Over these years she has delved into music, within the rich traditions of the Tupa Ruja, but with Dannate Salvatrici, Martina Lupi steps forward with a collection of music that is very personal and more than 20 years of life, reflection and artistic development. Instead of a linear progression, the CD was a natural process – songs were drawn from various eras and combined into a cohesive whole.
The album is inspired by images that’ve emerged spontaneously in her writing, a record that enters the realm of femininity in the form of mythology, dreams and archetypes, touching both on suffering and on strength. It welcomes every aspect of oneself and calls listeners to live free and strong, to surrender the sacrifices and struggles. Her music, performed with voice, piano, electronics, overtone singing and well designed textures, is what she calls the “Sound of Distance”, with silence being as important as melody.
In collaboration with Alessandro Gwis, Michele Gazich and Mattia Lotini she has created an album that is both emotionally honest and elegant in simplicity, allowing each song to say what it needs to say. Born of her world music background and developed an identity of her own, Dannate Salvatrici provides a platform for reflection, healing and connection.
During this interview, she opens up about the story behind the album, the concepts that influenced its music and the message she hopes listeners take away after the final track fades.sound, and the message she hopes listeners carry with them long after the final song ends.
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“Dannate Salvatrici marks your debut solo album after years leading Tupa Ruja. What made this the right moment to step into your own artistic voice?
This album actually reflects twenty years of personal growth, solo journeys and moments spent with myself, trying to process experiences that could only take shape through a song. The album emerged naturally when I realised that all these pieces, written at different moments in my life, came together to form a complete journey.
It was not a project conceived or planned in advance; it was my life finding its own form. Looking back, I was finally able to see my “wake across the sea,” as expressed in Antonio Machado’s poem Caminante, no hay camino, which inspired the lyrics of my piece Realtà non è.
The album explores feminine identity through Jungian archetypes, mythology, and dreams. What drew you to these themes as the foundation for this project?
Jung’s thinking was a confirmation for me rather than the original source of inspiration. Images of fire, the labyrinth, breath and flight were already appearing spontaneously in my writing before I began searching for their rational meaning. It was only later that I recognised the archetypes within them.
Jung simply gave me the language and the key to identify and name something I had already encountered instinctively. As he believed, archetypes are not invented; they are encountered and recognised.
You’ve described the album as a journey “from the woman-body to the woman-universe.” Can you walk us through that emotional and spiritual arc?
My spirituality has never been something abstract. It always passes through my body, my breath and sound. In my live performances, I use instruments such as the didgeridoo, shamanic drum and overtone singing precisely because they are capable of moving beyond the barrier of the conscious mind.
This emotional and spiritual path unfolds through an acceptance of women’s very real pain and their resilience, preventing the project from becoming a purely intellectual exercise. It is a journey towards the “Whole Woman”: a woman who integrates her shadow and her contradictions without attempting to resolve or deny them, transforming sacrifice and condemnation into a radical form of liberation and Spiritual Resistance.
“Fiamma” opens the album with the image of Joan of Arc living inside every woman. What does that archetype mean to you personally?
Fiamma was the very first song I ever wrote, and it is the beating heart of the entire work. It represents the inner voice that continues to burn in the darkness and refuses to be extinguished. It is where everything began.
The archetype of Joan of Arc embodies the oxymoron I wanted to convey: the burden of judgement, condemnation and sacrifice that lives within all of us, yet does not destroy us. On the contrary, it transforms us, and that transformation becomes the purest form of liberation I know.
Tracks like “Fugadamé” and “My Perfect Breath” deal with fracture, vulnerability, and healing. How did you approach turning such personal or painful material into music?
I firmly believe that music is the only art form capable of transforming an experience while you are still living through it, rather than afterwards.
On this album, pain is neither denied nor hidden. It is simply recognised and sung. At the precise moment I sing it, the pain changes its form and nature, transmuting into something “higher.”
Authenticity comes from never lying to yourself, whether you are writing or stepping onto a stage.
You call your sound the “Sound of Distance,” where silence becomes emotional matter. How did you go about building that unique sonic language?
“The Sound of Distance” emerged from the need to explore the infinite forms that distance can assume and to transform them into emotion and pure beauty.
Together with Alessandro Gwis, I have developed a duo project in which we have sought to create an essential dialogue between voice, piano and live electronics, alongside the instruments from around the world that I play.
Within this sound, the woman becomes the guardian of an invisible presence. I do not need sight to perceive another person, because profound intimacy becomes a complete connection that transcends every barrier, like the wind felt against the skin.
Structurally, this means learning to “remain within the sound” without feeling compelled to fill every available space. It allows silence and electronics to move beneath the surface of the melody like a current, or a kind of sonic unconscious.
This is complemented by my exploration of the physicality of different languages and dialects, which shape emotional material in unique and profound ways.
The album brings together overtone singing, piano, electronics, violin, and ancestral textures. How did you decide which sounds and instruments would carry each song’s story?
The sonic choices stem from my belief that sound can express what words alone are unable to reach, bringing together the tangible reality of human stories with inner exploration and the psychology of archetypes. Throughout this sonic journey, I was musically embraced by extraordinary musicians.
Alessandro Gwis’s piano and electronics, Michele Gazich’s violin and Mattia Lotini’s guitars created a “bare” and essential sound around the words, allowing the lyrics to remain at the forefront while enveloping the entire work in elegance, sensitivity and visionary depth.
Overtone singing became the bridge connecting my identity as a solo singer-songwriter with my world music background in Tupa Ruja.
I deliberately chose not to include the didgeridoo or the other traditional instruments I play—such as the shamanic drum, jaw harp and percussion—on the album, because I wanted it to have a distinct and unique character within my musical world.
However, I do use these instruments in my live performances as a duo with Alessandro Gwis, because their powerful vibrations are able to move beyond the threshold of the conscious mind, allowing listeners to experience the music through their entire bodies.
You worked closely with Alessandro Gwis, Michele Gazich, and Mattia Lotini on this record. What did each of them bring to the album’s identity?
Alessandro Gwis: He possesses the extraordinary and rare ability to translate my emotional intentions into harmony, finding the precise sound needed to describe my inner landscapes without ever betraying them.
Michele Gazich: Through his violin, he brought an ancient, nomadic memory to the album. He moved perfectly along the boundary between earth and sky, making the wood and strings quite literally weep and sing.
Mattia Lotini: He safeguarded the project’s deepest pulse with a level of care that goes far beyond technical skill. He listened to the hidden intention behind every word I wrote and masterfully shaped the guitars, bass and the mix of the entire album.
None of them simply played my songs. They played with my songs.
Coming from the world music background of Tupa Ruja, how did that experience shape the direction you took with Dannate Salvatrici?
Tupa Ruja is one of my most important projects, and it continues to grow. From that experience, I brought with me a profound respect for the musical traditions of the world, experienced as living practices.
I carried the didgeridoo, shamanic drum and other instruments from around the world that I play into my solo work, using them to recreate a ritual dimension that speaks of the earth and the body.
Above all, I brought with me the strong conviction that sonic exploration and the singer-songwriter tradition are not separate worlds at all.
The album closes with “Pasarero,” described as an act of spiritual migration and rebirth. What do you hope listeners feel by the time they reach the end of this journey?
I hope people will find a “sacred” space in which they can slow down, listen and, above all, listen to themselves.
In an age dominated by speed, stopping to truly listen to one’s emotions is a revolutionary act. Sometimes, while listening to a song, we can discover a truth of our own and begin to process a profound emotion.
I would like this sonic journey to enter, metaphorically, the listener’s body and move through it, allowing them to soften their rational defences and open themselves to a deeper and more liberating way of feeling.
Dannate Salvatrici is an album dedicated to extraordinary women who are aware of their own strength, but also to all the men who wish to walk beside them, inspired by the same awareness.
