Sicilian Songwriter Fabrizio Cammarata Explores Solitude and Connection on New Album Insularities
Fabrizio Cammarata is a Sicilian singer-songwriter whose music blends Mediterranean soul with indie-folk intimacy, threading together languages, cultures, and emotional landscapes. With his new album Insularities, he delivers his most daring and personal work to date — a nine-song exploration of solitude, connection, memory, and transformation.
Produced alongside Dani Castelar (Paolo Nutini, R.E.M.) and Fabrizio’s brother Roberto Cammarata (La Rappresentante di Lista), Insularities asks what it means to be an island — geographically, emotionally, and spiritually. Born of silence and loss, yet alive with renewal, the album navigates the fragile archipelago of the self: the child, the mother, the lover, the witness.
The record opens with “Asanta,” a chant-like invocation in Sicilian that sets the tone: a refusal to bow to isolation, a promise to seek connection. From there, the journey unfolds in strikingly intimate ways. “Água E Sal,” featuring Casadilego, is both a love song and a grief song — written after the death of a close friend and a fleeting encounter on the remote island of Alicudi. It moves between Italian and Portuguese, holding sorrow and celebration in the same breath. Its companion, “The Woman In Me,” is one of Cammarata’s most vulnerable songs, inspired by Internal Family Systems therapy. With the haunting presence of Berlin’s Cantus Domus choir and Casadilego’s spectral return, it becomes a reckoning with the many selves within him.
Elsewhere, “Ricordare Inventando” meditates on memory as invention — a whispered lullaby to the past self, where blurred recollections become a means of survival. The album’s lead track “Icarus” is a dialogue with the father inside the songwriter — a figure of both weight and light, fear and longing. It’s about the temptation to fly, and the inevitability of falling. The song inhabits that fragile space where freedom and fate collide. Falling is not failure here; it’s the very way of becoming more alive. Musically, it feels like an ascent: luminous, soaring, trembling with the ecstasy of risk. And then comes the crash — but the crash itself is radiant. “Icarus” moves like a ritual: a chant that turns into a cry, then into an explosion of light. Cammarata shares, “I’m invoking the part of me that refuses to surrender, even when it knows the ground is coming. It’s both my rebellion and my prayer. This song is about accepting the cost of desire — and finding out that the fall itself can be a form of grace.”
Linguistically, Insularities blurs boundaries, weaving English, Italian, Sicilian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Arabic into a fluid, expressive palette. Rather than showcasing vocabulary, Cammarata focuses on intensity of delivery — on breath, tone, and vulnerability. The result is a body of work that is as expansive as it is intimate, drawing the listener into its archipelago of songs.
Over the years, Fabrizio has shared stages with Patti Smith, Ben Harper, Iron & Wine, Villagers, and The Paper Kites, performed at festivals from SXSW to Reeperbahn, and even joined Damien Rice and Daniel Johnston on stage. Yet with Insularities, he arrives at a new depth: a record that feels both timeless and urgently alive, shaped by silence but ultimately reaching for connection.
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