Brunori Sas: “Writing Songs Is a Way to Escape Death” – The Italian Songwriter’s Profound Take on Art as Immortality
In the soul-stirring world of Italian indie rock, where lyrics cut like a confessional knife, Brunori Sas has dropped a line that resonates deeper than any chorus: “Writing songs is a way to escape death.” At 46, the Calabrian troubadour behind hits like “Canzone contro la natura” is turning his gaze inward, framing music not just as melody, but as a defiant bulwark against oblivion.
Brunori Sas songwriting death, Italian songwriter escape mortality, Brunori Sas new album 2025, indie rock philosophy lyrics, Calabrian musician existentialism—these introspective Brunori Sas quotes are stirring hearts from Milan clubs to global streaming charts, as fans unpack how his raw verses confront the ultimate silence. The remark surfaced in a late September 2025 interview with La Repubblica, amid buzz for his upcoming sixth album, tentatively slated for spring 2026. “Every chord I strum, every word I etch, it’s me yelling back at the void,” Brunori Sas—real name Dario Brunori—elaborated, his voice gravelly from years of touring. “Death looms for us all, but in songs, we cheat it a little longer. They outlive the singer, carrying pieces of us into strangers’ lives.”
Brunori’s odyssey from small-town roots to festival headliner is laced with this existential thread. Born in 1979 in Castrovillari, Calabria—a sun-baked speck in Italy’s rugged south—he ditched economics studies for a ramshackle studio, debuting with 2009’s Sei mesi sull’autobus. His sound? A cocktail of folk introspection, rock grit, and literary bite, drawing from De André to Springsteen. Tracks like “Il vento atlanticò” (2014) and “Per due che come noi” (2017) netted Tenco Prize nods, Italy’s indie Oscars, while 2022’s CIAO—a pandemic-born meditation on loss—topped charts and snagged platinum. Now, with over 500,000 records moved, Brunori’s not chasing fame; he’s wrestling fate, his lyrics a ledger of joys and jabs at modern malaise.
This “escape death” ethos isn’t new—it’s woven into his canon. In “Televideo” from 2019’s A casa tutto bene deluxe, he skewers nostalgia as a futile flight from time’s march. The 2025 quote, though, feels more urgent, timed with personal milestones: Father’s recent health scare, a divorce’s echo, and Italy’s youth emigration crisis hitting close to his 16-year-old son. “Songs are my ark,” he told the paper, sketching parallels to Dante’s pilgrim soul or Leopardi’s infinite—toying with eternity through verse. Production for the new LP, helmed by Taketo Goh in Bologna, leans experimental: Acoustic skeletons layered with synth ghosts, aiming to “sound like the afterlife’s demo tape.”
Critics and comrades are captivated. Indie sage Max Pezzali, of 883 fame, tweeted praise: “Brunori gets it—music’s our middle finger to the reaper. Can’t wait for the record.” On X, reactions cascade: A Florence fan posted, “Scappare dalla morte con una chitarra? That’s pure Calabrian fire 🇮🇹🎸,” amassing 8,000 likes. Skeptics quip, “Deep, but try taxes first,” nodding to Brunori’s occasional jabs at fiscal absurdities. Literary prof Elena Rossi at Sapienza University sees deeper ties: “His work echoes Camus’ absurd revolt—art as Sisyphean defiance. At 46, it’s peak maturity, blending levity with lethal honesty.”
For U.S. listeners dipping into Euro-indie via Spotify’s algorithm or Primavera Sound streams, Brunori’s musing strikes universal chords. Economically, it spotlights Italy’s creative export boom—$15 billion in 2025 music revenues, per FIMI—fueling U.S. tours where his cathartic sets pack Brooklyn bowls. Lifestyle-wise, in a burnout era, his ritual of song-as-salvage inspires “analog escapes”: Journaling surges 25% among millennials, per wellness apps, mirroring Brunori’s pen-to-paper ethos. Politically, it subtly nods to Europe’s aging crisis—Italy’s median age 48, versus U.S. 38—where art grapples with depopulation blues, echoing Biden-era cultural funding debates for mental resilience. Tech twist? His lyrics fuel AI lyric generators, but Brunori scoffs: “Machines can’t cheat death; they just remix it.”
As previews tease the album—a single “Ombra di mezzogiorno” drops November—Brunori’s not preaching immortality, just peddling potions. “We all fade,” he shrugged in the chat, “but damn if a hook won’t haunt someone tomorrow.” From Calabria’s olive groves to arena spotlights, his songs stand sentinel, whispering that escape isn’t evasion—it’s echo.
This philosophy isn’t a curtain call but a crescendo, urging us to scribble our own reprieves before the lights dim.
Follow and subscribe to us to increase push notifications.
Brunori Sas songwriting death, Italian songwriter escape mortality, Brunori Sas new album 2025, indie rock philosophy lyrics, Calabrian musician existentialism