In Italy’s deepest south, where summer sun is harsh and burns you at midday, sweat is real. You can smell, taste and feel it. It’s cold sweat. From constant fear, that haunts people in the dusty streets like shadows. Some say, it’s only paranoia. But you can’t deny the kidnappings, the stick-ups and the killings. Police is doomed to watch, hands cuffed, since the power lays in the hands of others. Who are they? They are invisible. You can only see the bloodshed and the tears. And like everywhere else in the world: violence is always calling for more violence. This is the life of Jack Curtu. And his music takes you there. Three slices, each unique in style, yet united by human rage, misery and desperation. Senza via d’uscita – there’s no way out!

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