Shortly after the release of the album on the Milan-based labels Hundebiss and Haunter Records, Luigi Monteanni met Ciro Vitiello to talk about sonic tapestries, Italian ruins, inflatable memories, talking animals, and intimate human relationships as compositional technique.
Luigi Monteanni Who or what is Ciro Vitiello?
Ciro Vitiello Ciro Vitiello is ideally a truck driver. It’s about the roads traversing all the small towns and territories around Naples; these very dark Neapolitan, peripheral landscapes. Places like the rest areas on the highway, which I love. And Ciro Vitiello is one of the most common names in those areas. Since I grew up in those zones, I wanted to bring into my music that imagery of forsaken Italian wastelands.
LM Then my question would be: how much of Ciro Vitiello is actually you and vice versa?
CV Actually a lot. Although, for me everything I do artistically is more about becoming something that does not exist to narrate something that exists.
LM So what does exist that you’re narrating in this new work?
CV When I started composing this album, I was thinking about things that happened that year; it was a difficult moment for me, lots of changes, so I kept reflecting on the memories that guided my choices until that moment. At the same time I was obsessed with Bladee’s Exeter, I connected to that playful, childlike dimension, something feeling like a melancholic past. I wanted to reproduce it. And of course, where there are childlike memories, there are dreams. For me—I dream a lot—those were dreams of talking animals, hazy landscapes, and the like. But this relationship with memory also goes beyond the album’s imagery. When I think about myself and my choices, I always imagine meeting with the 7-years-old version of myself from my past and ask him what would he think of me? Did I keep his gaze on things? A simple day-dreaming outlook on life.
LM Does this boy ever answer?
CV Not for now. He’s just laughing. Although it’s an ambiguous laugh, haha.
LM You said you dream of talking animals. What kind of dreams are they?
CV There are dogs, seagulls, and horses. Usually it’s more about being in some kind of adventure together. And they always feel like entities I should aspire to become, for some reason. Especially the horse.
LM Do you believe that we should follow what our dreams tell us—even if there are extreme consequences?
CV Yes, absolutely. My dreams do guide me. I could not stop thinking about some of them for years.
LM Why is the new album called The Island of Bouncy Memories?
CV Bouncy is a synonym of inflatable—like an inflatable castle. So, besides the underwater setting, I liked the ideas of memories that are always there and alternatively inflate and deflate. The other thing is that usually these bouncy structures are huge, and you cannot inflate them alone. So it’s about the role of the album’s collaborators, intimate friends o’mine, in bringing these memories to life. And then there’s the album’s underwater theme. Since, for me, memories are tied to marine imagery as much as moments in which I was feeling like I was underwater. It’s also this ambiguity of water. For example, in the case of Nisida—an island off the coast of Naples, infamous for hosting a youth detention center—I always ponder whether the kids are at least happy to see the sea or, on the contrary, feel even more that they have lost something.
LM How did you work on this album?
CV I wanted to explore a meditative, trance-like state. So actually throughout the album I just play four notes with different synths and arrangements. Then, the album is full of collaborations. Instead of just sending the tracks to the collaborators and waiting for the overdubs we had long discussions of what the album’s themes represented for them. In a three-years recording process, months were spent just discussing with them in order to have meaningful materials. The actual recordings just took two weeks. For example, after talking with Rose (CRÆBABE), she fetched audio recordings she had made in ‘98. The material was still on VHS! When it comes to lyrics, similarly, she used stuff she had written back when living past situations she felt representative of the album. I did not want her to write something today about memories—about “back then”—so I spurred her to find something that could resonate. She found old drafts of lyrics she had sung on her iPhone a long time ago. This was all because for me it was paramount that the album had to express an intimacy. For example, Attilio Novellino sent me these recordings he made playing classical guitar, which were done in a period in which he was experiencing similar melancholic feelings. Crazily enough, I had this track that I wanted to trash because the atmosphere was too heavy. At the time I named tracks by number, so this was “Toys 22”. Among the guitar recordings Attilio sent me there was one, simply named “22”. Usually he names them with long sentences for some reason, but that one was only “22”. So I tried it on the track and it fit perfectly without doing anything. I swear. The track I am talking about is “Horse Woman”. I was startled. I asked him: “Attilio, how is this even possible?” He simply answered: “You really did not understand a thing about music.” Haha. That for me is intimacy.
LM I noted that the album is really dense with sound. It’s a thick layering of things.
CV Yes, one of my aims was to create a dense sound field in which you can nonetheless focus on different sounds and listen to them separately. One of my main inspirations was Tim Hecker [see zweikommasieben #1]. After years of listening to his works, I noticed that he weaves different microsounds in a patchwork. They become an organic continuum. But then you can still recognize single sounds if you really listen carefully. I really wanted this for me—to create this noise tapestry. At the same time all sounds have to become one. Hence, conflicts between sounds has to be underlined, not shunned. I know that one should avoid spectral overlappings for mixing reasons, but I really like this forced superimposition. This is my conception of “ambient” music.
LM Why are you interested in this type of musicality?
CV I guess that it comes from how I listen to the world; as a mesh of superimposing and constant noises. When I stroll outside I generally don’t listen to music. I like to listen to things around me. I love that you can give attention to any little sound. So, I think it’s natural to automatically translate this way of listening into composition. You listen in a certain way, so you reproduce this order of things in music.
LM Are there any recurring themes or interests in your works?
CV The recurring themes for me are the ones of memory and ruins. Any kind of ruins: charred landscapes, sound debris, or abandoned fragments of reminiscences.
LM Finally, I noted that in each of your albums there is an external medium to the “protagonist:” in turns, radio, vocal assistants, and talking animals. It’s like they are transmitters. So what’s the role of media and transmitters for you?
CV I actually always asked myself this and finally found an answer in Golem XIV by Stanisław Lem. The issue of the medium is continuous during the book. The computer always answers: “the role of the transmitter is to transmit”. That’s it. Just to transmit a message.