In these days at the Mantua Festival a radio program entitled Italian tour in which they asked me to retrace Italian bands and artists according to the regions, as I hypothesized some time ago in this column. A I travel to italy Guido Piovene style that it would be nice for someone to do it on the pitch, sooner or later.
As I compiled the lists, I thought about how increasingly alienating it is to link art forms to the contingency of a nation, to an always distorted idea of a homeland, if not through the use of language. Thus, thinking of the artists and artists I have chosen, from Mai Mai Mai to Cemento Atlantico, from Silvia Tarozzi to Martina Bertoni, I was reminded of the latest novel by Mario Desiati, which takes the concept of spatriates from the Apulian dialect to indicate those who escaped and left the country, but also those who never moved from there but remained uneasy.
More than between regions, which can be conventional fictions as much as nations, I wanted to take a trip between countries, Apennines, ecosystems, bedrooms, basements and streets and even processions, between more condensed atomic units, which often congregate in a center or in a suburb. And to find there so many expatriates, artists who demonstrate how there is life beyond the trap, and how it is possible to tell it through an Italian who stumbles or disappears completely: from the international of the rapper of the conflict Speranza to the language of error of Iosonouncane up to the samplings and to the dematerialization of rites of many years in South and magic by Egisto Macchi.
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