Filofobia
Entrée du port

THE REVIEW

Anyone who believes it's possible to listen to certain sounds only on the banks of the gloomy Thames or in some trendy club in New York should pay more attention to what's happening in the vast provinces of the Anglo-American Empire. Here, it may happen that a dark hardware warehouse, some basement, amidst a homeowners’ association meeting or another, can become an extraordinary "phonic-alkemical" cauldron where brazen intervals are forged, and ripping harmonizations capable of vibrating the earlobes of the most seasoned music lovers. This is what happened with a little group of Italian guys who, after calling a few friends who played the flute, trombone, trumpet, cello, discovered how instruments we always have at hand, if plucked in a certain way, touched at the right spot, filtered in the proper manner, and combined ad hoc, could speak unusual voices. Add that our guys have frequented some free frequencies rather than Radio Deejay, and that's how Entrée du port, the work of FILOFOBIA, was born.

If the group already by name refers to a precise musical writing (Arab Strap), the album is marked by a great variety of references, including local ones (the album closes with an evocative crashing of waves like Creuza de ma, the voice recalls Manuel Agnelli, the taste of a melodious noise echoes Marlene Kuntz, yet it has much of the Italian tradition.) These elements have the merit of delineating, rather than burdening, a clear compositional identity capable of existing independently from the aforementioned models, asserting itself as autonomous. In reality, talking about Filofobia might prove challenging given the lack of literature on the subject (but see this page), considering the peculiarity of their refined sounds that might recall disparate musical experiences. Yet, the freshness, the brilliance, and the solidity of the entirety can very well be appreciated without fishing for underground and esoteric influences.

Certainly, "37 gradi" with its arpeggios and angelic orchestration recalls Jeff Buckley sung by Afterhours (the vaguely nonsense lyrics are stunning), the diptych "Revo", "Intercity" with its critique of traveling modernity is a mix of acoustic sensations (with very elegant electronic touches like the finest Subsonica and "sonic" riffing) the lysergic "Non è successo niente" complete with percussion and so on, but rather than a review, this is a recommendation of an album to listen to and love. And maybe we can talk about it again afterwards.