From Sanremo to Times Square, from San Fili to Europe and finally to Cosenzato close his “year of the white boar”: that of the definitive turn from the niche to the signature pop of big numbers; of popular success, of Sanremoof the new album, of nightsof love refreshed, leavened well, then nibbled because things must be enjoyed, not devoured.
Dario Brunori he is the Calabrian of the year, even if his voice is no longer restricted to the regional border: a circular dimension, almost escherianawhere you feel like you’re going, but then you go nowhere. With each pass of the comet, someone manages to break the mirror and see that on the other side there is a boundless world, in which it matters little whether you are from Cosenza, Reggio or Catanzaro; it only matters that you are good. And that you are everywhere, net of parochialism which is like cholesterol: there is the good one and the unhealthy one.
This New Year’s Eve Brunori will play and sing in Cosenza (and his fee will be donated to five associations active in the social sector)the city he has loved and lived in since, years ago, he wandered around with a pashmina around his neck, having a beer with friends at the counter of an underground club that no longer exists, dreaming of making music the path less traveled whitmaniano which leads into the woods in the right direction if you know how to be stubborn. But punishment is a necessary condition for change. So Brunori, for everyone only Dario (even for those who met him only once, by chance), tried first-hand and told everyone what it means to say truth and defeat the fear that blocks his legs: he grabbed the string of a kite with the naivety of children who still think they can fly. And it worked.
Il brunoriarismit is an authorial posture, an attitude, a petrous resistance that rewards the slow, simple life, without worries, without hyperbole, excesses, abysses: a nominal derivative of backward bizarreness, which rewards the long and placid wave and not the pointed crest; this unusual trend, in the valley of singers, of authors, of those who make art at all costs even without being part of it, who cannot survive without noise. AND brunorian to be lazy, slow, lingering yes, but to resolve themselves in the meantime; is iget old and feel a little bad about it; it’s not inventing stories to mask the doubt, but actually telling it, because then perhaps – with so much light – the shadow is reduced.
There is the thread of generational growth, anything but painless, woven into his songs: it’s a painful thread and almost feels like surrender, if it weren’t for the upbeat push that then arrives like a wake-up call. Brunorian it is also being tired but not making mistakes in speaking; being light-hearted, not taking yourself seriously in front of everyone; give a little of the fortune received to others, share it to dine together, because if you are alone it’s not worth anything. It’s Brunorian to have the same group, the same friends, historical collaborators with whom you can understand each other: because stories must be brought out when they decide to hide well.
Brunori always draws from the personal to write: when he paints i childhood afternoons in Cosenzawhen he confesses one paternity which turns one’s head upside down, before life which is always in telluric movement, despite the fact that fame gives false attestation of a level below which one will never descend.
It was 2003. After University a Siena the singer-songwriter earns something by being a valet and in the meantime composes music for cartoons on private TV channels. His calm character, tending towards indolence, leads him to plan, yes, but with lightheartedness: to caress the idea of music, but without commitment. The right distance from things, from all things, is a philosophy that fits him like a glove. Art yes, but then you think about it.
He said it Lennon that man makes plans and meanwhile God laughs. His father, who emigrated in reverse from North to South, disappears suddenly leaving him a brick company to run from which Brunori had fled to remain in his bubble of desires. He returns home, but does not extinguish the spark that had already ignited. He composes at night, mostly. He writes about what he knows: feelings, images, yellowed photographs that restore the beauty of imperfections. It’s his personal one researchhis lost ark to be found in the mountain.
The first album, Vol. 1enters the indie scene in a disruptive way. He tows it “Guardia ’82”a Polaroid ballad of a summer that returns scented from the re-elaboration of memory: there is the orange Super Santos, the bonfire on the beach where what is playing never picks up, the confused euphoria of pre-adolescence. The puck wins the Ciampi Award for best debut and Brunori Il Tenco as best debut author. With the band – Simona Marrazzo, Dario Della Rossa, Mirko Onofrio and Massimo Palermo – starts touring Italy. Brunori Sas is born.
Entrepreneurial genetics brings Brunori to think about creating an autonomous supply chain: production, communication, etiquette. He is born Picicca Discs. It arrives in 2011 Vol. 2, in 2014 The Camino de Santiago by taxi. The tours become marathons: smoky clubs, provincial clubs, thousands of kilometers traveled with the van full of speakers and instruments. There are local festivals, small festivals, the dates multiply. Everything is a matter of composition, vision.
In 2017 At home everything is fine marks the first real leap into the mainstream. His skills as an entertainer were noticed and launched on national TV. It is a creative and consensus crescendo. Something is missing, something that stands between his talent and large-scale recognition. Sanremo? There’s no talking about it. In interviews he scoffs: it’s not the time – he says -, my friends would make fun of me; it’s not for me. We will see.
He, who is not a vagabond at heart, instead of transferring the entire Sas to the nerve center of business, music and cinema, remains where he is, in Calabria, and actually does more. He takes refuge in San Fili, a town perched overlooking the valley from above, which seems to climb up to understand how to stay in balance. Perhaps that place is a metaphor, the reflection of a condition: learning to balance, placing stones on top of each other without letting them fall, composing suiseki to transform even the most irregular rocks into something harmonious. The essence of creativity.
There in San Fili he built his house, he felt at home there. And Cip was born, a conciliatory, more serene album, in which a sort of lightness returns to the verses which in previous albums – in which the time that passed, the lost opportunities, the no longer green age, were the main themes – appeared almost veiled.
The Brunori family expands and arrives Fiammetta and with her Baby Cip! a childish reworking of some songs from the album Cip! with lighter arrangements, choirs, playful rhythms. All proceeds from sales are donated to neonatal department of the Annunziata hospital in Cosenza where Fiammetta was born.
Three years later, observing a tree in the silence of his home, Brunori realizes that that walnut tree – suffering, almost tired – has force suddenly. It’s a sign. He starts writing again. From that return something powerful is born, capable of pushing him beyond the last remaining barrier. AtAriston he arrives smiling, guitar around his neck, without armour. He sings about himself, about the love for his daughter, and also about that darkness that comes on the day he dies. It’s a success.
With Sanremo another part of his story begins for Brunori, one in which the gravity of success acts as a counterweight to the certainty that by looking carefully, searching deep down, in an infinite attic of fresh and ancient memories, inspiration always finds its way, like a draft in an old house.
The weight of success is an important mass, it is an energy that bends space and time and attracts towards a center full of promises. But in that center someone thought of planting a sturdy and strong tree. It’s nut time. This is the news.
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