Davide Cedolin’s music makes a home in the spaces between memory and landscape. The sound of wind through trees becomes indistinguishable from the gentle pull of a bow across strings. With Ligurian Pastoral Vol. II, he deepens his exploration of rural Liguria’s quiet territories, bringing accordion and synthesizer into conversation with field recordings that feel less like background ambience and more like essential voices in an ongoing dialogue. The album breathes with a timeless quality. His approach treats the studio itself as a kind of canvas. Cedolin also plays in Common Fate alongside Tommaso Rolando and Simone Mattiolo, where the trio navigates the crossroads of raw Americana and cosmic psychedelia, creating liminal spaces where improvisation and storytelling blur together.
Ligurian Pastoral Vol. II is OUT NOW. Common Fate’s new album, Common Faith, releases on December 19.
Foxy Digitalis depends on our awesome readers to keep things rolling. Pledge your support today via our Patreon or subscribe to The Jewel Garden. You can also make a one-time donation via Ko-fi.
What’s your earliest memory of a sound that really struck you? I’m talking about that first moment when you heard something, and it stayed with you.
This is a challenging question. If I think about it, I have several flashbacks. When I was in preschool (4-5 years old), I was on my grandma’s balcony watching trains pass on the rails just a few dozen meters away. I remember getting excited when trains headed east because they picked up speed and roared along the tracks. I felt let down by the trains arriving at the station, slowing down, and the ones heading west. Or the sound of the hoe hitting the ground in my great-aunt’s garden; the sickle slicing through the blades of grass as my other grandmother mowed. But probably the first striking sounds were the wooden ones: the wind in the trees, making branches bounce in rhythmic patterns and frequencies; the sound of chopping logs; and, mostly, the sound that has stayed with me since the beginning—the pops and crackles of burning wood in the stove.
How did you first come to an instrument? What drew you to it? And when did you realize you wanted to make your own music rather than just play what already existed?
I don’t exactly remember how, but at some point around age twelve, a classical guitar appeared at home. It was probably from some relative. The first songs I learned were Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” and “In Bloom,” then “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” some from Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and Neil Young. But the better I got, the more I felt like, “Okay, I can do this somehow, but it doesn’t add anything new.” I was frustrated because I thought I simply couldn’t compete with the originals. On the other hand, while learning covers, I discovered tricks and chord progressions that made me want to try composing myself—letting something emerge from my playing without copying someone else’s riff. I wrote my first song during that period; it was in English, and it was titled “Alone.” I still remember the grungy mood and the chords, E minor / G with some opening in A, and the lyrics that my aunt reviewed (she’s an English teacher). I guess I was around fourteen or fifteen. After trying classes with a guy in the town where I lived, I decided I was interested in other methods. I’m basically self-taught and sought out bands and players outside academic models. The band that made me think, “I want to play like this,” was Sonic Youth. The album “Daydream Nation”. It was the first time I heard alternate tunings, and when I read they invented their own, I was completely blown away.
Ligurian Pastoral Vol. II creates these intimate moments that feel deeply connected to place. How do you approach building that sense of location in the studio?
It’s actually very natural to me. Especially for Ligurian Pastoral (both I and II), I worked at home and in a few outdoor spots in rural Liguria. The place itself was part of the process 100%, even in production. Field recordings deepen the soundscapes, and the more natural room ambience you capture during sessions, the better for an organic sound. Sometimes I add recordings of various silences in different situations—it adds dimension. So I’d say creating a specific sound even requires silence. For me, it’s more important to find the ideal environment that fits, playing with the room’s acoustics, than a standard professional studio that neutralizes the space’s character. I’ve recently finished my forthcoming album, a tribute to the valley of my father’s family and my roots there, Val d’Arzino. I started from field recordings I took during a 2023 trip and let them guide me. I’m curious how the final master will sound, but the field recordings were even more crucial here—they built the architecture of a valley without me being physically present.
The field recordings feel perfectly woven into the musical language here rather than sitting on top of it. How do you find that balance?
I try to keep very little hierarchy on a record. But when I think of a tune, I see it as part of something bigger, and everything inside the tune as part of an even larger whole. Over the years, I’ve realized I’m more interested in the overall result than having every sound I like sit above the mix. I usually choose a main instrument to drive the track, based on the feelings or atmosphere I want to evoke. At that point, field recordings come in to articulate the mood—they make up roughly 50% of the track with the principal instrument. Then I work on the right tones to complete it, adding other instruments, layering takes with droning effects, or even sampling my own stuff in post-production (rarely). Field recordings can be overwhelming due to their coarse and weird frequencies in a mix, so it takes extra effort to clear the waveform. In the end, when I listen to the mix and love something, I lower its volume until it still works. It’s so easy to pump up what you like too much. I used to be rougher and louder; now I go in another direction.
The accordion brings this warm, nostalgic quality to Volume II that wasn’t as present before. What made you lean into that instrument for this chapter?
There was this old accordion from the early 1900s at my parents’ house that nobody knew how to play—it belonged to an old cousin of my father. I was looking for a new dronable instrument, and even though I’m still bad at playing it traditionally, I found unorthodox ways to use it that fit what I needed. The nostalgic quality of accordions gives a great mood boost, though it’s tricky since it doesn’t match every scale—you have to adapt your melody to the black buttons’ mood colors.
I really love how the synthesizers sound on this record. They really widen the emotional landscape. How do you think about the relationship between the organic and the electronic in your work?
Before recording under my own name, I spent over fifteen years in electronic bands, so I’m familiar with that language. At the same time, I was scared of compromising some “purity” of sound—and that was lame. The important thing is the projection in my head of how the piece should sound, meaning how my ideas come across best. If I need a vaporous transition or low frequencies in a crescendo, I turn on the MS-20 and try it. I use just a few sounds from it, but I love them—they’re perfect for what I need.
You mention there are no beginnings and no ends in these songs. Can you talk about creating that timeless quality? What are you listening for?
I totally agree, but that was written by Tommaso Rolando (Torto Editions, Common Fate) for the album presentation. It’s close to my vision of things, even outside music. I believe time is a limited frame if viewed linearly, but there are sideways paths, parallels, loops, and bends in perception. In perception, everything’s relative: some people can’t get out of bed with a little fever; others barely feel dizzy at 38°C. Some think a year is forever; others panic with one year left. I accept time’s material vulnerability and use it to my advantage. The timeless quality is a natural outcome of the process for me.
Let me ask a little about Common Fate as well. How did that project begin, and how did you all land on the style of music you’re playing?
Common Fate is Tommaso Rolando, Simone Mattiolo, and me. When I released my first album, Embracing the Unknown, I worked with talented friends, including Tommaso. Ryan Jewell played drums on the record, and Simone Mattiolo, a great friend, offered to play drums and percussion live. I was stuck between songwriting and free playing, with unused songs from those sessions. We started as a band with a script, so to speak. Suddenly, I separated writing from playing and singing to perform better on instruments and write without limits—I even started essays and short novels. We recalibrated, bonded by comfort in wild, structure-free playing (no choruses, bridges, etc.). For example, “In the Garden” is an excerpt from a live show that captures our current drive, like “Owl Serenade,” which was probably our first or second shot live take, studio-recorded.
There’s this sense of liminal space throughout Common Fate, where time stretches and bends. Are you consciously creating that, or does it just emerge from how you three play together?
I’ve analyzed time in my solo work some words before; in Common Fate, that sense widens with effective percussion and rhythm. The arrangements work that way. That said, a few words for Simone and Tommaso—they’re perfect matches for me. They unintentionally pushed me to leave more open spaces. Playing together means equal parts: each of us has 33.333…% responsibility for everything, but as Max Wertheimer said, “The whole is more than the sum of its parts.” There’s magic, irrationality, mystery—we all feel it. The name Common Fate comes from a Gestalt principle; I’m obsessed with that stuff.
You weave storytelling and improvisation together in these songs with the band. How do you balance those two impulses when you’re working?
It worked when we made these songs—it was a transitional moment for me, and it felt natural. The original songs were shorter, then opened up. As a creative person, you know waking up with something to do but feeling off because other ideas buzz. Here, we all woke up wanting to make them the same way. When we did, we realized we’d captured the moment perfectly, because we were already moving on.
Paolo Tortora’s ambient electric guitars, Jean Renè’s viola, and Jeff Tobias’s tenor sax on “Owl Serenade.” How do you invite people into your sonic world? What are you listening for in a collaborator?
Paolo and I have known each other for over twenty years. We have a band (Japanese Gum, on hiatus but still existing) and collaborate often. I did graphics for his album on Torto Editions, and he’s played guitar on my other records. His electric guitar taste fits what I do perfectly. I invited him for dinner, made homemade veggie burgers and fries with garden veggies, smoked some, and after listening to the demo, basically forced him—haha. I said, “Man, there’s space here—flood it with your trippy stuff.” Tommaso asked Jean for viola (they duo on contrabass and viola with records out); he accepted happily. Same for Jeff—we met in Genova opening for Sunwatchers with TRÓNCO, jammed and stayed in touch for years. They’re all great guys and brilliant artists. For Ligurian Pastoral Vol. II, I wanted Tommaso on double bass and Riccardo Komesar on 9-string guitar. Before the final mix, I felt it needed strings, so I asked Kaily Schenker—a talented, gentle soul—for cello. She accepted and is now working on new material, also. I hope to do a full album; our way of doing things has a rich dialogue.
I love the way you talk about the studio as a canvas. Do you actually think visually when you’re making music?
Even this comes from Tommaso—he knows me well; it’s me 100%. The environment is so important to me, like food. A dedicated space is essential—no fancy stuff. I work with slim hardware (old free Audition version on a computer with free plugins, Zoom H5 as mic/interface) in a small attic. Nothing but roof wood, cement walls/floor, linoleum on the ground, sheets on walls for reverb, two plants, and an ashtray. Footstool, keyboard stand with a wooden board as a desk. A small roof window brightens it. I wouldn’t trade it for a 16-track board or pricey mic.
How has your approach to making music changed between Ligurian Pastoral Vol. I and Vol. II? What did you learn?
The first volume was my debut solo album. There’s a prior disc of guitar contemplations, unfocused. Ligurian Pastoral opened a door, showing I could build an album alone, including mixing acoustics, which scared me. I was terrified not to reverb guitars or edit minimally, but after, I mastered rational listening in a deeper presence, gaining mix confidence. As a player, I improved. Between albums, I had ups and downs—played three hours daily for “muscular” fingerpicking (heavier than chopping logs, like gym). It didn’t stop me, but it wasn’t me. I found balance, rationalized practice time, and built from there. Be honest about what makes sense. I explored banjo recently, some clawhammer—fun but opposite my guitar style, so I trick my brain and wrist, haha.
Common Faith and Ligurian Pastoral vol. II exist in different spaces. How do you navigate between those creative worlds? Do they inform each other?
They inform each other—same musical/non-musical background. I feed what I love with my best. Practically, Common Faith wasn’t fully free; it balanced songwriting. Even songs have long instrumentals, from 2021/early ’22, reflecting that path. I like those lyrics, my most mature, but I’m not that guy now. Ligurian Pastoral Vol. II (conceived ’23, finished Dec. ’24) fits better with my current self. But it’s moments. Life moments absorb/release; patience and listening tell when. Everything changes—records or stories crystallize unrepeatable moments romantically.
And lastly, to close as always… What are some of your favorite sounds in the world?
I mostly listen to old music now. My four-year-old metalhead son rediscovered my teen stuff: Sepultura’s Roots, Black Sabbath’s first four albums, Sleep, Kyuss. He’s a Heilung fan, so I appreciate them. Near the turntable: Brìghde Chaimbeul’s Sunwise blew me away—maybe my favorite 2025 record. Rotation: Pelt’s Reticence / Resistance, Black Twig Pickers’ Ironto Special, Pino Nuvola’s A Fronte Praecipitium, A Tergo Lupi, Širom’s The Liquified Throne of Simplicity, Maurizio Abate and Luca Venitucci’s Peace and Pleasure (majestic accordion). Tapes: Paolo Tortora’s album, John Swanke’s Rain Country. Digital: Andrew Tuttle and Padang Food Tigers’ A Cassowary Apart, Silver Nun’s Tabula Rasa, Daniel Bachman’s Untitled/Dreamweapon, Murphy Campbell’s self-titled.
Foxy Digitalis depends on our awesome readers to keep things rolling. Pledge your support today via our Patreon or subscribe to The Jewel Garden. You can also make a one-time donation via Ko-fi.
