Storm{O}
Ere

Ere are the pain of detached reminiscences buried in the synapses. Like that time on the beach, with the ocean wind in our hair and the winter sun. A moment trapped in memory, so close, so nagging, so distant.

Ere are the relationships that fade, terrifying ghosts destined to keep us company. Like that polaroid with an ink note on the back, a faded dedication losing its meaning, under the martial regime of time.

Ere are the distances that burn. Like those grooves tracing a path filled with obstacles that feed darkness in its purest form. It is the self-persuasion of being able to illuminate roads already abandoned to the flames of solitude.

Ere are all the cries never screamed. Like those certainties never so close to the precipice. They are the suspended and held back tears. They are the fierce passions. We are in our fragility that thunders in the subconscious.

Ere is the attempt to build something. Like that hug, under the relentless beating of the autumn rain. Endless, enveloping. It is closing the eyes to relive it and cling to the blind hope of having no regrets.

Ere is the confusion of twisted choices from which we ask for answers every day. Like that illusion of having found a balance, masked behind the vacuity of an anonymous stasis.

Ere are the Storm{O}. Like that band that overwhelmed me like a storm this summer at the Vicenza Hardcore Festival. But in 2018 there is even more claustrophobia, there is even more melancholy, there is an exasperation where there is really nothing left to add. It is the stifling point of no return of a post-hardcore stained by the most brutal shades of screamo and noise. The chemical formula to crumble every remnant of innocence is in the cold and sharp melodies. The naivety of having found the solution vanishes in the evolution of the slashes that catapult, one after another, frantically chasing each other, in the desperate awareness that the Ages will devour us slowly and insatiably, like Dante's beasts.

Ere is the best that the Italian hardcore scene can offer. We might say it's the manifesto of our defeat (oops), but it is much more. It is the schizophrenic chill of hardcore stones that make us feel alive, that wake us up, that make us reflect and remind us of a simple lesson: that we will go lightly, like statues of sand running towards the sea.