My Review: Gaudi - Theremin Homage to The Smiths

 

Gaudi - Theremin Homage to The Smiths

In the bubble of time, sudden sparks often arrive to illuminate miracles.

Music lends itself to creating part of this emotional stage with instruments that go from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

The Theremin is the only one that does not need to be touched, but this does not prevent it from taking the soul and elevating it to a dimension capable of shaking.

Just like The Smiths, a sword full of mysterious dust, in continuous repose with perfection, and which finds love and devotion on the part of the Italian musician but who has been living in London for decades once again (the second, though one hopes there will be twenty more...) in the desire to pay homage to this band and bring it into a space, the only one, in which to excel: the solitude of a homage is the precise dimension where the Manchester band can establish contact with eternity.

After the approach that had delivered us five gems, here he is back with a quatern of continuous and painful obsession: there is no happiness on the Smithsian planet, but a sweet, long line of mental tombstones that can provoke sobs and moans. The Theremin is the only instrument that can give Morrissey's voice that depth that cannot be compared, given the absence of singing. In this preamble, Gaudi plays the card of measured experimentation, not wanting to affect the original versions and instead inserting particles of tiny caresses in order to manifest love with a fine, light, respectful touch that is nonetheless skilful in delving into the secrets of pieces that still seem to yearn to not reveal themselves totally.

A cry (the listening), an eternal kiss the continuous play, and the thorn in the side travels in the songs chosen by the Bolognese artist to disinfect the wound on one side and to create new furrows of suffering on the other.

Here is astonishment and alienation, history and images find a new direction: not only the theremin, but also the other instruments come down from their usual zone and bow down, declaring their obstinate propensity for sound care, for a homage that marks in manifest will the distance from a cover. And they all succeed, sowing emotion and allowing the beauty of these poignant approaches to become, suddenly, new poems on Manchester sky...

One finds oneself in a huge hall, inside one's own thoughts, with poetic lanes to raise the beats, to touch miracles and make tears kneel: this homage is a smile from the sky on a rainy day, and the 1980s, so pregnant with rubbish and mediocrity, have found with the Mancunian group a revenge, a question and an answer that travels in silence. What happens is that those songs here retain a sound stuffed with dust and thorns, to scatter fears and direct them as new opportunities. 

Mr Lev Sergeevic Termen has found a way to give the instrument the possibility of becoming a vision, a sound film not forced to touch but to become a jolt that, starting from the temples, quickly reaches the heart and, without a doubt, those are the territories of the Smithsian planet.

There are electromagnetic fields even in a thank you, in a homage that makes the past shine inside the bubble I mentioned at the beginning. The details come out shy, almost hidden, yet never stuttering: Gaudi's respect is a powerful tidal wave that does not seek to glide over our territories but, rather, wants to define a private space that can have a unique access.

Obstacles create a patina of challenge that Gaudi brings to rest with the careful study of dynamics, harmonisation, all, of course, mixed with a devotion that becomes a complex floral zone of the soul. 

The project also consists of a special dedication: recognising the importance of Andy Rourke who tragically took his bass guitar to walk the heavenly paths. 

Moreover: the tribute comes out on 14 May, forty years after the Smiths' only Italian concert, which saw the Italian artist in the front row immersed in the joy that is still unscratched

Time becomes a bridge made of books, of walks, of descents into the refined desolation of the choice of an almost obligatory solitude to cleanse, in places, one's own existence.

Nine defeats, nine rebellions, nine instances within the rooms of the chest, to make the infinite a daily resource.

Morrissey's voice, with the Theremin, becomes a more musically polite stream, closer to perfection, and the real outrageous act is that, when the instrument decides to make only partial reference, a truly astonishing interpretative lane opens up.

The primitive state of emotion is reached, the disturbance appearing as therapy and escape, to create emotional craters capable of protecting enchantment and miracle.

Breathlessness in search of a light, aggression that finds ecstasy, and the voice of a divinity ends up in Gaudi's sensual and precise movements, to hurl helplessness into the basin of ultimate wholeness.

Remaining breathless leads us to a conscious coma, the most lethal of all, without however taking away the vision of a world, the Smithsian one, still able, more than forty years later, to unleash originality and magnificence: to be a precise and capable homage, the study was not only on the songs but on the history of this band, the only one that pushed the man Gaudi to begin his artistic existence

Let us delve and lose ourselves for good in the melancholy that makes us perfect ...

Song by Song

1 - Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me

First rose.

The fog descends, the flight of the seagulls is filled with bitter liquids in the eyes and the devastating piano welcomes the Theremin that, as we note and notice from the beginning, also participates in the musical part. And it is undeniable that this delicate antenna breaks our breath and brings us the same tears as those birds. It is heartbreaking, the child of a free-falling abyss. Gaudi, supported by sublime gift companions, gives the song all the meaning while Morrissey cries with us...

2 - Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want

Second rose.

Where everything seems to lighten up because of Johnny Marr's incredible talent, Gaudi enriches the sinuosity of this rose with small, almost veiled arrangements. The Theremin gives us Morrissey's voice, without vocal cords but with veins full of blood, walking on the dew of a desire that wants to be fulfilled. The oscillations are simply emotional states in fervid exhibition.

3 - I Started Something I Couldn't Finish

Third rose.

The sound of the guitar, the impetus of the bass, the robust fall of the guitar precede the flying notes of a handless voice, to fix a sequence of chords that makes melancholy a smile that fights, nimbly, the awareness of the inconclusiveness of existence...

One remains almost totally faithful to the original, but with the distinct sensation of a palette of colours that fix ancient history with the new sonic propensity of the present...

4 -  I Know It’s Over

Fourth rose.

With this gift, the queen of marginalisation, of incomprehension, of the fiercest solitude, becomes a wave that rises into the sky, a devastating whirlwind. Gaudi has grasped its depth, has by no means diminished its intensity and grants us the beauty of an embrace wet with pain and petals in free fall. The Theremin, which replaces Morrissey's vocals, uses the beating of the wings of those drops in flight to stop our hearts...

5 - Shoplifters Of The World Unite 

Fifth  rose.

Here come the novelties, condensed but not compressed, nimble wings on a layering that operates in a refined context and moves to probe the soul of a song that saw the Manchester quartet's structural framework change. Marr's skill here finds a different power, while Morrissey's singing becomes sly and allusive. The Theremin visits the concept of the song and the musicians show character in making the chord succession more lucid. The attack is a liturgy, a bow in which the bass and violin challenge the guitar, while the driving instrument takes us into the vocal chords of an intuition that sequesters truth...

6 - Well I Wonder

Sixth rose.

Please bring oxygen and the courage to live: Well I Wonder, in the hands of Theremin, is a portable heart attack which crosses the body to paralyse it. It is no longer an antenna, no longer Gaudi's palms and fingers that translate but make real our struggle with the air that abandons us, shatters us, shows us the way out of this existence. 

The talent here becomes uncontrollable and these sound waves go beyond human comprehension: they dilate the steps and it is impossible not to remember this rose that, as we walk, buries our strength since the knees buckle.

And the final act of what we are is listening to a flower which was born on 20 May 1982 and that forty years later is still alive, because its light will never go out…

7 - Girlfriend In A Coma

Seventh rose.

The apparent lightness of sound contrasts with the lyrics, in a murderous bond that terrifies and isolates. Gaudi offers a visionary plan of the song by landing the whole thing in the classical arrangement, where it has always been, but the then modernity of the Smiths did not allow a glimpse of the complexity of the contrasts. The interplay of the strings becomes the perfect strategy to convey, in fullness and fluency, the tragedy of this sublime story…

8 - Asleep

Eighth rose.

The lump in the throat buries any attempt to achieve happiness: Gaudi puts forty years of devotion between his fingers and all this leads us into the night dust of nervous and selfish blinks. The Smiths' song here enhances the lyrics and makes the music a merino wool blanket, careful not to let us feel temperature changes in a heart busy trembling.

9 - What Difference Does It Makes

Ninth rose.

The perfect position of what must not be smudged is always the last track. Here the Bolognese artist surpasses himself, yielding to the courtship of the guitars, to an intriguing and ancient melody, placing the surprise of slightly touching the song's structural framework, giving the Theremin the freedom to carry Morrissey's singing into the angelic space of a despair that can get lost in the clouds. The high register overcomes the falsetto and falls into that whitish cotton in the corridors of the sky to make this splendid song the testament, the colourful fresco of a tribute that here finds the unique and necessary space in which to display both the band's and Gaudi's qualities, to testify to the collectivity of artistic making.

The farewell is a shot: between arpeggios, rolls and whiplash, the delirium comes to establish what really makes the difference…

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

13th May 2025

https://lnk.to/homagethesmiths

From midnight the links will be active, for pre-saving (Spotify and Apple Music), and for downloading on Bandcamp

 

La mia Recensione: Amy MacDonald - Is This What You’ve Been Waiting For?

 

Amy MacDonald - Is This What You’ve Been Waiting For?

La luce del bisogno rischiara i passi, le idee, rende compiuta la consapevolezza del tragitto della propria esistenza, per convogliare sinergie e nuovi sogni. Per fare tutto ciò occorre la forza dell’introspezione, della sincerità, di una forma che inglobi l’intenzione e renda l’anima scevra dal dolore.

Torna la cantautrice di Glasgow con un brano che offre succulenti novità stilistiche, ci presenta ciò che il Vecchio Scriba ha appena scritto nell’introduzione, maggiorando ogni cosa con mescolanze sonore che permettono alla sua effervescente attitudine pop di determinare un insieme che si conficca prima nella mente e poi nel cuore: c’è tutta la sua carriera in esso, il bisogno di una donna capace di camminare, viaggiare e sperimentare da sola, ma senza dimenticare la condivisione, amorosa e/o amichevole che sia, per un equilibrio desiderato che possa donarle luce.

Si balla, con un inizio che contempla sia un fragore techno dark che la leggerezza di una piuma pop (ricordandoci nel cantato la Lene Marlin degli inizi) a colorare ulteriormente le parole, su quella voce che è sempre il battito d’ali di una farfalla che dal fiume Clyde spicca il volo. Le chitarre sono graffi gentili, l’orchestrazione minimalista concede slanci armonici e il controcanto è una vocale che apre i pori. 

Una canzone che anestetizza le difficoltà mostrando la carta d’identità di una artista in transito continuo, capace di trovare l’inchiostro che determina la qualità della sua esistenza. Pone domande (sin dal titolo), descrive il tempo con una valigia e ampi spazi, per poi condensare il tutto con la premura di dare ai sensi un ruolo dominante.

Una creazione che non può essere dimentica del passato, sia nel testo che nella musica, ma che si propone di riempire le borse di un talento sopraffino, in grado di condurci alla tenerezza e al pianto. Un brano in cui a vincere sono una serie di abilità autentiche, come l’onestà, la purezza e la determinazione di lasciare nel circolo magico dell’esistenza una pergamena sonora sulla quale nulla viene trattenuto.

Malgrado il pezzo sia veloce, Amy riesce a intrufolarsi nella sapiente capacità di rallentare il ritmo, permettendo al testo e alla sua voce di allargare gli argini e di far salire i mattoni del brivido sino al cielo. 

La produzione rende completa l’effervescente dinamica e il risultato è una fiaccola primaverile che, partendo dallo sguardo quasi cupo, riesce a baciare i raggi del sole.

E quando una storia raccontata diventa anche un monito per il circostante, ecco che l’operazione non può che essere perfettamente riuscita, contemplando la bellezza dell’espressione artistica e la volontà di un equilibrio personale, in cui la campanella d’allarme è sia premura che risveglio di qualità necessarie. Molto di più di una splendida canzone, in quanto tende anche a suggerire una modalità diversa nei confronti del suo consumo.

Cara Amy: c’è bisogno del tuo talento e del lavoro tuo e della tua band, che qui, ancora una volta, dimostrano di  essere splendidi angeli custodi…

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

30 Aprile 2025

https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/track/5GQcyVcnALfm9IU2uGmm0p?si=dc9a0937299449ea

https://youtu.be/zDFdgAy0IL4?si=cUFQBG5c-cbuewQl

My Review: Amy MacDonald - Is This What You’ve Been Waiting For?

 

Amy MacDonald - Is This What You've Been Waiting For?

The light of need illuminates steps, ideas, makes one aware of the path of one's existence, to channel synergies and new dreams. To do all this requires the power of introspection, of sincerity, of a form that engulfs the intention and makes the soul free of pain.

The Glasgow singer-songwriter returns with a track that offers juicy stylistic novelties, presenting us with what the Old Scribe has just written in the introduction, augmenting everything with sonic mixtures that allow her effervescent pop attitude to determine a whole that sticks first in the mind and then in the heart: there is her whole career in it, the need of a woman capable of walking, travelling and experimenting alone, but without forgetting sharing, loving and/or friendly as it may be, for a desired balance that can give her light.

We dance, with a beginning that contemplates both a dark techno roar and the lightness of a pop feather (reminding us in the singing of early Lene Marlin) to further colour the words, on that voice that is always the beating of wings of a butterfly that takes flight from the Clyde River. The guitars are gentle scratches, the minimalist orchestration grants harmonic soars and the counterpoint is a vocal that opens the pores. 

A song that anaesthetises difficulties by showing the identity card of an artist in continuous transit, capable of finding the ink that determines the quality of her existence. It poses questions (right from the title), describes time with a suitcase and large spaces, and then condenses everything with the thoughtfulness of giving the senses a dominant role.

It is a song in which what wins are genuine skills such as honesty, purity and the determination to leave in the magic circle of existence a sound parchment on which nothing is held back.

Although the song is fast-paced, Amy manages to sneak in the skilful ability to slow the pace, allowing the lyrics and her voice to widen the levees and send the bricks of chill up to the sky. 

The production makes the effervescent dynamic complete, and the result is a spring torch that manages to kiss the sun's rays from an almost sombre gaze.

And when a story told also becomes a warning for its surroundings, then the operation cannot but be perfectly successful, contemplating the beauty of artistic expression and the desire for personal balance, in which the wake-up call is both a concern and an awakening of necessary qualities. Much more than a beautiful song, as it also tends to suggest a different mode of consumption.

Dear Amy: we need your talent and the work of you and your band, who here, once again, prove to be splendid guardian angels...

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

30 April 2025

https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/album/7D76N6Tx5MdC6h5itARNT0?si=ysiY-XB6TD2h41-h61sk6Q

https://youtu.be/zDFdgAy0IL4?si=cUFQBG5c-cbuewQl

La mia Recensione: Penelope Trappes - A Requiem + Live in Salford (25 Aprile 2025, Trinity Church)

 

Penelope Trappes - A Requiem + Live in Salford (25th April 2025, Trinity Church)

Ogni verità comporta discese e risalite e, quando il soggetto è la necessità di un dialogo con una presenza ultraterrena (nello specifico tutto ciò che ruota intorno ai defunti), ecco emergere uno scenario visivo e sensoriale che paralizza, seduce, induce i sentimenti e i ragionamenti a compiere nuove nuove scoperte, in un viaggio nel quale la densità si misura con brani come coperte, veli, mulinelli esplorativi ascensionali, in cui il risultato è uno shock ragionato e utile.

Penelope traccia con il suo quinto album l’ennesimo sentiero educativo di chi nella ricerca compone un nuovo pezzetto della propria anima, aiutandosi questa volta anche con il violoncello, l’impronta sacra di nuovi matrimoni spirituali che permettono al suo percorso di essere lucido. Una messa che scavalca i dogmi, che paralizza le pareti, che rende accogliente la paura e i timori, con suoni e grappoli di note che precedono e seguono l’incanto di una voce in perlustrazione, capace di nevrosi, impeti, frustrate e lacrime ghiacciate, in un solstizio in cui il movimento del suo sole interiore esce dall’orbita per incontrare la luna, la terra, la vita e anche la morte, in una celebrazione eclatante di misteri incolonnati, tiepidi, vibranti, necessari e completi.

Vengono mantenute le peculiarità dei suoi assiomi artistici, l’integrità, la sua bellissima ostinazione per la contemplazione dell’emozione vibrante che da sempre la distingue. Musica come attesa, come un mutismo obbligatorio e riflessivo nei confronti di un’altra dimensione, quella temuta, della morte, ma da lei vissuta con eleganza e l’incredibile impresa nel riuscire a trasformarla in un inaspettato incanto. 

Un percorso che, partendo dai boschi della Scozia, approda nei canali mistici, quelli sensoriali, nei canti di streghe e anime ondivaghe in cui il sigillo della lentezza permette l’espansione e la comprensione, passando per un folk antico, qui camuffato, quasi segregato da forme elettroniche che però intendono fare in modo che i respiri di quel genere musicale siano liberi di lasciare le tracce storiche di una modalità che ha sempre fatto del contatto con la natura umana una priorità. Penelope esalta i giochi di luci, frammenta le forme cognitive e ci fa compiere una serie di acrobazie notevoli per essere le ali della sua scrittura, del suo sagrato interiore, per essere luce rovente di una candela timida ma capace. I rituali mostrati diventano così necessità, la coda di impeti e slanci che confluiscono nella sacralità di messaggi e forme forse ignote con il compito di scuotere. La vita si mostra così come un perimetro doloroso in cui la conquista più profonda è la sua sperimentazione, facendo del ricordo non un album fotografico bensì una serie di incontri con personaggi che dispensano sapienza e misteri (druidi su tutti), per trascinare ogni cosa nel vortice di voli rapidi, sebbene la musica sia lenta e sempre piena di cenere e fumo. Le sue lacrime innanzi alla perdita del passato sono clamorosamente genuine, tradotte e trasportate nella zona piramidale di connessioni con un aldilà che fortifica la sua anima e l’allontana dalla perdizione. Le sue visioni si moltiplicano, gli innesti di antiche sacralità paiono essere fragori incontenibili, nei quali il dolore non è l’inizio né tantomeno il terminale del tutto, quanto piuttosto un compagno di viaggio, un amico, una propensione (conscia o meno) con la quale lei si rapporta splendidamente. Non canzoni ma candelabri, pillole cognitive che arrivano dai suoi luoghi nativi, un esercizio mnemonico che la indirizza nella scelta del contatto con la verità, nella obbediente forma di rispetto genitoriale, in un viaggio che attraversa i lampi e scende nella comprensione, con i lutti che diventano corde espressive, liturgiche, contaminanti e preziose, per un album che si rivela un diario nel quale imparare a scrivere un sunto e una propensione, un anticipo della Penelope che sarà, attraverso questa condivisione artistica, che ci abbraccia e ci consegna la consapevolezza di una maturità che ha trasformato il nero e le lacrime in uno spazio necessario e creativo.

Il suo occhio (araba fenice e angelo migratore) trasferisce nei solchi una testimonianza continua di getti coscienti, rallentati e quindi esaltati ed esaltanti, in cui le singole note sono diademi liberi di innalzarsi e distinguersi, creando la possibilità di successioni che ammaliano e attraggono come l’infinito della morte…

Un’opera in cui il jazz, la sperimentazione, il neofolk, le unghie di Diamanda Galas e le onde nervose di Zola Jesus sono solamente il contorno di un circolo polare che ghiaccia la furia dell’esistenza trasformandola in un fuoco fatuo. L’artista australiana crea miracoli, tormenti, sgretolamenti, processioni continue, con una produzione artistica che rende ineccepibile il tutto, in cui la penombra, l’intensità del buio, le voci degli spiriti sono tutti messaggeri di contatti futuri. Scavalcano il tempo, aggrediscono con garbo, per essere la Cappella Sistina del nostro tempo, in cui nuovi Dei e nuove forme umane, uscite dallo studio dei morti, dispensano nuove figure e nuove identità. 

La drammaticità del racconto e delle immagini costituisce l’anticipo della nostra coscienza, un’eredità che partendo dalla musica inghiotte i sentieri impervi delle nostre paure, per celebrarle, consolarle ma soprattutto addomesticarle. La condensa di elementi frantuma la sicurezza, con un impianto razionale che semina umidità e secchezza nei respiri: una lunga gittata anestetizzante per indorare amare pillole ma alla fine, dopo ripetuti ascolti, ci si sente in un tempo antico, come entità viventi, vincitori sulla morte perché divenuti immortali spiriti guidati da una follia necessaria…

Salford, concerto

Nella chiesa accogliente, buia, l’artista appare con un copricapo che fa da emissario, da cantastorie di tempi antichi, deliziando la platea che, silenziosa e piacevolmente scioccata, assiste a una performance nella quale viene rappresentato il suo ultimo album A Requiem, per far incontrare le emozioni all’interno di lunghe riflessioni. Ed è magia, incubo, ipnosi, con il suo respiro nel microfono che diventa un mantra, un brivido che raggela le pareti facendo sì che il superfluo sia qualcosa da abbandonare definitivamente. Uno spettacolo lucido, che lascia lividi, gli occhi come meteore in un viaggio senza obiettivi prefissati ma in cui Penelope ci mostra la densità. Nuovi innesti, rispetto alle canzoni originali, consentono ulteriori intuizioni e la manifesta consapevolezza che con quest’ultima opera lei abbia scritto il suo capolavoro, un riassunto e una espansione della sua gravità cognitiva. La voce, mai troppo effettata (non ne ha bisogno, perfetta lo è già, senza alcun dubbio), e le sue mani sono danze sacre, ipnotiche e seducenti, con le quali riesce a palesarsi come un transfer concettuale che rende la visione e l’ascolto del concerto l’idilliaco terminale cognitivo di questo suo nuovo miracolo educativo…

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

27 Aprile 2025

https://penelopetrappes.bandcamp.com/album/a-requiem

My Review: Penelope Trappes - A Requiem + Live in Salford (25th April 2025, Trinity Church)

 

Penelope Trappes - A Requiem + Live in Salford (25th April 2025, Trinity Church)

Every truth entails descents and ascents, and when the subject is the need for a dialogue with an otherworldly presence (specifically everything that revolves around the dead), a visual and sensorial scenario emerges that paralyses, seduces, induces feelings and reasoning to make new discoveries, in a journey in which density is measured by songs like blankets, veils, ascending exploratory eddies, in which the result is a reasoned and useful shock.

With her fifth album, Penelope traces yet another educational path of those who in their search compose a new piece of their soul, this time also helping themselves to the cello, the sacred imprint of new spiritual marriages that allow her path to be lucid. A mass that bypasses dogmas, that paralyses walls, that makes fear and fears welcoming, with sounds and clusters of notes that precede and follow the enchantment of a voice on patrol, capable of neuroses, impulses, frustrations and icy tears, in a solstice in which the movement of its inner sun goes out of orbit to meet the moon, the earth, life and even death, in a resounding celebration of mysteries strung together, tepid, vibrant, necessary and complete.

The peculiarities of her artistic axioms are maintained, her integrity, her beautiful obstinacy for the contemplation of vibrant emotion that has always distinguished her. Music as expectation, as an obligatory and reflective muteness towards another dimension, the dreaded one, of death, but experienced by her with elegance and the incredible feat in managing to transform it into an unexpected enchantment. 

A journey that, starting from the woods of Scotland, lands in the mystical channels, the sensorial ones, in the songs of witches and wandering souls in which the seal of slowness allows expansion and understanding, passing through an ancient folk, here camouflaged, almost segregated by electronic forms that however intend to ensure that the breaths of that musical genre are free to leave the historical traces of a mode that has always made contact with human nature a priority. Penelope enhances the play of light, fragments cognitive forms and makes us perform a series of remarkable acrobatics in order to be the wings of her writing, of her inner courtyard, to be the burning light of a timid but capable candle. 

The rituals shown thus become necessities, the tail end of impetuses and impulses that flow into the sacredness of perhaps unknown messages and forms with the task of shaking. Life is thus shown as a painful perimeter in which the deepest conquest is its experimentation, making the memory not a photo album but a series of encounters with characters who dispense wisdom and mysteries (druids above all), to drag everything into the vortex of rapid flights, although the music is slow and always full of ash and smoke. Her tears at the loss of the past are resoundingly genuine, translated and transported to the pyramid zone of connections with an afterlife that fortifies her soul and distances her from perdition. Her visions multiply, the grafts of ancient sacredness seem to be uncontainable fragrances, in which grief is neither the beginning nor the end of it all, but rather a travelling companion, a friend, a propensity (conscious or otherwise) with which she relates splendidly. 

Not songs but candelabra, cognitive pills that come from her native places, a mnemonic exercise that directs her in the choice of contact with the truth, in the obedient form of parental respect, in a journey that crosses flashes and descends into comprehension, with mournings that become expressive, liturgical chords, contaminating and precious, for an album that proves to be a diary in which to learn to write a summary and a propensity, a foretaste of the Penelope that will be, through this artistic sharing, which embraces us and delivers the awareness of a maturity that has transformed blackness and tears into a necessary and creative space.

Her eye (phoenix-like Arabian phoenix and migrating angel) transfers into the grooves a continuous testimony of conscious, slowed down and therefore exalted and exhilarating jets, in which the individual notes are diadems free to rise and stand out, creating the possibility of successions that bewitch and attract like the infinity of death…

A work in which jazz, experimentation, neofolk, the nails of Diamanda Galas and the nervous waves of Zola Jesus are only the outline of a polar circle that freezes the fury of existence, transforming it into a fatuous fire. The Australian artist creates miracles, torments, crumbles, continuous processions, with an artistic production that makes the whole thing flawless, in which the half-light, the intensity of the darkness, the voices of spirits are all messengers of future contacts. They bypass time, they attack with grace, to be the Sistine Chapel of our time, in which new gods and new human forms, emerging from the study of the dead, dispense new figures and new identities. 

The dramatic nature of the tale and the images constitutes the anticipation of our conscience, a legacy that, starting from music, swallows the impervious paths of our fears, to celebrate them, console them but above all tame them. The condensation of elements shatters security, with a rational implant that sows humidity and dryness in the breaths: a long anaesthetising jet to sugarcoat bitter pills, but in the end, after repeated listening, one feels in an ancient time, like living entities, victors over death because they have become immortal spirits guided by a necessary madness...

Salford, concert

In the cosy, dark church, the artist appears with a headdress that acts as an emissary, as a storyteller from ancient times, delighting the audience who, silent and pleasantly shocked, watch a performance in which her latest album A Requiem is performed, to bring emotions together within long reflections. And it is magic, nightmare, hypnosis, with her breath into the microphone that becomes a mantra, a chill that chills the walls, making the superfluous something to be abandoned for good. A lucid performance that leaves you bruised, your eyes like meteors on a journey with no set goals but in which Penelope shows us density. New grafts, compared to the original songs, allow for further insights and the manifest awareness that with this latest work she has written her masterpiece, a summary and expansion of her cognitive gravity. Her voice, never overly effected (she doesn't need it, she is already perfect, without any doubt), and her hands are sacred, hypnotic and seductive dances, with which she manages to manifest herself as a conceptual transfer that makes watching and listening to the concert the idyllic cognitive terminal of this new educational miracle of hers…

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

27th April 2025

https://penelopetrappes.bandcamp.com/album/a-requiem