In Toronto, after an early morning snowfall that died before it hit the ground, a symptom of a winter that never really arrived, Mauro Remiddi strips away the protective, Rococo layers of his newly-minted “Strange Raft” and shows the strength of his foundations.
We begin in a Parkdale apartment. Mauro sets to work with clouds waxing and waning in collusion with the piano’s attack. He draws deeply from the well, his wonderful new wife a room away, emailing, casual but secretly attuned as only someone deeply tied to an artist can be.
We move to a sewing room to continue. The emotion is fresh from the last song, and newly insulated from onlookers, he shows us the simple beauty that holds up the production of his record.
We meet for a coffee at the Holy Oak. In direct contract to his new home of Williamsburg, this area is sleepy, there is room to breathe. The piano lies in wait for Mauro, though he has trepidations. A seasoned player in an overseas traveling show before committing himself to the New York grind, he is no stranger to the scene, but that world is behind him, it brings mixed emotions. Thankfully for us, he overcomes the impediment.