Let me make this not so “pious” illusion: if there is a reason to rejoice in having Vatican City in the capital of our tired and arid Italy, it is that without its oppressive and historical interference, maybe we would never have had Father Murphy.

I met them in 2003, offsprings of a morbid and dark avant-psychedelia with Madcap Collective, with “No Room For The Weak” via Boring Machines, some time later; the concept of harassment by certain aspects of Catholicism has nothing to do (fortunately) with the tragic, intolerable and ghastly facts magisterially represented in the film-investigation “The Spotlight Case” by Tom McCarthy. Here, the Catholic Doom takes the rare shapes and the ghostly presence of obsessive elements, like the sound of the bells whose vibrations often burst into daily life without grace, without the delicacy that spiritual calls should have. It is so far from the soul’s silence, from spiritual awareness.

RISING. A Requiem for Father Murphy” is being released with Avant Records, an accurate gathering of the sensations that one feels. It is the final mass, the last speech of the rites which does no longer belong to the realm of the living, which at the very moment in which it is born, dies.

The sound is that thin creak, that metallic rubbing inside the knick-knacks that Federico Zanatta and Chiara Lee have always carried with them as some oppressive baggage of their ghostly orchestrations.

The voices are choral secular prayers, singing to our very souls. Abandoned amusement parks, empty factories, a cathedral in the desert are all concepts that find a place in the dark world of Father Murphy. We feel like we are walking in the locations, dominated by the “perturbation” of any story taken from Thomas Ligotti’s Teatro del Grottesco.

It however looks like, despite this caravanserai of “dark matter” to cloud the day, there is a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, a feeling inherent in the very title of this conclusive work; the possibility that the duo has developed the idea of a necessary yet theatrical conclusion – while they saw the spark of a future otherworldly flame, possible in a foreseeable future.

This is not the right moment for words of hope though. This is the moment for pain for the loss of an artistic experience with a well-deserved ontological end  in this dimension made of empty forms of existence – with all the irreverent irony of the case to preserve everything from bad taste. After all, as the young priest in the famous Robert Bresson film said: “..all is grace”.


Nando Dorelassi


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