Centoxcento 24 11 26 Sabrina Palermo Sfonda Tut... -

From the first fractured second — a hiss of static, a whisper that sounds like Palermo counting backwards in Italian dialect — you know you’re not in for a standard beat. The title itself feels like a vandalized diary entry: “CentoxCento” (100x100, perhaps meaning total, absolute), a date (24 11 26), a name, and then “Sfonda Tut…” — breaks everything . And break everything it does.

Lyrically (from what I could parse through the glitch effects and reversed loops), Palermo seems to be dismantling the idea of perfection — “cento per cento” as an impossible standard. She “sfonda” (shatters) that illusion with every scream, every digital tear. The final minute dissolves into what sounds like a broken answering machine and a child’s toy piano playing a funeral march. CentoxCento 24 11 26 Sabrina Palermo Sfonda Tut...

Musically, it’s a collision of deconstructed club, industrial field recordings, and Palermo’s own voice treated like a broken instrument. She doesn’t sing; she erupts . Around the 2-minute mark, a distorted kick drum that sounds like a collapsing warehouse tries to find a 4/4 pattern — and fails gloriously. Instead, the rhythm stutters, resets, and then lunges forward like a runner with a cramp. It’s uncomfortable, brilliant, and weirdly danceable if your idea of dancing is a possessed marionette in a power outage. From the first fractured second — a hiss