{"id":1424,"date":"2026-10-01T08:22:55","date_gmt":"2026-10-01T08:22:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ilrickyverso.it\/?p=1424"},"modified":"2026-10-01T08:32:22","modified_gmt":"2026-10-01T08:32:22","slug":"concertino-per-distorsore-e-orchestra-ep","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ilrickyverso.it\/en\/concertino-per-distorsore-e-orchestra-ep\/","title":{"rendered":"Concertino for Distortion Guitar and Orchestra: My Birthday Gift"},"content":{"rendered":"

On September 29th I have a little habit, a ritual that over time has become a promise to myself. That day, something of me comes out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I use "mine" in the most stubborn sense of the word. A music I've been carrying around inside me for months, playing in my head while I'm driving, while I'm answering emails, while I pretend to listen to someone on the phone. A music that at a certain point asks to be released, and that I, at least once a year, let out without asking for my ID.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Last year it was Symphonic Reverie<\/a>: eight minutes and thirty-two seconds of progressive metal, played alongside Michiko Funakoshi, the drummer's beast. I still remember the feeling of that day: releasing a suite over eight minutes long in the era of two-and-a-half-minute songs seemed like a small act of disobedience. I loved it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This year I decided to make things worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How the Concertino was born<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

It all started with a title, which is a dangerous way to start things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Concertino for Distortion Guitar and Orchestra.<\/em> I found it stuck in my head like that, already complete, with that slightly ridiculous solemnity of opera program notes. And it made me laugh. Then it made me think. Then it kept me awake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because the concertino, in the classical tradition, is a small and graceful thing: a soloist who dialogues with the orchestra, in a shorter and lighter form than the actual concerto. Red velvet music and composed applause. And I, instead, imagined the rudest soloist I know: the distortion pedal. That pedal that takes a clean sound and dirties it, saturates it, makes it rough as sandpaper. For decades, it was the symbol of everything that "serious music" looked down on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Putting that pedal in the center of the stage, with the orchestra around it, was too beautiful an image to leave it there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is how a five-song mini-album was born, an EP if you like, which I conceived from the start as a work in five movements. The music is mine. The mixing is by Michal Dijkstra, and we co-produced it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Michal, or finding someone as crazy as you<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

I have to say a few words about Michal, because without him this album would have remained a fun idea to talk about at dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Michal is Dutch and a production genius. Those who follow the blog already know him as a keyboard player for 80 Hundred Miles<\/a>, the band spread across five countries who have never been in the same room together. Working with him means having someone by your side who, when faced with a crazy idea, instead of holding you back, asks: "What if we took it even further?"\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are collaborations where you spend your time defending your choices. With Michal, the opposite happened: I found myself saying, "Maybe we're exaggerating," and he replied that that was precisely the point. The files traveled between Veneto and the Netherlands, came back transformed, and each time there was a new detail that made me smile. It's rare to meet someone who immediately understands what you're getting at when you can't even explain it well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Five titles, five confessions<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Anyone who's studied music knows that the classical tempo markings\u2014Allegro, Adagio, Largo\u2014are precise instructions for the player: they tell him how fast to play and with what character. I took them and twisted them into little self-portraits. Rereading the titles now, I realize they reveal more about me than I had anticipated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I. Intrusion: Allegro with Grimaldello.<\/strong> That's how I got into classical music: through the window, at night, with burglary tools. No one ever gave me an official invitation to that room, and at a certain point I stopped waiting for one. The joy is there, the joy of someone who knows they're somewhere they shouldn't be and enjoys it anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

II. Joke: Quick with Sberleffo.<\/strong> The scherzo is a true classical form, created to lighten up symphonies, and the name itself is an invitation to play. I added the tongue-tie. It's the piece about the little boy making faces at the statues of great composers in the theater foyer, and that little boy, evidently, never fully grew up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

III. Broad Oppressive with Fleeting Relief.<\/strong> Here, irony gives way to something else. I know well that weight that presses on your chest and takes away your breath, and I also know those moments of respite that come suddenly and go away too soon. The pun on "fugace," which conceals the contrapuntal fugue, is intentional. I liked the idea that even relief, in order to escape, needed a musical form.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

IV. Adagio Incalzante with Rage and Malice.<\/strong> An adagio is slow by definition, a fast pace pushes you forward: together, they form an oxymoron that shouldn't work on paper. Yet it's the most honest description I know of a certain adult anger, the kind you learn to keep in check, that creeps up slowly and yet hurries you along. Malice is the crooked smile with which, in the end, you try to make peace with all this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

V. Rond\u00f2: Allegro Aperto with Sighs and Pangs.<\/strong> The rondo is the form of return: a theme that reappears cyclically, alternating with different episodes. It seemed to me the right way to close, with a circle deliberately left open. Inside are sighs and breathlessness, the kind that lingers after running against the wind for four movements. It's the finale of someone who reaches the top of the climb out of breath and decides to laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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