April 25. In Italy, that’s Liberation Day—the fall of Nazi-Fascism. This year, it’s also the day Anedonia came out. Morningviews didn’t plan that for symbolism. Or maybe they did. Either way, the date fits: the album doesn’t offer any freedom you’d notice. It sits in the same fog that made their last release ache—except now it’s louder, sharper, and more resigned. Post-hardcore? Screamo? Blackgaze? Pick your poison. It’s not about genre anymore.
The nine tracks were written after La sindrome dell’età dell’oro, in the long hangover of part-time jobs, failed tours, and lives that couldn’t bend far enough to accommodate music.
Recorded in a rehearsal space in Panicarola and finished at Undergrind Studio in Brufa, Anedonia stretches from panic spirals to post-rock comedowns. It opens with Dicembre, a dream sequence that dissolves fast: “Ideally, it’s a dream from which one is abruptly awakened by the worries explored throughout the album.”
From there, the crash is immediate. Inutile throws itself headfirst into work stress, care labor, and the guilt loop that comes with it. “You spend the night overthinking—wondering if you did enough, if you are enough, and so on.” The band leans into a Deafheaven-meets-midwest-emo sound here, letting tension spill over like a bad night’s sleep.
The world bleeds in whether you want it or not. “Writing an album in a historical period like this inevitably leads you to confront what is happening in the world… while at the same time addressing the difficulty of living with one’s personal dramas in such a context.”
That tension drives the whole record. Anedonia isn’t about detachment—it’s about the dull, persistent ache of caring too much and still feeling nothing.
Cose a cui pensare durante un rapimento plays that out with a two-chord dirge that starts in The X-Files and ends in what might be either an alien abduction or a panic attack. “Probably the latter, though Fox Mulder might disagree.” Schermoluce, once a Cloud Nothings demo, now shuffles between melodic hardcore and post-rock grief. They’re still not sure they like the final version—“Ironically, it’s a fan and friends’ favorite.”
Not all tracks want to scream. Il peggiore dei nostri inverni and Dicembre scale back, pushing cleaner vocals up front. But that doesn’t make them soft. The lyrics track the awkward guilt of talking about your own sadness in a world drowning in larger horrors. “It eventually turned into a broader reflection… the growing global indifference to death, the tendency to sensationalize it.”
The collaborations matter too. Il tuo verde preferito features Cabrera—friends and fixtures in the Italian emo scene. It’s the kind of track built on shared shows, DIY nights, and a memory of Fano that won’t fade. “The desire to be someone else—as if others’ lives are inherently better than our own. But that’s just an illusion.”
There’s also Assente, which swells from a quiet acoustic memory into looped vocals and shoegaze drones. It’s not about endings. It’s about how we build on the rubble. Deserti hits next with a seven-minute scream into the void of climate crisis and structural neglect. “The deserts we speak of aren’t just environmental, but relational and class-based… we become indifferent to ourselves too, and there’s nothing worse than that.”
The album ends with Gennaio, a track written after a show with Cabrera, during a jam that went off-script and stayed there. Holiday lights, family dysfunction, the emptiness of forced joy—it’s all in there. “Dicembre is just a month, and Gennaio doesn’t magically fix everything.”
Anedonia maps out the numbness —the stillness that follows burnout, breakdown, or just another year gone. There’s no grand resolution, no big closing chorus. Just a record of what’s been felt, written down before it disappears.
Let’s dive into the band’s track by track commentary below.
Dicembre:
It was born as the album’s intro, but eventually became a full song. It sets the tone for the record with arpeggios, post-rock guitars, and clean vocals. Ideally, it’s a dream from which one is abruptly awakened by the worries explored throughout the album.
Inutile:
Inutile is the panicked, abrupt awakening that follows Dicembre. The lyrics stem from the stress of working with people and the expectations placed on caregiving professions. It’s a kind of work you can’t easily leave behind at the end of the day, and sometimes you spend the night overthinking—wondering if you did enough, if you are enough, and so on. You never really find answers, and your obsessive thoughts start bleeding into other areas of life: relationships, passions, music, the outside world. Musically, it was inspired by a blend of Deafheaven and midwest emo.
Il tuo verde preferito:
One of the songs we’re most attached to because it features Cabrera. Cabrera are a staple in Italian emo, and we’re very happy to call them “friends.” Our friendship began one night in Fano, a town in the Pesaro province, during a show organized by Two Girlz One Skramz where we played together. We’ve stuck together since then, and had the great honor of playing at the release party for their beautiful latest album Restare Intatti. The song talks about the desire to be someone else—as if others’ lives are inherently better than our own. But that’s just an illusion created by our hyperconnected society. We think it contains both the biggest chorus and the loudest bridge we’ve ever written.
Cose a cui pensare durante un rapimento:
This was the second song we worked on, and the only one that remained exactly as it was originally conceived. It’s musically very simple (just two chords from beginning to end) but plays with dynamics. It starts with an episode of The X-Files and ends describing an alien abduction. Only—we’re not sure if we were really abducted or just had a panic attack. Probably the latter, though Fox Mulder might disagree. We’ve always wanted a song that starts off a bit like Dark Stone by Holy Fawn. We refer to the final section as “the Converge part.”
Il peggiore dei nostri inverni:
Apart from Dicembre (which has a small scream at the end), this is the only track sung entirely with relatively clean vocals. It was meant to divide the two halves of Anedonia. The song starts with the idea that writing about feelings in the middle of genocidal fury and other horrors feels like an act of selfishness—and that awareness made it hard to speak about ourselves. It eventually turned into a broader reflection, addressing the growing global indifference to death, the tendency to sensationalize it, and the difficulty of processing or expressing our feelings in such a climate. Musically, Citizen were the biggest influence here.
Schermoluce:
This was the first song written for Anedonia, but it remained unfinished for a long time and went through many versions. It started off like a Cloud Nothings-style track, but that felt too bubbly for the album’s concept. After many revisions, we reached the current version. It starts like a melodic hardcore song and evolves into a massive post-rock section full of arpeggios, drones, and swells. We’re still not totally convinced by it. Ironically, it’s a fan and friends’ favorite. The lyrics imagine a world where we’re all truly equal—emotionally and materially. We’d call it a utopia, but “utopia” implies unachievability, and we truly hope it becomes reality as soon as possible.
Assente:
Originally an acoustic guitar and vocal track, it retains some of that feel in the intro. When it explodes, it shifts into shoegaze/post-rock territory. The midsection with looped, delay-drenched vocals is a nod to Gratitude, a song from Foxing’s latest album. It’s about the end of a relationship—be it romantic, friendship, or due to loss—and how we build new memories on top of what once belonged to someone no longer in our lives. A painful, but often necessary process.
Deserti:
The longest song on the album, Deserti draws inspiration from Thursday, State Faults, post-metal, and stoner rock. The result is a seven-minute piece addressing climate change and how people in positions of power—financial, social, or political—deliberately choose not to act. It seems absurd, but that’s how it is. The deserts we speak of aren’t just environmental, but relational and class-based—they lead to indifference toward others and the world. Ultimately, we become indifferent to ourselves too, and there’s nothing worse than that.
Gennaio:
Gennaio was born right after we played with Cabrera. Simone, our bassist, brought this chord progression to rehearsal, and we started jamming. At first, it seemed destined to be a straightforward song, but as always, it took a more deconstructed turn. It starts atmospherically, with dreamy instrumentals and a riff we think could fill an arena, then bursts into a blackgaze blast beat before closing in cinematic post-rock fashion. Picking up directly where Dicembre left off, it explores what it feels like to go through the holidays when you grew up in a dysfunctional family—the melancholic aura of Christmas lights and colors, and the dysphoria that follows. It also reflects on the discomfort of not feeling pain when you (and everyone else) think you should. The conclusion? Dicembre is just a month, and Gennaio doesn’t magically fix everything. You have to face pain and hardship with persistence and a desire to reclaim your emotions. There’s truly no other way to change the world than to love yourself and your friends.
