interview
Serpe in seno
You come from the suburbs of
Treviso and you love the heavy,
dirty and bad sounds a lot. Can
you tell something else about
Serpe in Seno?
We have no tattoos. We’re not
against it, maybe we do not need
tattoos. We are more or less simple
people, quite opposed among us
in everything. We do not listen to
the same music and when we do
not play we do different things. We
laugh. It happens
to be difficult to
agree, it comes down to compro-
mise. We talk. Three is a number
that allows a fast majority, demo-
cracy is in force, so it is easier to
shake off responsibilities. We are
conspiring. The majority never re-
aches unanimity, unanimous vote?
Wrong choice. End of the game.
Insert a coin. We have no tattoos.
I read from the presentation
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of your record: “the live activi-
ty begins after several months
of lysergic experimentation on
sounds on rhythms and vibra-
tions, and their effect on the hu-
man body”. What effects does
your music have on your body?
We’re testing some people, gui-
nea pigs for experiments, but it’s
still early to talk about sure resul-
ts. Some tests have been made in
vain on chimpanzees coming from
Cameroon and Nigeria, where the
music already had it, but here they
prefer Netflix. For better results,
perhaps the question should be
asked to those who have listened
to the record, however, on us that
we do it, well, it leaves us pleasantly
tired. We expel toxins. The whist-
le in the ears fades over the night.
The voice and the blisters heal. It’s
a workout like any other. It keeps a
strand of electricity in the body.
I would like to know something
more about the genesis of “La
Ballata del Vile”
La ballata del vile, first “the ballad
of the innkeeper
and the vile” and the
draft “song of the drun-
kard”, is a song imbued
with wine up to various
meanings. It is a blurred path in
the excess of alcohol. Shoulder to
shoulder with the wall. It is wande-
ring aimlessly or clock from a sign
on to another, joking with those
you like, shouting against those you
do not like. In most of the cases,
the same people. The ballad is to
laugh at someone who vomits. And
he pisses in an alley or they piss on
him. It is the awareness of cursing
the morning that follows, and the
comfort of finding the same sto-
ol, sitting there, and ordering the
first round with a cheeky smile.
The ballad is rolling and balance
residue. It is the moment of clarity
at four in the morning. The ballad
is the time you need. We live in a
country cultivated in mists and vi-
neyards where tradition is culture.
Did you expect something else?
Who, me? No.
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