If Aquile E Cieli (see review) was an album that spent its time gazing toward the horizon, suspended somewhere between earth and sky, then La Caratura Delle Penisole feels rooted in the coastline itself. This is music shaped by tides, memory, and erosion; an album that turns inward rather than upward, exploring hidden coves of the imagination instead of distant vistas. It possesses the same contemplative spirit as its predecessor, but its focus is more intimate, more human, and ultimately more emotionally engaging. At the centre, again, is Salvatore Scuderi — Baco Di Silenzio — whose authorial presence is unmistakable. But here he feels less like an alchemist and more like a cartographer of interior peninsulas, mapping the shifting borders between consciousness and dream, myth and autobiography, solitude and communion. His poetic text, included with the album, reads like a prologue to a metaphysical novella: a professor returning to an island "beyond worlds," encountering aliens disguised as humans, and navigating a landscape where identity resists violence through slyness, colour, and scent. It's not a concept album in the traditional prog sense; it's more like a series of illuminated fragments from a larger cosmology Scuderi is quietly building. Musically, La Caratura Delle Penisole is warmer and more tangible than Aquile E Cieli. The atmospheric qualities remain, but they're balanced by a stronger sense of physical presence. Scuderi's voice sits more prominently within the arrangements, no longer drifting ghost-like through the soundscape but acting as a genuine focal point. Even so, he continues to use his voice as another instrument within the ensemble, delivering lines with a quiet intimacy that often feels like a private conversation overheard from across the room. The expanded roster of musicians contributes greatly to the album's richness. Maurizio Antonini's drumming provides both structure and subtle drama, capable of moving from gentle restraint to ritualistic intensity without ever drawing undue attention to itself. Roberto Pace's bass frequently emerges as a melodic force in its own right, weaving around the vocal lines and adding depth to the arrangements. Meanwhile, Abramo Riti's keyboards provide much of the album's emotional colouring, alternating between delicate textures, understated dissonance, and moments of luminous beauty. The guitar contributions are varied and well-placed. Gianluca Amabili brings a lyrical, almost pastoral tone to Lighea, while Breno Machado's playing on Pioggia Senza Voce and Nelle Mani Un Dipinto adds a more modern, textural edge. The flute and violin parts — especially Davide Bonomo's appearances — lend the record a chamber-prog intimacy that recalls some of the more pastoral corners of classic Italian progressive rock without ever sounding nostalgic or derivative. One of the album's strengths lies in its pacing. Longer, more expansive pieces are balanced by shorter interludes and vignettes, creating a natural ebb and flow throughout the record. The result is an album that breathes organically, allowing ideas to develop fully before retreating and making way for something new. The production is similarly impressive. While it retains the spaciousness that characterised Aquile E Cieli, the sonic landscape feels more grounded. These aren't vast open skies; they're rooms, passageways, shorelines, and hidden gardens. Acoustic instruments are given room to resonate, and the overall mix possesses a warmth and texture that makes the music feel remarkably tactile. If the previous album was about ascent — about rising above the world to observe it from a distance — La Caratura Delle Penisole is about immersion. It asks the listener to inhabit its peninsulas, to walk their borders, to listen to the murmurs beneath their surfaces. It is more narrative, more embodied, and perhaps more emotionally direct, though still wrapped in Scuderi's characteristic ambiguity. With La Caratura Delle Penisole, Baco Di Silenzio continues to carve out a unique space in contemporary progressive music — one where poetry, atmosphere, and subtle ensemble interplay converge into something quietly powerful. It is an album that rewards patience, invites reflection, and lingers long after its final notes fade. Where Aquile E Cieli hovered between silence and flight, La Caratura Delle Penisole stands at the water's edge — listening, remembering, and tracing the contours of the inner world with a steady, compassionate hand. Thoughtful, evocative, and quietly captivating, La Caratura Delle Penisole confirms that Scuderi's creative journey remains every bit as compelling as the destination. ***+ David Carswell Where to buy? |
