Love In Elevator
Il Giorno Dell'Assenza

THE REVIEW

Love in Elevator: Act III.

With a renewed line-up, no longer female-majority, Love in Elevator returns with "Il Giorno Dell'Assenza", a complex album with various surprises. An analog sound, to begin with, that feels like a rare and precious stone. Love in Elevator has been quite brave, diving into the wonderful world of tapes and tubes at a time when powerful and perfect digital productions reign supreme. They've made it through, I must admit, not without some flaws. But, you know, flaws aren't always defects, and in this album, they indeed add value and uniqueness.

"Camilla's Theme", a rarefied and melancholic track, opens the door to the sonic substance of the title track "Il Giorno dell'Assenza", the magnificent "Dune", and the dreamy declaration of love and death in "Mata Hari". With this initial trio, the band lays its cards on the table and seems determined to showcase a new and strong identity. Singing in Italian over intricate and alternative rock structures is not easy, it's often a trap with no escape, yet Anna Carazzai (vocals and guitar, but also piano and bass on some tracks) shows she can write original lyrics and gains personality and communication ability over singing in English. The harmonies are beautiful, dreamlike, and sensual, dangerous sirens: they enchant, then bring death. "Il Sesso delle Ciliegie", the artistic peak of the album, is a piece where all the instruments unfold in a claustrophobic sonic mantra with a high emotional rate, reminding us that in this world, it's useless to "insist," our human condition won't change, the only certainty is that we are "alive and alone," and the two constants often don't agree.

Next follow "Mancubus" and "I Cieli di Munch": stoner and noise, iron and fire, a free fall into the void of our obsessions. In "Consigli d'un Bruco" it's as if we're witnessing the Melvins dealing with a riddle or crossword. Maybe a phone conversation with a disturbed line. Or simply a quiz that was never solved. Perhaps the concluding "Honey", an oblique and touching ballad, is the real day of absence: absence as abandonment. The circle closes with a trembling voice.

A rich, complex, and highly sensitive album, a bit messy if you will, at times disorienting, but undoubtedly leaves a mark.