Anaïs Drago: the Solo Violininst Who Doesn’t Want to Be a Soloist

Born in Biella in 1993, violinist, composer, improviser, and bandleader Anais Drago is one of the rising stars of Italian jazz. After winning the Italian magazine Musica Jazz poll as the best new talent in 2021 and dedicating significant time to solo performance, she has just released Relevé Live (Habitable Records, 2025), a trio album with Federico Calcagno and Max Trabucco. We caught up with her right after Minotauri, a solo violin concert at the Connetto Jazz Festival, in Poggibonsi, to capture a snapshot of her current artistic journey.

All About Jazz: Let's start with tonight's concert, a distinctive solo violin performance built on a multiplicity of elements but, above all, with a clear intent to tell a story. You mentioned that your music was inspired by Friedrich Dürrenmatt's The Minotaur. Can you share how you translated that story into music?

Anaïs Drago: It began with the story itself, which struck me deeply. I gradually worked with the myth's key figures and words, starting with the Minotaur and its deformity, which, at some level, reflects something inherent in humanity. I wanted to also explore the theme of imprisonment, which I tried to render through something confined yet quietly screaming, which, in turn, led me to create a sonic landscape that's at times ethereal, at times intensely raw, yet somehow stifled. I try to convey this in the third and fourth sections, with a progression that evokes the desperate cry of someone trapped in the depths.

The labyrinth itself is another core concept—a place where you get lost, unable to find yourself, circling back to the starting point without moving forward. But this circularity eventually begins to spiral upward, hinting at an escape. And finally, there's the idea of that escape, which can be horizontal or, as I chose to explore, vertical—toward the sky. I expressed this through a range of liberties, especially by shifting from a very low register, when inside the labyrinth, to a higher one, when breaking free toward the heavens. In other words, I envisioned a labyrinth that's enclosed on the sides but open to the sky, as most labyrinths are.

Another key musical element was the mirror, the reflection: I use many serial cells, flipping them, and I lean heavily on the whole-tone scale, especially in the first part.

I also drew on Aristophanes' The Birds. In this ancient story, citizens, fed up with societal decay, decide to build a new city halfway between Earth and Sky, dedicated to birds, called Cloudcuckooland, to access another world.

The transitional phase, where I also use my voice, is actually a piece by Polish composer Zbigniew Seifert, which I prepared for the Seifert Competition in Krakow, where two of his compositions were required. That melody isn't mine, though the arrangement is entirely different from the original. I kept it because I've grown attached to it—it resonates with me—and because its title, "Stillness," served the narrative by capturing a moment of stasis where nothing happens. It's just two chords—B-flat/F—repeating, creating the sense of pause I needed for that transition. Finally, the voice: since it's uniquely human, it represents the human element. It's absent in the "monstrous" first part and emerges in the second half of the concert.

AAJ: How much of the performance is written or predetermined, and how much is improvised?

AD: That's a tough question because when I perform, I have so much in my head that I could say it's largely written, even though what's in my head isn't actually written down but it is the accumulation of ideas that have solidified over time from earlier improvisational moments. As I mentioned before the concert, since this project began in 2021, the music has evolved—not while I was studying in my room, but through all the performances I've given in that time.

For example, I recall a phrase I linger on in the first part; it came to me before a 2022 concert in Calabria. That night, it revealed itself as a simple phrase I played a couple of times before moving on. Over subsequent concerts, I developed it, and it became a stable part of the performance.

Basically, the performance is built on a framework that keeps expanding. Some ideas—those that feel convincing or resonate with me—become fixed, almost like written material. But they remain cells or timbral ideas. Ultimately, the structure is very defined, as are the effects, which remain immutable because of logistical reasons—I don't have a computer to tweak live, so I prepare them in advance, leaving little room for improvisation there.

AAJ: You've worked extensively on solo performance. How does your solo work influence your compositions for larger ensembles?

AD: Solo work has been, above all, a way for me to understand my purely instrumental expressiveness. Without spending so much time on solo performance, I likely wouldn't have come up with certain ideas, even in an ensemble context where you're more focused on others and the collective. As you know, developing a personal language and aesthetic takes a long time, and for me, that development happened through solo work. After debuting in jazz with a septet, on the self-titled album Anaïs Drago & The Jellyfish (Another Music records, 2018), the pandemic forced me to go solo for a long time before I could return to a group project, like the trio.

AAJ: And that brings us to the trio, whose album Relevé Live just came out. You mentioned that in larger ensembles, you're more attuned to the other elements, and indeed, in the trio, you're not even the dominant voice—that role goes to Federico Calcagno. How did you arrive at this trio, especially with such an unusual instrumental lineup of violin, bass clarinet, and drums?

AD: I drew heavily on my experience with the septet before going solo. That taught me that when conceiving a larger ensemble, my first concern is understanding the kind of ensemble I'm in—not just which instruments pair well with my violin, but what kind of sonic blend makes me feel most comfortable. This led to a simple, subjective realization, not just because I play the violin but because of how I feel with the violin: in a setting with a dense sonic mass—lots of voices and strong harmonic instruments—I struggle to move freely. This may be a matter of habit, having played solo for four years, but I had to account for that. So, I formed this trio—a small group without a harmonic instrument—because I believed it would give me more expressive freedom, a belief confirmed by experience. I also wanted to use the violin in a less purely melodic way, more rhythmic-harmonic, which might sound odd since it's still a violin. In a setting with bass, guitar, and piano, if I play chords, I become redundant. But without other chordal instruments, even my small contributions gain meaning. I wanted the violin to function as a section instrument, not just a solo one, which is why I'm thrilled to let Federico take the lead with his clarinets—he does it brilliantly.

AAJ: The trio has a unique timbral blend that makes it particularly engaging, with a striking contrast between the bass clarinet and violin. Even during the concert, I was surprised by the drums' atypical role. How did you envision that?

AD: Following my thoughts on sonic masses, I gave Max Trabucco specific directions: I wanted dry, non-resonant sounds. He translated that beautifully, doing remarkable work with cymbals and metallic elements. I also liked the idea of an acoustic sound that leaned toward something more electronic, which comes through in some tracks, not all. To me, Max's role breaks from traditional instrument assignments—he's very melodic while still being the rhythmic backbone. I'm grateful because writing drum parts is tough for me, so I prefer giving guidelines instead!

AAJ: I recall Max saying after the concert that he was thrilled, noting how clear your ideas were...

AD: Oh, yes, I had lots of ideas... but they were not "parts" for sure!

AAJ: I know this is a broad question, and I'm not looking for a precise answer, but it's always interesting to explore: how would you describe this trio's music?

AD: I can't give a precise answer, but when the trio and its repertoire came together, I wanted something different from the solo work I'd been immersed in, which was a bit static, meditative, linear. I craved something higher-energy, with more rhythmic variety. I wanted to dance! Or at least recapture the feeling I had as a kid in a folk group, with that drive and rhythm. Of course, I wanted to do it differently, without a traditional repertoire, but with pieces that moved in that direction.

AAJ: You come from a classical background. As you ventured into other directions, how did you carry the violinistic tradition with you?

AD: I encountered jazz around the time I graduated from conservatory, when I already had an academic mastery of the instrument. But I chose to set that aside to learn the jazz language and phrasing. For years, my focus was entirely on that. The work on sound came later, specifically when I discovered free improvisation. That's when I stopped thinking only about what I played and started considering how I played it. That began the second half of the circle, so to speak, which eventually closed: I returned to refining sound control, bow technique, and other technical aspects. I'm thrilled to have rediscovered these, not through an academic repertoire, but through improvisation and my own compositions.

AAJ: Were there any models or inspirations in this process?

AD: Not directly. Certain listens opened worlds or paths for me, but I never specifically studied violin players, whether in jazz or classical contexts. Honestly, I've probably listened mostly to non-violin players. My need to redefine the violin as a non-melodic instrument came from listening to other instruments, not the violin itself. My influences are varied: for example, Different Trains by Steve Reich, which isn't jazz but features strings; or the 24 Microtonal Piano Preludes by Russian composer Ivan Wyschnegradsky, which pushed me toward exploring beyond the European tempered system I had studied for years.

AAJ: I noticed that during today's concert. Perhaps because I recently saw Mat Maneri, who, following his father Joe's research, works extensively with microtonality. Especially in the first part, I sensed you were moving in that direction.

AD: Yes, exactly. Those are expressive forms and styles I try to develop and bring out in performances. I love the destabilizing effect it has, first and foremost on myself.

AAJ: Any new projects in the works, considering the trio's album just dropped and the solo work is ongoing?

AD: The solo work is a constant, always evolving, while the trio doesn't have many gigs this summer given that the album just came out. We'll present it at the Sile Jazz Festival, in Veneto, with more concerts coming up in the fall. I wouldn't mind doing a second recording, this time in the studio, since this one was live. Beyond that, over the past year and a half, I've been involved in wildly different projects, which I love because each of them lets me express something from my solo studies. There's a duo with oud player Peppe Frana, for which we're both writing original pieces; a trio with accordionist Fausto Beccalossi and guitarist Luca Falomi, with accessible, original music; a tribute to Frank Zappa's irreverence with the Shake Your Duty trio, featuring Valentina Scheldhofen Ciardelli on double bass and countertenor Riccardo Strano—we'll be playing at the Zappanale Festival in a few days! And a trio with Barbara Casini and Barbara Piperno, rooted in northeastern Brazilian and South American traditional music.

AAJ: The violin in that genre is an intriguing pairing.

AD: Even more so when you consider that Barbara sings, plays guitar and percussion, I sing and play percussion alongside the violin, and the other Barbara, a flautist, does the same. This instrumental setup required intense arrangement work and opened space to incorporate things I've developed on the instrument. Yet it remains highly accessible, and it allows me to be at the service of a musical universe and repertoire which are new to me. This applies to the duo with Peppe Frana too, a master of modal and Arabic traditional music. When I got the chance to play with him, I warned him I didn't know that music, but he said that was fine—even better—because the goal wasn't to mimic a language but to create something original. My microtonality studies are independent of Middle Eastern cultural traditions, as imitating them would feel like senseless cultural appropriation. But who knows, maybe one day I'll wake up wanting to master that too...

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