Inkognito sits on the shaded terrace of his villa, the afternoon heat settling over the city below. He sets his glass down on the stone table and lets the silence hold for a moment before pressing play on the new album of Didascalis.

No Holiday moves through the speakers at a steady, unhurried pace. He works through each track without skipping, the way he does with music from someone he knows well. Later, he sends Didascalis a short message — two words, nothing more.