My option is being just a storyteller; my guitar is simply my typewriter.
I don’t want to move or change anything; I just want to
play what I hear even if I hear it by mistake or accident. Just trying to keep my fingers from running faster than my thinking, as
when you drop a remark, or fit a comment into any situation when it would have been much better to remain silent. It’s precisely about
that, about saving stupid comments, the old story that you can tell the best musician from what he doesn’t play…
I don’t also
care much if everything I’ve come to believe in is just a lie.
I don’t want to move or change anything; I like those things
that simply happen, places that get built by the anarchy of time and people, with no organizing brain with a stupidly perfect plan,
so absurdly evident. I get comforted by things that keep a difference with its equals, even if it’s an ugly or just unfitting difference.
I don’t care about the motives that make me do whatever thing I do and, for that reason; I find music that must be explained boring.
I get also bored, and many times also angry, at experiments that need to be dignified by a lot of words. Experiment is just trying
and, over all, admitting that the result is probably going to be a mistake. Experiment, go ahead, modern… these are words that, mainly,
seduce those idiots that assume and pronounce them without any deeper knowledge.
My guitar is a typewriter, not a football field
or a circus arena. I don’t manage words or images well enough. Furthermore, both words and images are tools that “state” too much.
Sounds almost always leave different words and images in the imagination of those who listen, no matter they don’t match at all mine,
it’s even so much better… I don’t like psychodrama either.
My stories are always about places and people. In any place, from
any people, everything else just appears. It’s easy then to tell that they are always stories from nostalgia, nostalgia of the little
that actually came to be and of everything that I imagine could have happened. Everything that happens in the real world is like a
dream that failed, especially when it appears to coincide most with what we once dreamed. This is why it’s so important not to talk,
play, even love much… time turns everything into a comedy.