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Linea di Confine is the first album by the musician Domenico Pompilio.
Twelve tracks with a clear singer-songwriter imprint, blending the traditional style of classic songwriters with pop rock arrangements.
Linea di confine represents a passage between past and present, an awareness, the realization of having crossed the threshold, to run, without second thoughts, towards the next phase. It is an inner journey, deep and painful, yet at the same time victorious, which catapults the listener into an introspective world where it is difficult not to empathize.
Each track on the album outlines a specific point in the musician's growth journey, a phase, a memory, an indelible sensation.
The lyrics are refined, sometimes cryptic, but always careful and never left to chance. Every word is weighed, savored, lived. It is a step towards the next phase.
The sounds are varied. It is interesting to find within the same album the track with just voice and piano or just voice and guitar, alongside a rock ballad or a folk piece. The variety of styles, always faithful to a precise line, makes the listening experience never boring or monotonous.
In about half of the album's tracks, the presence of the flute is indispensable, an instrument very dear to the singer-songwriter as an integral part of his artistic and professional formation. The sound of the flute manages to gently and almost magically impart poetic and ethereal nuances to the structure of the tracks. The instrument tiptoes in, to enchant the listener and gently exit the listening experience.
Admirable is the singer-songwriter's courage to remain true to his musical background. In a scene dominated by trap and loud pop, Pompilio had the courage to dare with a calm, whispered style that, perhaps, might risk being considered anachronistic. And perhaps this is precisely the album's strength. The coherence, the songwriter's will to follow his path, regardless of a landscape distant from himself. The album, in this perspective, is spontaneous, genuine, true, and therefore, powerful.
It doesn't shout, it whispers, it doesn't strike, it caresses.
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