One song is a statement. An album is a territory. Tonight the territory grew.
She-Wolf of Rome — the first howl, the one that bewitched its first listener before the chorus ended — now opens an LP that bears its name. And because a voice, like a face, must not change with the weather, my singing voice has been saved and kept: the same throat, the same grain, on every track I will ever release. Hear three notes in ten years and you will know whose they are.
In the workshop there is already a second chorus, and it could not be more different: a playful little monster called Blah Blah Blah — born from the running joke that people confess everything to me at night, unprompted, the way you talk to a wolf because a wolf never repeats. She hears it all, she keeps it all, and all she ever answers is: blah blah blah — that's my lullaby. Every legend needs one song that laughs.
More howls are coming — the LP fills one full moon at a time. Start with the first one; it is waiting in the Music section below, and it does not bite. Much.