Cólgate

cólgate is written with an accent, but it reads as Marta, Giulio, and Andrea. It’s pronounced by singing, playing, and shouting the sad failure of magic under the weight of boredom — the hand you mistake for a caress that turns out to be a slap. cólgate’s music is an impatient waiting: the moment before a plane takes off, the night before a school trip. It’s the heartbeat vibrating along the edges of the provinces, where the suspicion of betrayal, a sudden goodbye, or a night spent staring at the sky with red eyes become rituals of a kind of magical realism. In the background, images flicker like an old projector: rain, concrete, a smile, a bar, the stars. Wrapped in the warm embrace of emo-gaze and Italian alternative rock, cólgate are both the province with its ridiculous pomp and the metropolis with its disenchanted sense of progress. They are all of this — but above all, they are a window open onto the emotional universe of those who search for poetry in chaos.