Cello – Singing to Serpents: A raw, restless dive into love, ego and late-night self-destruction
There’s a certain kind of album that doesn’t so much arrive as unravel—and Singing to Serpents, the latest from Cello (Marcello Valletta), thrives in that exact tension. Across nine tracks, the Pittsburgh artist delivers a project that feels volatile, intimate, and unapologetically messy, tapping into the emotional chaos that defines much of modern alt-pop and underground hip-hop.
Cello operates in a space where genres blur and feelings spill over. His background as a poet and performer shows in the way these songs are constructed—not neatly, but deliberately. The album doesn’t follow a clean arc. It loops, repeats, and spirals, mimicking the thought patterns of someone caught between obsession and self-awareness.
Opening track “Stay Here” sets the tone with a kind of reckless urgency. Built around a hypnotic refrain, it captures the emotional push-and-pull of a relationship that feels both necessary and unsustainable. There’s a cinematic quality to the chaos—late-night drives, blurred lines, and a sense that everything could collapse at any moment. It’s one of the album’s strongest entries, precisely because it refuses to settle.
That same tension carries into “Elevate,” where Cello leans into ambition and ego, layering icy imagery over a minimal, atmospheric beat. It’s slick but uneasy, like confidence masking something more fragile underneath. Meanwhile, “Sucks to Be Used” strips things back to something far more confrontational. The hook is blunt, almost abrasive, but it’s anchored in emotional exhaustion rather than pure hostility. It’s uncomfortable listening—and that’s exactly the point.
Mid-album highlights “Pray” and “Faith” bring a shift in tone, pulling the listener into more introspective territory. These tracks wrestle with belief, identity, and self-worth, offering glimpses of vulnerability beneath the bravado. On “Faith,” the repeated line about needing strength feels less like affirmation and more like a plea—one of the album’s most quietly affecting moments.
Elsewhere, “Cravings” and “Full Moon” explore desire in all its intoxicating and destructive forms. Both tracks lean heavily on atmosphere, creating a hazy, almost dreamlike quality that contrasts with the sharper edges of earlier songs. “Full Moon” in particular stands out for its darker tone, framing love as something transformative, but not necessarily in a positive way.
By the time the album closes with “Sleeping,” the intensity begins to soften. There’s a sense of emotional fatigue, of coming down from the highs and lows that define the record. It’s not quite resolution—but it feels like acceptance.
What makes Singing to Serpents compelling is its refusal to be polished. Cello isn’t interested in presenting a perfect version of himself. Instead, he leans into contradiction—confidence and insecurity, desire and regret, faith and doubt. It’s this duality that gives the album its edge.
At times, the lack of structure can feel disorienting, but it also makes the project feel alive. In a landscape full of calculated releases, Singing to Serpents stands out for its unpredictability.
It’s not always easy listening—but it is honest. And that counts for a lot.