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The vocal quartet FARAUALLA was founded in 1995. Each member of the group had individually followed her own course of vocal study in many different musical settings before the four singers discovered a common interest in researching the use of the voice as an “instruments;” both through the practice of polyphony as well as through a familiarity with the vocal expression of various ethnicities and periods of history.
The results of this research have transformed themselves into the repertory of the FARAUALLA; many of its original compositions evolved out of improvised matrices, much as traditional melodies do. The flavor of many far-away cultures merge in a highly original synthesis, though the cultural roots of this Pugliese group are still strong and evident.
Puglia, a land of continuous migration through which many peoples and cultures have passed and left their mark, is present in the “sound” of the group, in the percussion instruments which accompany it and in the name of the group itself.

Faraualla is the deepest grotto of the Murgia, the high plains of the Apulia (South Italy). It is a chasm that opens up between wheat fields, pastures and farms, a silent island that inspires popular beliefs.
The etymological roots of the word Faraualla are uncertain, its enunciation filling the mouth with voice. Like when a word forgets its meaning to return to its origin: pure, primitive, powerful sound. This new perception strengthens vocal force and allows the voice to restore the power of instinct to song.
So, it is thus that, from one mouth to the next, pieces of voices and of stories are handed down, multiplying themselves in the process.
The imaginary self of Faraualla is marked by the uninterrupted passage of merchants, military troops, artists, nobleman, thieves, saints, entire masses and by an ancient tradition of listening. In our ears the blend of tongues and chants requires no other sense than that of returning to a sonorous game.

The sea must not have been far from that group of people that moved as if they were following a path. Yet there was no path in that landscape. Space became a half-clothed body, barely spotted here and there with bushes or completely covered with shadows or bare with stone and low brush.
Imaginary frontiers were crossed slipping one into the next while salty breezes wafted through the fresh aromas.
The sea must not have been far. And just like that sea, several women whose presence was felt, yes their physical traits unseen. People gathered on the edge of an abyss, greased with vapors, blurring the surroundings. People awaited the voices of those women who filled that gap. After long solences, not once turbid, ligh suspended, from that boundary that separated the voyage from its past and every instant from time that is no more, came a blaze of ancient polyphony. The chants rose from the abyss and the abyss from the blank pages of an unfinished book. The book was a dream dreamt one day in June.