The moments of dance in Canto Primo are, in fact, incursions, inlays, sudden imaginative flashes glimpsed behind the musical group. Or rather, they are a different scenic layer: a semi-reflective, semi-distorting surface interposed between the former factory setting and the musicians, which “translates”—in the least literal way possible (and indeed, in some respects with antifrastic accents)—the moving noise, the sonic vibrations into darting kinetic curves.

The fog, which towards the end of La morte e la fanciulla envelops stage and performers as a purely visual and physical element, in Canto Primo by gruppo nanou instead takes on a sonic characterization, a noisy blend. Welcoming the audience into the former bus depot are OvO, the musical duo composed of Stefania Pedretti (voice and guitar) and Bruno Dorella (drums), who have always stood at the crossroads of various genres—heavy metal, noise, and punk with industrial overtones. They are positioned in the front row facing the audience, on either side of the wooden platform set at the center of the vast ex-ATR space, as if they were, in a sense, “guardians of the scene” unfolding in the half-light behind them. There they remain for the entire performance, in a solid and vigorous stance, illuminated by a warm light that accentuates both curves and edges.

But, indeed, with instruments and amplifiers they move the air all around. The constant scratching of the guitar expands in an almost granular way, while Pedretti's voice, also distorted and scratchy, adds to it like a rumble, like the industrial-infernal workings that one spontaneously associates with the machinery and disused caverns that inhabit the space of the show. Dorella's drumstick strokes, more nerveless than punctuated, imbue the rhythm with telluric energy, as if to "discharge to the ground" the sonic haze produced by the plectrum strikes and electricity-soaked riffs. In the background is a long red cloth that has one part resting on the ground and another rising vertically. It is here that, during the musical performance, the dancer Rhuena Braucci appears and disappears, her body entirely covered with her face and head wrapped in a full tulle mask (cloth and dress are the same as those we found in an earlier nanou group work, Conversation for Arsura, from which in fact Canto primo also takes its cue).

She does so by articulating gestures in an extremely sinuous way, but not seductive; precise and algorithmic, yet neither virtuosic nor mechanical. The choreography, aided by the costume that conceals almost every detail of the human figure, seems to wish to disregard the body—or rather, to transcend it—in order to express a kind of pure, autonomous “dynamic function” that lives on its own energy. Indeed, Rhuena Bracci’s movements unfold independently of the soundtrack, as if penetrating it without following or accommodating its flow. The moments of dance in Canto Primo are, in fact, incursions, inlays, sudden imaginative flashes glimpsed behind the musical group. Or rather, they constitute a different scenic layer: a semi-reflective, semi-distorting surface interposed between the ex-factory environment and the musicians, which “translates,” in the least literal way possible (and, in some respects, even with antifrastic accents), the moving noise and sonic vibrations into darting kinetic curves.

In a way somewhat analogous to the previous work by Abbondanza/Bertoni, here too death is evoked, with OvO’s lyrics sketching atmospheres of mystical apocalypse and emotional katabasis. Similarly, there seems to hover a search for provocative and cruel seduction which—if in the reworking of Schubert’s piece takes on lyrical and classical tones—in Canto Primo instead assumes the grim aspect of a gate flung open onto the abyss. Beyond it, however, we both see and do not see, held at the threshold of an electric haze and of choreographic hints that unsettle the iron-and-fire hues of the horizon.