Where Music is Made of Light

"The eclectic and gifted composer and musician Oreobambo has recently released Amor. This last work, after Lymantria, Scintillans, Solo Piano volumes 1 and 2, leaves the purely musical path of the previous works to venture into the rarely frequented territory at the intersection between music and poetry. The ten musical pieces of Amor accompany several poems in Roman dialect, charmingly read and interpreted by Oreobambo himself. The music of the classical orchestra seems replete and enjoyable, with those touches of pure originality and mastery with which this author has enchanted us in the past. The piano enraptures and seduces.

Just as globalization has, in a few years, wiped out Burmese women who traditionally lengthened their necks using brass rings and those populations of tropical Africa that deformed their mouthes with labial discs, television and media in general have flattened the heterogeneity of languages and, above all, have erased the profound consciousness that nurtured them, leaving them empty and often vulgar.
The poetry and sonnets written in Roman dialect from the beginning of the Eighteenth century to the first half of the last century show a surprising uniformity of spirit that is independent of the versatility and diversity of their authors.
The poems of the poorer class by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli (1791), those of the world of the lower bourgeois of Carlo Alberto Salustri (1871) and the aristocratic poems of Princess Egle Ruspoli (1902) elongate with elegance and irony towards a single vanishing point at the outer boundary thanks to the magical acoustic vibration created by Oreobambo. Time stretches and the effect is that of being transported, cradled in a sonorous voyage of awareness and consciousness that leaves no space for doubt or uncertainties. A feeling of sweeping emotion flows from the depths.
There is no more entertainment, no more show, no artist, no author. It’s an intimate and private phenomenon, instinctive and natural, more akin to what happens on starry nights when wolves howl at the moon, creating a luminous bridge between the pack and the universe.
Oreobambo is without background noise, suspended in the void awaiting harmonic waves at large to ride on. And the universe mysteriously answers: insects, tortoises, volcanos, stars. In Oreobambo’s music there can be felt so many silent natural presences that pass through sound, thronging and peeping in with curiosity to fill that void. An enchantment so delicate that a simple thought or doubt is enough to rupture it because it’s just a dream.

Amor is an album overflowing with feeling, hope, and burning passion. The language of the people that lived for twenty-eight centuries in the wearing shadow of the Eternal City succeeds in evoking the Spirit of Man, who appears unexpected at the rendez-vous and sweetly caresses the boundary of this life of ours, as fleeting as the love song of a cicada, and flies away to freedom."

Luisa Marcuse
April 2000