approach to music?

In the realm of music, I possess a strong sense of assurance when it comes to researching and achieving the desired sound. Conversely, my confidence wavers in other spheres of life.

The foundational principles guiding my approach to music are the ideas themselves, which I hold with an almost religious conviction. This philosophy resonates deeply with my reading of David Lynch's Catching the Big Fish. My creative process is at its very core, intuitive, mirroring Lynch's description. The initial idea, be it a lyric, melody, cadence, or sound, carries an inherent rightness—an instinct leading in the right direction. I trust and follow this instinct.

This belief fuels my exploration of diverse instruments and musical systems, facilitating the expression of these ideas in their optimal form. My aim is to infuse as much playfulness as possible. While other aspects of life may remain unclear, in this musical realm, I sense a profound connection. I perceive myself as a vessel for these ideas—something sacred, divine, and deserving of profound respect.

Music is a language, but like any language, it can lead to misunderstandings. In which way has your own work – or the work of artists you like or admire - been misunderstood? How do you deal with this?

Music functions as a language, demanding learning for comprehension and application, at least in my perspective. Like any language or creative discipline, it adheres to rules that can be intentionally broken to varying degrees.

I don't anticipate universal understanding of my compositional work, but I do expect it to be formally grasped by those well-versed in the musical domain. For instance, if I orchestrate a cello in 7/8 time alongside a machinedrum kick in 5/8, forming a polyrhythm of 5 against 7, I desire it to be comprehended and critiqued. However, this isn't always the case. Nevertheless, I'm not overly concerned; it hinges on the reviewer's or public’s musical and artistic comprehension, not on me. My ability to contribute is limited to the expression of things, I can’t control any further.

Formal facets of music can be intellectually explored, and by the way, the heart invariably takes precedence, underscoring the beauty of the musical language's inherent democracy. Transitioning to an emotional plane, I posit that artistic works communicate in ways beyond our complete control, and that's justifiable.

I aspire for my compositions to endeavor in evoking imagery, guided by intention, yet acknowledging the unpredictable impact on others.

Making music, in the beginning, is often playful and about discovery. How do you retain a sense of playfulness as things become more professionalized and how do you still draw surprises from equipment, instruments, approaches, and formats you may be very familiar with?

Fortunately, creating music remains a journey of exploration and playfulness for me. To compose with the freedom I seek, I believed it was necessary for me to approach music in an extremely eclectic manner. I've acquired sufficient knowledge to possess endless approaches, and I acknowledge that a single lifetime might not be enough to explore them all fully.

For instance, delving into musical systems beyond the Western tradition, having a solid grasp of harmony and rhythm, exploring various instruments, and drawing upon my practical and theoretical understanding of visual arts – all these facets enable my ideas to manifest whatever might be their form.

When it comes to the exploration of timbre, instruments become a palette offering myriad nuances, whether it's a string instrument or the realm of sound synthesis. To me, these nuances are akin to the colors I learned to discern in painting, now translated into the language of music.

In music creation, everything can be endless.