A meeting, sonic psycho-vocational excoriations.
The structure is labyrinthine and the creation is not finalised thereto.
What's inside Motopolkablacksamba? Is it an idea? Many ideas. Is it
a space? Yes, from Mercury to Saturn, and beyond. It'd be enough,
but it's more a history of garages and cardboard boxes, polka, sweat,
copper and silicon.
We've been involved and enveloped by a total chaos of sonourifical
atoms, cloaked with stars and layers which form this project once
cut up. From a strictly musical point of view, we have no directions
or ambitions and least of all the urge to create: we are just transcribers
of what's revolving around us.
Drums and saxes , guitars and synths, theremins and basses say that
is a panoramic astro-phony, that's right. Sometimes celestial, sometimes
gloomy and crooked, well, who are the Motopolkablacksamba?
Andrea is busy with the food-mixer, slashing skins and stroking metal
rings, delicate and wise, he knows how to administer violence and
sweetness, fast and bulbous as ever.
Alberto deals with the oscillators of his cybernetic paraphernalia,
while drawing asymmetrical turns with improbable guitars. He's got
the genius and the consciousness of a reverse gear.
Joseph, guitar-sound-magic-box-babe, with blues attacks, relentless
and continuous, proceeds without a break emitting echoes from who
knows what lands.
Marco has style. He's an ad-lib professional, a sea-wolf, he goes
around the world absorbing remote emotions and amplifying them with
the bell of his sax.
Roberto, Alessio and Willy, the alternate bass-playing triad, smoothen
the way to the crooked wheels of this strange vehicle. Sometimes we
meet and say hello. It's always a pleasure to meet somebody, in these