Colombre is the first in a series of figures from the worlds of culture, media and entertainment whom we will be asking to share their testimony about this historic period, which we hope will remain unique.

Colombre takes its name from the title of a short story by Dino Buzzati that tells the tale of a sea creature (a shark called Colombre), a symbol of the fear that often stands between a person and their desires.

Giovanni Imparato, the real name of the singer-songwriter from Le Marche, took this story to heart and, after a lifetime spent playing with his band, found the courage a few years ago to "venture" into a solo career.

Following the excellent reception of Pulviscolo, his first record, Colombre has recently released his second, Corallo, which you can also hear on LifeGate Radio.

What's the situation like in your town?
Fairly quiet at the moment, thankfully. It seems people have finally understood.

How are you spending your days?
Reading, listening to records, trying to stretch my legs a little… But also doing nothing, thinking, staring at the ceiling. We're waiting — waiting for sunnier times.

How are you balancing this isolation with your work?
Having just released the new album, I'm fairly busy with the "rollout": thinking things through, doing interviews.

What do you see from your windows?
I see a deserted little square…

Do you think that when things return to normal there will be major changes in the way we live?
I think this is a good opportunity to realise that many small things we took for granted are a privilege we don't usually consider as such. I hope it helps us understand what truly matters and how lucky we are to have a privilege like freedom.

What's the first thing you'd like to do when all this is over?
I'd love to go for a walk on the beach — I need to reconnect with nature, but also to meet all the people I haven't seen for a while. I want to hug them and rediscover all the physical closeness we're missing today.

Is it true that you are — or were — a teacher?
I was, I have been, I am and perhaps I will be again an Italian teacher. I taught history and geography at middle school and high school. I graduated in humanities but didn't go on to qualify as a teacher. Later I signed up for the third tier — a list for prospective supply teachers they draw from when needed. While I was working on my first record, the school called me in for a week of supply cover, which ended up lasting six months. It was a wonderful experience that gave me a great deal; it taught me to open up and to write differently, to stop hiding behind words or irony and to be much more honest.

Can you tell me how the Colombre project came about?
Before Colombre there were the Chewingum, a trio of friends with whom I recorded two albums and lived through many adventures. At a certain point I felt the need to shake things up and take the project to the next level, given that I was writing most of the material. Starting from scratch frightened me, and that is where Colombre came in — as a metaphor for overcoming one's own fears — giving its name to this project of mine.

Why Corallo, and what is it about?
I chose this name almost as a symbol of something hidden, mysterious, deeply fascinating and hard to reach, but which, once you manage to touch it, you must be skilled enough to preserve — you have to handle it with as much delicacy as possible. Just like coral: beautiful. This album is a small library of my feelings over the past three years, a summary of a period I had the privilege of being able to transform and capture on a record. These are stories about relationships I have lived through, both positive and negative, but all equally important, precious.

Listen to the playlist Colombre made for LifeGate on Spotify

Are you more of a person for the great classics or for new releases?
What I love about the great classics is how they evolve — I enjoy hearing them change alongside my life. The Kinks I listened to at twenty-three are not the same ones I listen to today. The album had a long gestation, lasting practically three years; a period during which I listened to many classics: Isaac Hayes, George Harrison and the Beach Boys. I always keep a certain attention turned towards what's new out there too; I'm thinking of MorMor, a Canadian singer-songwriter, or of Steve Lacy, his home-grown approach and the way he "regurgitates" Prince.

If I need to be influenced by a hip-hop track I let myself be influenced, and so something might come out with that flavour, or perhaps with a western feel because I've been listening to Morricone. The challenge is making songs that come from different worlds sound cohesive. My challenge is not to lose freedom in what I do.

You've toured abroad as a guitarist with Calcutta, and with the Chewingum you even played in New York: have you ever thought about packing your bags or singing in English?
No, never. I didn't even do an Erasmus year. I've always wanted to stay wherever I happened to be, trying to go deeper, to analyse what happens inside me — even if (laughing, ed.) perhaps "after so much digging inside myself there's nothing left," as i Cani used to sing. I chose to stay in the place where I can express myself best. Even so, playing abroad taught me a great deal, above all how to capture the attention of people who don't know the language, who aren't interested: only when you're singing with your whole self, giving your heart, do you truly reach people.

Your relationship with Letizia (the singer-songwriter Maria Antonietta) is not limited to the professional side: is it difficult to "juggle" (forgive the wordplay) both dimensions of this relationship?
The fact that we share the same "craft" — writing songs — allows us to reach very high levels of understanding and intimacy. Like all relationships that reach certain heights, or depths if you prefer, it has its difficulties. It takes a great deal of trust, and you have to be ready to lay yourself bare artistically in front of the person in whose eyes you would always want to show your best side. And sometimes you can end up touching raw nerves or wounds that are still open. It's also necessary to be able to separate the working, artistic relationship from the everyday one; that's not easy because we both have a tendency to let our minds wander elsewhere.