Escaping Sugar Cages: LIVREA

In the Italian music scene, where tradition and innovation often intertwine (though not everyone manages to add that fresh and avant-garde twist), LIVREA stands out as one of the most captivating and unique voices.

Born in the rainy autumn of 2000, the singer-songwriter and musician has managed to create a sound universe that skillfully blends jazz, psychedelic sounds, and the deep lyricism of Italian poetry. Her stage name, LIVREA, evokes powerful and symbolic images, including those of armor, garments, and metamorphoses, representing her constant artistic and personal evolution. Her music is an intimate and poetic search, a sort of journey into the deepest tunnels of the soul, which leads the listener into a mysterious world inhabited by angels, saints, mythological creatures, and children of the future. With her debut album Il canto del villaggio, LIVREA gave tangible form to this vision. Her ability to blend dreamlike melodies with powerful lyrics full of meaning won over both the public and critics.

Today, LIVREA is ready to embark on a new chapter in her career, taking a step that sees her collaborating with producer Francesco Ambrosini (Duck Chagall), with whom she is creating an even more organic, visceral, rhythmic, and esoteric sound. The guiding thread of every step she takes? Her ability to weave poetry and music together.

We had the chance to chat with the artist, who guided us through her musical world, telling us about her artistic journey, the themes that inspire her, and her evolution.

LIVREA portrayed by Noemi Trazzi - Courtesy of Press Office CROMOSOMIPRESS © All rights belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Your name, "Livrea", is a metamorphosis. Is there a part of you that resists and remains intact despite all the mutations? Or is the true constant the transformation itself?

"I believe that transformation doesn’t have to be a rule; sometimes it’s nice to procrastinate and bask in the form we feel comfortable in. Metamorphosis doesn’t imply abandoning a form but adapting to a new outfit, and if that’s the case, yes, I’ve changed clothes and I’ll change many more. I hope curiosity always survives, the fascination with research, and the sincere desire to tell what surrounds me through the language that represents me the most".

The demon in your head that screams “Falli fuori” - is it really an enemy, or is it sometimes just the guardian of an energy you wouldn’t know where else to place? Do you and your demons dance together, or are you the one trying to turn off the music?

"I dance with my demons, I go out drinking with them, I dream with them, and I even go to the movies! Long live them. And then, objectively, if there weren’t demons, feelings like the urge for revenge, the desire to reclaim everything that the masculine narrative of history has suffocated, wouldn’t exist. Demons have always been friends of women like me".

Sugar cages are more dangerous than iron ones because they don’t look like cages - on the contrary, they are a sweet illusion.

"The sweetest and most poisonous cage I had to recognize was probably a failed love story, alas. It may be a cliché, but when you discover betrayals, you end up writing songs that are a delight. (Note to my current boyfriend: don’t worry about my career, I’ll manage even without you cheating). I’ve always been fascinated by Sofia Coppola's aesthetic in her movie Marie Antoinette, how she managed to tell the sugar cage story among pastel-colored fabrics and perfect sunrises. I often wonder if the protagonist was a conscious cog in the system or if, at times, she felt like a bird in a cage".

Woman, musician, goddess, muse. In your imagination and in your artistic path, is patriarchy a castle to be stormed or a labyrinth to be deserted?

"A system to sabotage! Always and anyway, without too much romance or thrown myths, but especially without useless renunciations or barren imaginations. I claim the possibility to express myself by reclaiming stories already written and a distinctly feminine sensitivity. Like a magpie, I steal what shines in my eyes, I guard other people’s treasures to decorate my present, I exist, and I don’t hide".

Il canto del villaggio was a nocturnal whisper, while “Falli fuori is, on the contrary, a scream. The skilled use of words, increasingly infused with meaning, symbolizes evolution and the continuous search for elements that can help the artist grow.

"The first track of Diario di scavo, my new album out in May, starts with a series of extremely visceral sounds; they seem like the reproduction of a body writhing in pain or pleasure, depending on the point of view. The sound I’ve sought is born from ambiguity and the pleasure of discovery, it transforms".

You’ve described the album as a journey through the tunnels of the soul, but traveling doesn’t necessarily mean enjoying a smooth path. Have you ever found a secret passage that surprised you?

"I would say more than one. Perhaps the most unexpected was the day Duck Chagall (the producer with whom I decided to build this work) asked me to play a crash cymbal with a cello bow. The metallic sound transformed into an ensemble of voices; it was magical, an unexpected and very emotional scenario opened up".

LIVREA’s sound is constantly in balance between tension and release, between hypnosis and awakening. It’s as if the artist gently tries to dig first into consciences and then brutally shake them, creating a connection with reality - which doesn’t necessarily have to be the same or shared.

"I like to think that people can immerse themselves completely in the music, listening to my voice and the sound of the songs. I want to create the effect one experiences during those vivid dreams, which feel almost more concrete than some blurry moments belonging to the real world".

Once sung, do the words still carry the same weight they had inside you, or do they lighten – as if you let them go after holding your breath for a long time? Have you ever felt out of place in your own music - writing something and then no longer recognizing yourself in those words?

"I’m always very critical of what I write. Sometimes I think about the words of a phrase for days, constantly resonating in my head while I work, drive, or before falling asleep. This happens especially with intro or outro tracks of a work, for me, they are songs that bear responsibility in relation to what I want to tell. There are songs that always affect me (especially during concerts), it feels like they can open time portals that connect me to the people listening".