APRICOT MAGAZINE - NEW YORK EDITION

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW:

GIULIO RISI ON “LORNA’S ROOM (THE LOSS OF LOVE)” AND REDISCOVERING MUSIC AFTER SILENCE

After 15 years of silence, celebrated composer and pianist Giulio Risi returns with a profound and cinematic new chapter in his musical story. His latest release, “Lorna’s Room (The Loss of Love) – Sketch 2”, is the second single from his upcoming concept album Seven Sketches of Loss, a neoclassical meditation on the many forms of grief—and the strange freedom that follows.

Known for blending contemporary classical textures with the emotional range of gospel, pop, jazz, and progressive rock, Risi has always been a genre-shifting storyteller. Now, his compositions reflect a deeper urgency—music that breathes with memory, sorrow, and ultimately, transformation. With “Lorna’s Room”, Risi captures the ghost of a love that once was, set in a quiet space where a chair remains empty, and the piano speaks for what can no longer be said.

We sat down with Giulio Risi to talk about the emotional terrain of this new work, the silence that shaped it, and what lies ahead as Seven Sketches of Loss unfolds throughout 2025.

Lorna’s Room (The Loss of Love)” is a stunningly intimate piece. How did this particular sketch come to life, and what emotional space were you inhabiting when you composed it?

One day, after the end of my relationship with Lorna, my former partner, I walked into the room that used to be her studio. Then, holding on to memories, I sat at the piano. What came out was this track. Love is always a form of hologram, much like the people we’ve lost. It keeps living beside us, we feel it, yet it’s no longer there. Memories change shape depending on how we look at them, very much like this piece: it begins one way and goes in a completely different place. That’s the meaning behind the album’s subtitle: Compositions for Piano and Holograms.

You’ve described Seven Sketches of Loss as an exploration of seven different perspectives on human loss. What drew you to the idea of approaching grief and detachment through a conceptual structure like this?

My idea was like that of someone approaching a cliff with a parachute (not knowing if it’s working!). The underlying concept goes beyond depicting seven scenarios; it aims to focus on the space that loss leaves behind. These spaces are voids, voids that multiply until they become a desert. That’s what freedom looks like: a desert. A raw, open space around you. Though being in a desert isn’t necessarily bad. Being there gives you the chance to imagine. Imagine what could be, what shall be; and if we’re still able to imagine, then we’re still alive.

This project marks your return after 15 years of silence as a composer. What kept you away, and what finally called you back?

After moving from London to Rome, I felt deeply tired. It was the end of a long marathon that had lasted nearly fifteen years of concerts, tours, recording projects, and everything in between. I was simply exhausted and searching for another form of expression. I never truly left music, though. I kept playing in various ensembles, but never as a leader. This allowed me to let go of tension and avoid responsibility. Then, in 2021, my life began to unravel due to a series of personal losses (here we go). Bereavements from COVID, the end of my relationship and much more. All of it happened while I was completing my first novel. When it was finally published in 2022 and started receiving awards, I collapsed under the weight of a nervous breakdown. It prevented me from properly promoting the book. I only managed to attend a few award ceremonies, more out of my publisher’s insistence than any real will of my own. My inner voice had fallen silent.

Your music often transforms emotion into sonic narrative. What’s your process like when translating an abstract feeling, like absence or sorrow, into piano notes and harmonic shifts?

Narrative is essential to me, whether it’s music that turns into concepts or concepts shaped through music. I need each piece to have a sense of development, an evolving melody, maybe key changes, shifts in time signatures and so on. All of this, in my view, keeps the music alive. Without it, there’s a risk of falling into an endless repetition of the same sonic fragment. As you might guess, I’m not a big fan of minimalist music. I know it’s an established genre, with many followers and a fair number of composers who feel at home in it. I respect them all, though I’m not one of ‘em.

Your artistic journey spans jazz, gospel, pop, progressive rock, and now contemporary classical music. How have these past experiences shaped the way you compose today?

Classical music, along with jazz, forms the foundation of my musical background. I studied classical as a teenager, but it was only as an adult that I had the tools to truly analyse, understand and blend it into the melting pot of genres that shaped the way I play the piano. That said, I’ve always considered myself a rock musician. I was invited to join the progressive rock band Jadis right after their production was overseen by Marillion, but the kind of rock I’ve always felt at home leans more towards modern rock, bands like Foo Fighters or Evanescence. If one carefully listens to my solo piano music, they will sometimes hear a scent of rock, even if it’s just for a fragment.

There’s a cinematic, almost tactile atmosphere in “Lorna’s Room”—a desk untouched, a love that vanished. Do visual images or stories often guide your compositions, or do they emerge after the music?

Very well spotted. I grew up in my father’s movie theatre, just like the protagonist of Cinema Paradiso. He passed this passion on to me. Cinema is, of course, made of images, yet images often push us toward other frontiers, toward parallel worlds. One of my parallel worlds is built on, and rests upon, a piano and the sounds it can evoke. There is always an image before my eyes while I’m composing, never just before, never right after. I believe every true artist should be a visionary, a kind of controlled schizophrenic, someone capable of becoming someone else, of seeing a reality that doesn’t yet exist, shaping it, then offering their unique vision to the world.

This is Sketch 2 of the album. Can you give us a hint of the emotional landscapes the remaining sketches will explore? Is there an overarching narrative, or are they more like isolated reflections that echo each other?

There is indeed an overarching aura. All these “sketches” are nothing but different roads leading to the same crossroad. We hit loss from different directions, different paths, some well-trodden, others less so. But the roads that begin from that crossroads unfold in one direction only, and they always lead to a form of freedom. Paraphrasing Freud’s “Freedom means taking responsibility for one’s own life” I’d say that in this case it means taking responsibility for one own’s music. Back to your question. After the first sketch, The Abyss: the loss of self, and this Lorna’s sketch exploring the loss of love and the music that lingers when it ends, we’ll move through the loss of innocence, the loss of balance, the loss of memory, the loss of land (the other face of wars) and finally the loss of the unknown, the concept turned upside down: when we shift from a sense of loss to a sense of gain. Losing the unknown path is perhaps the gravest misfortune that can happen to us, because the moment we lose stability often coincides with the moment we’ve got nothing to lose, the moment we’re able to act without fearing the consequences. Losing that is nothing but a shame.

The decision to focus on “loss” might sound somber, but your notes mention that all forms of severance converge on a “path to freedom.” How do you see that liberation unfolding musically throughout the album?

Well, loss carries less of a somber tone if we consider how it represents an opportunity, as we said earlier. After all, the leitmotif of the entire album is The light lingering in loss. Musically, I express this through a strong narrative drive, evolution and symbolism within the compositions. For instance, in “The Abyss” the low, dark registers set a mood of heaviness, but the opening chorus brings a breath of air, a moment of renewal. In contrast, “Lorna’s Room” starts with an innocent melodic fragment that gradually becomes twisted and dark (like a love story entering its final phase), only to reemerge at the end in a different key, a shift symbolizing how a love story transforms into a “memory of a love story”, free from pain and regret.

You’re not only a composer and pianist, but also a writer. How does your relationship with language and storytelling influence your approach to composing music like this?

Language and storytelling are fundamental to my composition process because the boundaries between these languages often blur. When I write, I pay close attention to rhythm, pauses, onomatopoeia, tensions that resolve and moments of calm that suddenly close with an abrupt full stop, leaving no room for replies. Composing music feels very similar to me. Céline used to call his writing “La petite musique“ (the small music). I do like that definition.

As you re-enter the music world after a long break, what do you hope listeners will take away from Seven Sketches of Loss?

I hope listeners approach Seven Sketches of Loss with an open mind, without being misled into thinking loss equals sadness. For some, this music may be cathartic, for others, more reflective. For me, either way would be a success. If a listener pauses and listens within, asking why that music touches inside, what memories it brings back, if they perhaps recognise parts of their own story within the sounds, then my music hasn’t been written in vain. Ultimately, I hope the album manages to trace some contours around a shadow, understanding that the edges of a shadow show you where to go to find a way out. As for live performances and releases, I just presented my show at the Todi International Music Festival, a show I hope to take on tour as soon as possible. Regarding new tracks, throughout 2025 all the singles from Seven Sketches will be released, along with a bonus track, an arrangement I wrote for piano and cello of “Playing Love,” composed by Ennio Morricone for the film The Legend of ‘900. Hope we’ll see around.

Giulio Risi

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