Limen Collective is not a band, but a breath held between worlds.
A voice rising from the stones,
a wind that knows your name,
a silence that remembers.

Born in Torino yet anchored in Sardinia,
this ensemble drifts where lullabies are prayers
and funeral songs bloom like wild herbs
between past and present.

Founded by Alessandra Soro and Fabrizio Leoni,
Limen is made of many voices but speaks as one soul.
It listens to the land, it learns from the sea, it sings where stories were nearly lost.

Their debut album Perda e Bentu is a map drawn in sound and salt. 

Seven pieces. Seven portals. A stone for remembrance, a gust for each direction of the heart.

Abbentu whispers of departure, Scirocco hums with dust and desire, Maestrale howls through narrow straits, Accabadora walks in shadow and compassion, Attittadora grieves the forgotten, Jana dances with ghosts beneath the moon, Sa Terra Mia remembers the homeland
in the voice of a grandmother and the hands of a child who left but never truly walked away.

Around Alessandra’s voice and Fabrizio’s keys, the collective weaves a ritual of timbres:
Cesare Mecca (trumpet),
Simone Garino (clarinet, soprano sax),
Elena Marchi (alto sax),
Marco Tardito (bass clarinet),
Gabriele Leoni (flute),
Masih Karimi (tanbur, daf),
Marco Bellafiore (double bass),
Luca Guarino (drums and percussion).

They do not play songs. They call forth presences. They make space for memory to breathe.
Their music is not meant to fill the air but to open it.

To guide you back, when you’ve forgotten where you came from.

To carry you forward, with your roots intact.

Limen means threshold.
This is where you pause. This is where you listen.
And then…
you remember.