I walked into a small jazz club in Rome thinking I knew what piano could do. I walked out grinning, a little stunned, and kind of buzzing. That’s what Antonello Salis does. He plays piano and accordion. He also plays the room, the crowd, and even silence. And you know what? It works. Another listener captured a similar feeling in their write-up, Antonello Salis made my night feel bigger than the room.
Curious to trace the journey behind that fearless energy, I later wandered through Antonello Salis' official site and found the same playful depth etched into every project he lists there.
A tiny room, a huge sound
The show was late. It was at Alexanderplatz Jazz Club, the kind of place where your knees touch the stage if you lean in. He came out with an accordion first. No big speech. Just a slow, sweet waltz.
Curious about the spot itself? You can dig into its legacy and nightly vibe in this Romeing overview of Alexanderplatz Jazz Club.
Then, boom—he flipped the mood. He squeezed a fast run that made the lights seem brighter. People laughed, but we didn’t mean to. We were surprised. That same playful back-and-forth surfaces in his duo sets, like the one documented in my night with Antonello Salis & Simone Zanchini.
He moved to the piano and turned it into a whole band. He used “prepared piano” tricks—he reached inside and muted strings with his hand. That gives a dry, thumpy sound. He also tapped the wood like a drum. Then he’d snap back to clean, bright notes, and it felt like sun after rain. I know that sounds cheesy. But it did.
During one tune, he started a modal vamp. That’s a simple, looping groove. He stacked little rhythms on top. Polyrhythm, they call it. My foot went rogue. It found a new beat. The couple next to me whispered, then they went silent. We all—just listened.
The little things I caught
- His left hand felt like thunder. His right hand felt like rain.
- He grunts a bit when he gets excited. Not too much. Just enough to pull you in.
- He’ll start a melody that sounds like folk music from home, then twist it. It turns bold and free.
- He makes you wait. He leaves space. When the next note lands, it lands hard.
He told one short story, too. It was about Sardinia and wind. Simple words. Big feeling. I could almost smell salt. For a taste of how he meshes bellows with global percussion, check out the reflection on Berimbau and Bellows: my night with Nan Vasconcelos and Antonello Salis.
At home with his records
After the show, I bought a CD at the little merch table. Cash only, by the way. Later that week, I played his solo stuff while I cooked pasta. Sauce simmered. He went from tender to wild in one track. Not many artists can do that without losing me. He didn’t.
I also streamed a duo set with trumpet. The horn held a long, soft note while he let the accordion sigh under it. Real hush. Then he cut through with sharp piano chords—like a lighthouse blink. I hit replay. Twice. Ok, three times.
What I loved (and what bugged me a bit)
Loved:
- The switch between accordion and piano. It felt like two voices in one body.
- The humor. He makes chaos feel friendly.
- The risk. He takes leaps and somehow lands on beat.
Bugged me:
- A few noisy parts ran long. I like noise, but I also like a clean landing.
- No setlist on the table. I wanted names to find later.
- The sound guy let the piano mic ring once. A small squeal. It passed, but still.
Is Antonello Salis for you?
- Yes, if you like surprise, color, and heart.
- Yes, if you enjoy folk shades floating through jazz.
- Maybe not, if you need neat, tidy tunes. This isn’t background music. It asks for your ears.
Watching Salis felt a bit like letting a bold stranger set the pace on a first date—equal parts nerves and delight. If you’d like to bring that same mix of spontaneity and control into your love life, take a look at this hands-on Bumble review—it spells out the app’s perks, pitfalls, and pro tips so you can decide whether swiping there will feel as electric as a Salis solo.
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Quick tips if you go
- Sit close. Seeing his hands will help your brain make sense of the sound.
- Bring a small bill or two for a CD.
- If you’re sound-sensitive, pack earplugs. He gets loud, then soft. That swing is the point.
- Don’t talk during the quiet parts. You’ll miss the best bits.
Final take
Antonello Salis made a small club feel like a theater, and then like a kitchen, and then like a cliff at dusk. He’s warm. He’s fearless. He’s also human. Some choices didn’t land for me, and that’s fine. The risk is part of the joy.
Would I see him again? In a heartbeat. I still hear that last chord hanging in the air. It felt like he threw it to us and let us keep it. Someone else summed up a similar rush in the piece I spent a night with Salis Antonello—here’s how it hit me, and I can’t help nodding along.