THE

PASSION

OF

ANDREW AND

MELISSA

The old school Fiat Panda from the glorious late 80's was overeating the asphalt with its 95 km/h. I was sharing the car with the Depech Mode (yes, without the final "e") and their dj equi-pment. 50 minutes before their perfor- mance – 'The Lost Tapes' -  we were still on the highway. The radio was missing, so our soundtrack for that 100 km from Florence to the outskirts of Bologna was composed by the hard rain trying to smash the roof of the car and some weird sounds coming from the engine. "Do you hear this noise?" "which one?" "This one! Did you heard it?" "believe me man, there're no noises". After a couple of musical/theatrical performances that I didn't actually get at all, I moved back to the open bar, finding in a delicious wine one of the best guests. Well, you know, art is dead, like Frank Sinatra or the Roman empire. It's just a matter of taste.  Then the lights went off. And a massive feedback surrounded by low-fi signals started to fill the space around me. A wise sailor look-like guy was moving a dictaphone in front a 15W Marshall, hitting with a sniper accuracy the foot-pedals on the desk. When eve- rybody was still trying to understand what was going to happen, Melissa enters into the 3x3 meter linoleum carpet in front of the console, starting to perform in a middle way between the most beautiful classical ballet and a scene taken from the Ring. They went on for 40 min, never decreasing the fire coming out from the soundsystem and that surreal stage. I started trippin' . And it brought me far. Really far. But I didn't know where. So I decided to ask directly to them, bringing Andrew and Melissa in a toilet - the only warm and not noisy place there - to clarify that.Andrew took a sip of his dark beer and close a bit his eyes, finding The word.

 

"Passion. This was the destination I'd like to bring the audience towards to. Passion is the absolute expressionism. There's no beginning, there's no point, is pure expressionism. Maybe this is coming from my childhood, where this love, this passion, this hate, were stopped from this rigid structure coming from society, politics and economics. The origins of the decease." I moved my eyes to Melissa. I still had in my mind her legs and hairs and arms floating inside an invisible bubble on the linoleum, her overloaded energy flooding out of her body in the shape of shouts. "I had to shout" she said, "the energy I build up inside me was struggling. I can't  go on, I said to myself in some moments." "So I responded with a sound shaped on your pathos" added Andrew ,  "then

she was on the floor hard breathing and I was a bit worried. When she stand up on her feet it was a relief". She laugh. He laugh. I look to them fascinated.

I've met several artists working shoulder to shoulder, sharing not only the stage but also part of their lives. But not so often I've seen such a so deep connection that you can feel from their performances, words, sights. If this is the Passion they're speaking about, I wonder to come back there soon.

​

Where/ Bologna, Italy 2011

Author/ Edoardo Ulisse

​

​