NEW CANDYS Interview

Emerging from the haunting beauty of Venice, New Candys have long blurred the boundaries between psychedelia, rebellion, and cinematic flair. Their latest record, The Uncanny Extravaganza, isn’t a concept album—it’s an anti-concept, a genre-blurring, time-warped collection that embraces fragmentation as freedom. With roots in shadowy alleyways and carnival masks, the band’s music channels both cryptic nostalgia and raw defiance.

We spoke with frontman Fernando Nuti about the strange magic of their hometown, the band's evolving lineup and sonic palette, and why being an Italian band singing in English means embracing outsider status. From whispered historical references to synth-fueled catharsis, this conversation is a layered journey through artistic autonomy, cultural frustration, and the politics of saying (almost) nothing outright.

Venice, your hometown, is renowned for its surreal and enigmatic ambiance. How does the city's unique atmosphere influence the dreamlike and often cryptic themes in your music?

Venice is a magical city. Just taking a walk at night feels like stepping into the past—kind of like Midnight in Paris. Its timeless, or rather “frozen-in-time,” quality is incredibly inspiring. The fact that there are canals instead of streets, boats instead of cars, and the whole imagery surrounding carnival and commedia dell’arte really amplifies this sense of wonder.\

The cryptic nature of our lyrics is intentional—we like to leave space for the listener’s imagination and interpretation. I don’t think being too clear in artistic writing is all that interesting. It feels like a missed opportunity to me.

Your upcoming album, "The Uncanny Extravaganza," suggests a departure from conventional concepts. Can you elaborate on the idea of it being an "anti-concept" album and how that shaped your creative process?

Since this is our fifth album, we feel we’ve really found our sound by now. That gave us the freedom to include songs that are quite different from each other—written in different ways and even at different times. Once we embraced that mindset, making the album became very liberating.

The only requirement for a song to make it on the record was that it had to be good—it didn’t have to match the rest thematically or stylistically. That “anti-concept” approach opened up a lot of creative possibilities.

"Regicide" draws inspiration from historical figures like Gaetano Bresci. How do historical and political narratives inform your songwriting, and what parallels do you see between past and present societal unrest?

Sometimes a historical story catches our attention, especially when it intersects with political themes—both of the past and present. That can spark something creatively. But I don’t find politics inspiring enough on its own to build something artistic around.

You’re mentioning Gaetano Bresci because I’ve referenced him in interviews, but he’s not named in the lyrics—and I would never mention him directly. I prefer to leave things open for interpretation. That way, listeners can connect the dots themselves, even with current events—or future ones.

The integration of electronic elements in your music has become more pronounced. How has your approach to blending electronic textures with your established sound evolved over time?

It’s been a gradual evolution. On our first two records, we didn’t even know how to turn on a synthesizer. Slowly, we began to understand them more, until we reached this new album, where synths and drum machines are just as present as guitars, bass and acoustic drums.

It’s been a natural progression—never forced. As time goes by, you grow and change, and exploring new tools is exciting. It keeps things fun, fresh, and far from routine.

Visual aesthetics play a significant role in your work, from album art to music videos. How do you conceptualize the visual components of your projects, and how do they complement the sonic elements?

There’s often a strong connection between the artwork, the lyrics, and the music. Sometimes the artwork in progress influences the lyrics—or the other way around.

With videos, it really depends. Sometimes they’re fun to make, especially if we have a solid concept. Other times, we choose a single and feel obligated to come up with a video idea, which can be less enjoyable. Still, we always try to align the videos visually with the artwork whenever possible.

Your music often explores themes of rebellion and transformation. How do these themes resonate with your personal experiences and perspectives as an artist?

Probably because time keeps passing and things never seem to get any better. Honestly, I’m even a bit afraid to answer this question—saying the wrong thing could mean we’re no longer welcome to play in certain countries, so I’d rather avoid being too explicit.

I’m not really interested in being a public spokesperson for anything if that stance could end up hurting us. I’d rather have a real conversation with someone after a show and explain how we personally experience the current political situation.

As an artist, I feel increasingly limited—especially by the boundaries of political correctness, which, in my opinion (and I’m speaking only for myself here—Fernando Nuti), have evolved into something that restricts creative freedom. Sometimes you need to use bold language or strong metaphors to communicate a message clearly, and if art gets watered down by restrictions, we all lose a bit of that freedom.

The same goes for political themes. And I don’t care if this sounds like I’m playing it safe—let’s see anyone take a strong stance if it means they might lose the chance to spread their message. I think my approach is simply smart, given the times we live in. If you come to one of our shows, I’ll explain better what I mean

Collaboration seems integral to your creative process. How do the dynamics within the band influence the development of your music, and how do you navigate differing artistic visions?

This is the third incarnation of the band. Since 2008, the only constant members have been myself (Fernando) and Dario Lucchesi—who, since 2023, has moved from drums to bass and synths.

I’ve mostly led the artistic vision, especially when it comes to vocal melodies, lyrics, and the visual identity—album art, videos, all of that. With the original lineup, the instrumental parts often came from jamming for hours in the rehearsal space. That changed with Vyvyd, our fourth album, where the lineup shifted and I ended up composing most of the songs at home.

For this latest record, Dario contributed more compositionally on tracks like “Regicide” and “Night Surfer,” and the four of us worked together on the arrangements—except for the slower, more intimate songs, which I mostly handled on my own. Dario and I would pass project files back and forth, and Emanuele and Francesco would often come over to my place to work on parts. We also regularly rehearsed the songs live at Francesco’s practice space, which helped us shape them further.

Then in the studio, we polished everything with Maurizio Baggio. It was a super fun record to make, and we all left our mark on it. The process felt very natural and freeing—for example, Dario plays guitar on one track, and Emanuele recorded bass on another. We didn’t care about sticking to our “live” roles—our only goal was to make the best music possible.

Live performances are a vital aspect of your identity. How do you translate the intricate layers of your studio recordings into the live setting, and what challenges do you encounter in doing so?

We rely on technology and use backing tracks for the synth parts—everything else is played live. There’s a lot of preparation and planning behind the scenes, because we don’t want to compromise the songs just because there are only four of us on stage.

That said, our live sound is always a bit more stripped-down and raw—a punkier, more immediate version of what you hear on the record. Seeing us live is a slightly different experience, and we like it that way.

The pandemic has altered the landscape of music production and performance. How has this period impacted your approach to creating and sharing music?

I don’t think it changed the way we create or share music, really—but it definitely made us more cautious when it comes to planning live shows.

If people have gotten out of the habit of going to gigs, that’s something we need to consider before committing to a tour. Personally, I’ve noticed there are fewer venues and maybe fewer promoters around these days.

Right after restrictions were lifted, we played some packed shows and the vibe was amazing—people were so eager to experience live music again. I hope more venues will open up and new promoters will get involved. I tend to be an optimist, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the music scene.

Looking ahead, what aspirations do you have for New Candys, both in terms of musical exploration and the messages you wish to convey through your art?

We’d love to tour North America again—it’s a bit harder now than it used to be, but we’re definitely going to try, since that’s where our biggest fanbase is.

Looking ahead, we’re excited about the tours we already have lined up, to see how people react to the new album, and hopefully come back home inspired and ready to make another record.

When it comes to messages, we prefer to leave the artistic ones open to interpretation. But maybe, in a way, we’re also carrying a message of hope for the Italian independent scene. We’re one of the few bands from here singing in English and managing to tour abroad—it’s not easy, but it’s not impossible either. That alone might be worth sharing.

Anyone making music in English in Italy needs way more passion than those who sing in Italian. The so-called “independent” scene—venues, promoters, press—always plays it safe and does very little to raise the bar. We’re in the minor leagues, while the major leagues are something else entirely. And it has nothing to do with language—take Germany, for example: we feel way more at home there than we do in Italy. That’s a bit sad.

In the music scene, we often call Italy Italietta, which roughly means “Provincial Italy”—and unfortunately, that’s exactly what it is. The audience needs some guidance too, maybe even a little education. But that’s not happening, and the people in charge—the industry professionals—are the ones most to blame.

To Italian bands singing in English, we say: forget about Italy. Don’t let it hold you back. That’s the message we want to pass on.

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By the REAL Editorial Team | May 30, 2025