A deserted road, an "ancient" landscape, and suddenly, a scent so intense it makes him get out of the car and take a deep breath, "as if I were in a perfume shop." If he could write a song about his solo journey through Sardinia, from Cagliari to La Maddalena, Giuseppe Peveri, aka Dente, 50 years old, with nine albums and the voice of a young boy, would perhaps start with this image etched in his memory. This year, the singer-songwriter from Fidenza, who owes his stage name to the nickname given to him by an uncle, will return to visit the west coast, but first he'll stop at the "Sanga Book Fest in San Gavino Monreale," the festival running from today to Sunday featuring over 20 guests, including books, music, and performances. Dente will be featured this evening at 10 pm, in conversation with artistic director Nicola Muscas, for an hour dedicated to singer-songwriters, novels, and the universe. A date tailored to one of the protagonists of the first season of Italian indie music, who, at a specific moment in his life, found his creative spark in words.
After a high school diploma in electronics, a degree in DAMS (University of Music and Performing Arts) and a job as a warehouse worker, when did you start writing?
"At 20, I started playing the guitar, then composing my first songs. I have no artistic training; I'm completely self-taught: let's say I'm a curious person who discovered, one day, the ability to express myself in a different way."
That different approach that 20 years ago led to one of the first albums of the independent singer-songwriter scene, “Anice in bocca”: 300 copies, sold only at concerts and without distribution.
"It was the wooden age of indie, a genre that would have its golden age ten years later. Today, everything has changed: Italian songwriting has atrophied."
In what sense?
We're perpetually distracted. A type of music is developing that must be captivating within the first few seconds. Instrumental introductions, for example, are a distant memory now. In my opinion, this undermines critical thinking, and it's not easy for those who write pieces that require a certain level of attention. It's like tackling a new book: you can't immediately decide if you like it; you have to spend weeks on it.
What drives you to continue writing then?
"The urgency. I still feel the need to say something to myself or someone, to free myself of a burden. I continue to experience music as a therapeutic experience."
“Santa tenerezza” is the title of his latest album.
"For me, it's a way of seeing and experiencing things that I don't want to abandon. It may be out of fashion in this age of machismo, but I've never been in my time, so I'm comfortable with it."
The leitmotif of the San Gavino festival will be lightness: what does it mean to you?
"I love irony, self-irony, and I like to say things that aren't lighthearted in a light-hearted way. I haven't invented anything; I'm thinking, for example, of Franco Battiato's masked light-heartedness. It's an exercise that amuses me, even if it smacks of deception."
What memories do you have of your first trip to Sardinia?
It was 2007, and I was amazed by its almost alien nature, and it almost shocked me. Miles and miles of road without seeing any kind of settlement. It was beautiful, yet very strange for me, coming from Emilia-Romagna, where in my homeland there's something on every meter, even just a warehouse. Five years ago, I was there alone in October, passing through the east coast. I remember enchanting beaches, settings suspended in time. And at a certain point, there was something like a mountain, immersed in a wonderful scent. I stopped just to breathe; I felt like I was in a perfumery. This year, I'll visit the west coast, and again, strictly out of season.
