Post Nebbia are one of the bands of the underground scene that has been talked about the most in recent years. Having reached their fourth album, the group led by Carlo Corbellini from Padua, born in 1999, is giving important signs of maturity: in terms of sound, which in the new Black track it partially distances itself from the atmosphere dreamy of his previous works, favoring a rougher and more angular approach; in terms of cohesion, because this album was born, conceived and created with the aim of being enhanced live; at the level of awareness of oneself in the world, because for the twenty-five-year-old Corbellini, who had already demonstrated a certain propensity for in-depth analysis and reflection, the moment of awareness regarding the possibility or otherwise of having hopes has arrived compared to the world. In other words: the end of youth, which in this crazy age is a fairly traumatic experience.
We reached them in the Padua headquarters of Dischi Sotterranei, where Post Nebbia recorded a live session with the songs from the new work, and we spoke with Carlo Corbellini about Black trackof the world and of life.
Black Track it seems crossed by a strong sense of pessimism.
I think it's a reflection of how I see the world right now. I feel a pessimism that pervades everything and prevents me from being calm or feeling okay. I had moments when I felt bad inside, but on the outside I was excited, perhaps taken by the enthusiasm of the concerts and projects. Now, however, I feel better inside, but what's outside doesn't excite me much. Not so much for musical reasons, but because my ideal of a happy life seems linked to an era that has deteriorated, that no longer exists. This album was born from that feeling: it's as if the world were a rotten fruit, with the good corner getting smaller and smaller. And there are more and more people trying to get there. We seem to live in a time where screwing others has become the only way to survive dwindling resources.
You said that playing live music makes you feel like you're on a trip to the ruins. What do you mean?
I often talk to people who are 20 or 30 years older than me who tell me about a music scene that no longer exists: incredible clubs, a ferment that I have only glimpsed. I lived through the tail end of that period: enough time to understand what was there, but too late to fully enjoy it. Now it seems like everything is shrinking. If in one year you do 20 dates, the following year you do ten, then five, then zero. The general feeling is that the world behind live music is disappearing, as if the foundations were missing.
Is this sense of decline just about music or something broader?
The world has deteriorated, but I don't think due to a specific event. I speak for those of my age: we lived through the Twin Towers, the 2008 crisis, Covid, the end of the peaceful balance of the 1990s. It's an accumulation. It is not an awareness that comes suddenly, but slowly: you realize that you are experiencing a descent. As you grow up, you also lose the enthusiasm you had when you were younger. A metaphor that strikes me is that of skiing on artificial snow, which returns in the album: man tries to recreate lost conditions in absurd ways, like when during the drought in my mountains someone decided to draw from emergency water basins in order to shoot snow on the slopes. For me it is a powerful image of how we react to the decay of well-being.
You talked about a lack of perspective. Does this influence your work?
Yes, because today making plans almost seems like a sure way to encounter disappointment. I think the only approach is this sort of romanticism, almost titanism, where you do something that works, people appreciate you and you feel like you're fighting your own little pointless war. Being an alternative band in Italy is already a strange choice in itself, because the world seems to be going in another direction.
At this point there are those who would tell you to look for happiness in the little everyday things.
I don't think that human beings are made to appreciate little things. You need a goal to fight for, something big. It's not enough for me to get up at half past eight to go to the bar to drink cappuccino and think that those are the joys of life. I never believed that everyday life could be enough. In the history of humanity it is evident: we would not build gigantic churches or we would not die in war for something we consider superior if we did not more or less consciously desire to be large enough to cheat death through these stratagems that should prolong our presence beyond the duration of our life. In general, however, I think that in our era, for all these reasons, it is difficult to find a valid reason to get out of bed, even though, at least in the West, well-being is still at very high levels.
Not even music, so what do you continue to do? Why?
Let's say that music allows me to take something huge and chaotic and insert it into a universe where everything makes sense. It's a bit like modeling: the world is devastating, full of voids and shit, but art and creativity give you a way to resist by building something meaningful.
Let's talk about style. The irony, compared to previous records, seems less and less present. Is it a choice?
Yes. In the records I like I see that we are moving away from this way of dealing with things. I think of Geordie Greep: in many interviews he said that if he had made his music in a detached and cool way, it wouldn't have made sense. Irony is very generational. Millennials and Generation Z are victims of an epidemic of sarcasm which in the long run prevents them from expressing true emotions: I would like to go further and I think it is important to do so.
How did you get into music?
I was lucky enough to have passionate parents and an older brother who passed me some music. As a kid, I saw a family friend's son who had a band and played solos. It came naturally to me. I never had any doubts: it was my path.
Do you feel like you're part of a music scene today?
More than a scene, I would say that there is a network. It's spread across different cities, but it's something I feel a part of. This is important, because in general the American approach to music is increasingly in vogue man on a mission which honestly doesn't belong to me. I feel like I'm in a community, where people influence each other, and I'm very pleased to feel that way.
The record has a more direct sound than Entropy Padrepio. How come?
I wanted a record designed for live, so that the live was an integral part of the process and not a problem to be solved later. Writing taking into account the performance on stage changes everything: we worked collaboratively right from the start, carrying out the studio and rehearsal room in parallel.
Since you started you have always been associated with the province. Is this thing too tight for you?
No, I realize that artists are first and foremost filters, and not sources: the context around them or in which they grow is much bigger than them, so I think it's inevitable that there is a bit of Po Valley desolation in our music .
