Fabrizio Torri's first album for This Plague of Dreaming is a strange world of echoes, of memory, and of golden, shifting light. Torri's music is frequently retro in sound, but it has been filtered through the distortion of the intervening decades, rounding its sharp edges and blurring its outline in warmth and dust. This is music to listen to alone, with headphones and closed eyes and the sun on your face.
I love to use despised words, words like "awkward," "clumsy," "ungainly," "insecure," "uncertain"...
i believe that, under the skin of the world, there are Realities, Entities, perhaps Inner Organs.
And i know that, in the process of looking for them, in the process of becoming conscious of them, i contribute to give them form, to shape them. To shape means to divide. Without this "shaping". i have nothing to handle, nothing to work with. But if i "shape" them too much, then i divide too much, and nothing but dust is what remains. So i have to be insecure, i have to be uncertain, i have to pursue the clumsiness of the saints.
