Part 2

Are there everyday places, spaces, or devices which intrigue you by the way they sound? Which are these?

Although I don’t explore physical space phenomena in my music, I’m very aware of how a space sounds from my side job recording audio for film and video. Over time, my ears have become tuned to assess whether an environment is suitable for a clean voice recording. Much of this comes down to evaluating the reverberation in the space.

One space that intrigues me acoustically is the American school gym. The bouncing of a basketball, voices resonating, the scraping of sneakers on polished wood floors. Thank you for that Hollywood!

Airports are sonically fascinating as well. A myriad of sounds at a very low volume level …

What are among your favourite spaces to record and play your music?

The vast majority of my music is recorded at home. I don’t have the financial means to book extended studio time, nor do I really need to, since so much of what I make is electronic nowadays. Would I have made the same kind of music had I lived in the suburbs with a big studio basement?

When it comes to performing, I’ve been fortunate to play in a variety of venues. I don’t know if I have a favorite per se as I tend to focus more on the people that are present and how the audience’s energy can shape the performing experience.

Do music and sound feel “material” to you? Does working with sound feel like you're sculpting or shaping something?

Absolutely. When I work with prepared guitar, the best way I can describe the process is that it’s like carving. I scrape, hit, drag the guitar, I bow it, I pluck it, I bend the strings. Sound and its material production become one. I create sound out of non-sound, out of the collision of matter.

My first solo album, Solos, is an exploration of this approach.



When I work with synthesizers, on the other hand, I’m modifying an already existing signal. In this case, it feels more like shaping. I become an observer and listener as much as a creator (Alvin Lucier talked about this).

Electricity, as Lev Manovich argues in The Language of New Media (page 126), fundamentally changed how we think about art and artistry. The artist is no longer a romantic genius conjuring a new world purely from their imagination. The artist becomes a technician, an accessory to the machine.

I surely felt that way when making my second solo album Lacquer.



I made the album as much as I listened to the synthesizer making it. All I did was turning a bunch of knobs, recording the more interesting parts, cataloguing them, and layering them later. I was inspired by the machine’s capabilities, which were, in turn, shaped by the people who designed it.

Some might argue that I could have used a different synthesizer and made a similar album. But I don’t think so. I wouldn’t have conceived of an album like Lacquer had I not bought that particular instrument.

My current work with Molto Ohm touches on both elements in a broader sense. I am no longer working with single sounds (whether I carve or shape them); I am now working with blocks of sonic information. I am collaging a sound world made of everyday sounds I record, songs or synth sounds I make, voicemails I hear, text I translate into voice overs, samples of my old music.

A more apt description would be that I am arranging, or even better, that I am assembling music.

Sound, song, and rhythm are all around us, from animal noises to the waves of the ocean. What, if any, are some of the most moving experiences you've had with these non-human-made sounds?

I don’t like the sound of ocean waves. I find their loud, all-encompassing roar overwhelming. Most people love it, so I’m interested in understanding the possible reasons why I don’t.

The best explanation I’ve come up with is that it’s not my sea. I grew up near the Adriatic. It’s calm and flat it’s like a sheet of glass. Its waves are barely there. The sound they make is so gentle. It reminds me of home, of my Italian family, and also of all the years I’ve chosen to spend in America instead of Italy.

When I go back home, I visit the Adriatic. I sit on the beach near the water, I hear the small, gentle waves, their delicate, bubbly sound, and I weep.

Tinnitus and developing hyperacusis are very real risks for anyone working with sound. Do you take precautions in this regard and if you're suffering from these or similar issues – how do you cope with them?

Yes, I always carry earplugs—they’re attached to my keychain. I wear them at every live show, and sometimes even in loud bars. Depending on the volume, I’ll push them in deeper or keep them just barely in, but they’re always there, ready to be used.

I do my best to protect my ears from prolonged exposure to excessive loudness. The thought of damaging my hearing terrifies me.

We can surround us with sound every second of the day. The great pianist Glenn Gould even considered this the ultimate delight. How do you see that yourself and what importance does silence hold?

As much as I believe that it’s possible to find some sonic peace in a chaotic environment, I won’t deny that it’s much easier in a quiet one. Not too quiet though: if you’re in a truly silent place, the sound of your own brain can be deafening! (On that note, I’ve realized not everyone is aware of the sound their brain makes.)

I appreciate quietness, or rather, I appreciate being in environments where it’s easier to discern the sounds around you because there aren’t many of them. For me, this usually happens if I am home at night or early in the morning. Right now, for example, it’s 10:40 p.m. I hear my radiator gently hissing, the faint hum of street noise outside, the tapping of my keyboard, the occasional distant airplane.

I’m surrounded by sound every moment of the day whether I want it or not. The delight lies in being able to hear those sounds, whatever they are, and welcome them as the only reality I can experience in that particular moment.

Of course, if by “sound” we mean music, that’s a different story. I don't often listen to music while doing other activities (unless I am dancing). I usually make time to sit down and listen.

Seth S. Horowitz called hearing the “universal sense” and emphasised that it was more precise and faster than any of our other senses, including vision. How would our world be different if we paid less attention to looks and listened more instead?

I believe hearing is the most immediate sense for connecting with reality. If we all practiced sound meditations more often, I think we’d live better, less stressful lives.