About the Artist

Giuseppe Cucé is a pop and indie-pop singer-songwriter from Catania, Italy, whose latest album, 21 grammi, explores the emotional weight of the human soul. The nine-track project blends traditional Italian songwriting with modern indie-pop and cinematic soundscapes, using piano, strings, Hammond organs, horns, and subtle electronic touches to shape a deeply introspective journey.

Cucé began cultivating music early, later collaborating with Riccardo Samperi’s TRP MUSIC in 2008 on La Mela e il Serpente, a defining work of his saudade-driven style. Released through Parisian label EDINA MUSIC, the album led to performances at major Paris venues including Le Trianon and L’Alhambra. Across the nine track album, Cucé distills loss, rebirth, hope, and memory into a focused, emotionally driven body of work that reinforces his place within contemporary Italian music.

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The Album

È tutto così vero opens in a rush of color. First, salsa rhythms spill into the room like heat rising off Catania’s streets, and suddenly you feel dust under your shoes, music bouncing off stone walls, laughter drifting past open windows. Memory and reality blur as the song moves, and the small details—dancing bodies, fading sunsets—feel solid enough to hold onto while everything else keeps spinning.

Next, Ventuno slows the pulse. The melody hangs between melancholy and hope, and you feel the weight of the body pulling against the urge to float. Dreams press up against skin, and the desire to grow wings feels almost physical. Meanwhile, the lyrics circle longing, turning fragility into momentum instead of defeat.

Then, Dimmi cosa vuoi steps closer. The song feels like two people standing face to face after silence, breathing the same air again. Every phrase lands gently yet firmly, as if rebuilding trust requires both patience and courage. However, Fragile equilibrio shifts inward, tightening the frame. It feels like watching your reflection crack and reform, learning to stay upright without losing softness, balancing exposure with self-protection.

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Afterward, La mia dea opens a warm, nostalgic space. Piano and strings glow softly as devotion stretches across time, and you sense the impossible wish to freeze beauty before it fades. In contrast, Cuore d’inverno chills the room. Passion flares, doubt creeps in, and love swings between closeness and distance. Still, the song breathes, refusing to settle, living in that ache where desire and disillusionment meet.

Subsequently, Tutto quello che vuoi injects restless energy. Ordinary scenes twist into something surreal and defiant, and identity becomes playful, political, and absurd all at once. You feel the tension between domestic calm and chaos outside, held together by imagination. Meanwhile, Una notte infinita drifts into shadow. Time stretches, space dissolves, and the piano echoes like footsteps in an empty room, searching for a center that keeps slipping away.

Lastly, Di estate non si muore closes the journey with warmth and resilience. Everyday images glow brighter, rhythms lift the weight, and community pulses through every line. The song feels like standing shoulder to shoulder under the sun, aware of loss yet choosing life anyway.

Consequently, the album never feels static; it breathes and sways, alternating between melancholy and euphoria. Each moment arrives with intention, inviting listeners to linger in life’s beauty, contradictions, and fleeting joys. Thus, 21 grammi asks you to feel without restraint, reflect without urgency, while holding an entire spectrum of human experience in its music.