Continuing our spotlight series called Favourite Finds, we ask some of our favourite DJs, collectors and selectors to tell us the story behind how they came across one of their most cherished records.

For the next instalment, we’ve asked Sonor Music Editioins producer, record dealer and deep digger, Andrea Galtieri to give us an insight into a special record from his collection.

As the label digger for Italy’s Sonor Music Editions, an incredible label uncovering lost gems from the golden era of Italian library and soundtrack music, Andrea knows a thing or two about digging. Operating in an obscure realm of recorded music, produced specifically for commercial and media works, these aren’t your ordinary digs. Impossibly rare, their scarcity often drives their price to astronomical heights, so finding these records in the wild is a tough task.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. The record shop didn’t exist on any map, not even in the deepest corners of Discogs whispers. It was one of those days when the universe tugs you by the collar and throws you into the unknown, as if some invisible force had already decided my fate.

I was looking for an excuse to visit Rome and by sheer coincidence, a Thursday morning, maybe May, I met an elderly man who claimed to have worked as an assistant director in the film industry. He told me he had records to sell. We exchanged phone numbers, and later, he began sending me photos. My hands trembled as I scrolled through them. There they were—absolute treasures. Among them, a copy of Piero Umiliani’s “La morte bussa due volte”.

I called my boss. “I can’t come to the office tomorrow. I have to go to Rome. Record stuff.” She laughed. “Go for it.”

I booked the first train from Milan to Rome - departure at 5:30 AM. I called Maurizio, the man with the records, and we arranged to meet at 10:30am in a street in Monte Mario. I don’t remember the name. That night, I barely slept. My mind raced, obsessing over the records I might find. What if there were more? What if there was something even rarer waiting for me? The dawn of Friday arrived. I took a taxi to the station, boarded the train, and let the rhythmic clatter of the tracks fuel my anticipation. Arriving early at Termini, I wasted no time. I spotted an available taxi and jumped in, instructing the driver to take me straight to the meeting point.

It was still early, so I stepped into a small bar nearby for a coffee. Sitting at a table by the window, I kept my eyes on the street, waiting. My phone rang.

“A blue Punto,” Maurizio said. “Ten minutes.”

And there it was - a battered old Fiat Punto, pulling up outside a worn-out building. A man in his seventies stepped out. He had long, unkempt hair, thick mustaches, and a slightly disheveled beard. He walked towards me, his cracked glasses catching the morning light. His voice was rough, like old celluloid tearing apart.

“You like records, eh?” he muttered. I nodded, my heartbeat accelerating. “Then you might find something you want.”

He opened the trunk. It was stuffed with boxes. More than ten. Some were even crammed behind the car seats. I didn’t hesitate. I dived in!

I searched through every single box. Then, again. And again. But nothing. None of the records he had shown me in the photos were there. Just common records. Pop music. Mediocre compilations like George Saxon and Fausto Papetti. I felt my stomach sink. I checked again. No. This couldn’t be happening.

I looked at him, my frustration barely contained. “Where are the records you showed me?” I saw it in his eyes before he even answered. He had sold them. The day before.
My blood boiled. I had wasted my time, my money.

Perhaps he sensed my anger because, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pressed a yellowed receipt into my palm. An address was scrawled in red ink.
Before I could ask, he said, “It’s an old bookstore. You should go.”

“Can you take me there?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. “I can drop you nearby. You’ll have to walk the rest.” I had nothing left to lose.

We drove for forty minutes, weaving through the streets of Rome. He stopped at Piazza Della Rovere. “Get out here. Follow that road, take the second right.”
I stepped out of the car, not even bothering to thank him. My frustration had dulled into cold resignation. I followed the directions, winding through Trastevere’s labyrinthine alleys until I stood before a wooden door half-rotten, without a sign. I knocked.

The door groaned open.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and secrets. Shelves bowed under the weight of forgotten books, hundreds of thousands of them. The dim light flickered, casting long, shifting shadows. A figure emerged from the darkness. A man, draped in a velvet smoking jacket, stood watching me. He seemed more apparition than human.
“You seek something?” he asked, exhaling a plume of something sweet and ancient.
I hesitated. “I - I don’t know,” I stammered. “I was looking for records. But, I’m not sure I’m in the right place.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned, his movements deliberate, and reached behind a precarious stack of vinyl. And then, he pulled out a sleeve so obscure I thought I was hallucinating. My breath caught. There were Mario Molino records I had never seen before, Goblin albums.. rare soundtracks from Beat Records, Sermi, Cinevox. And then, I saw it.. A record whispered about in collectors’ circles but never seen in the wild.

Alessandro Alessandroni & Francesco De Masi – Colonna Sonora.

A soundtrack containing the music for two films: the anime-movie “Le Avventure di Robinson” and the war movie “Crepuscolo di Fuoco”. Never heard of them before that day. To this day, one of the rarest and most obscure records in Alessandroni’s discography. He didn’t name a price. He just stared.

“Take it,” he said finally. “But once it’s yours, it’s yours.” I handed him every euro in my wallet. He smiled-wide, knowing.

When I stepped outside, something felt… different. The sky had shifted. I turned back. The shop was gone. To this day, I have no idea where I was, who that man was, or why that record ended up in my hands. But one thing is certain, it found me, not the other way around.

Big thanks to Andrea for telling us the story behind his find. Be sure to give both Andrea's instagram and Sonor Music Editions a follow to keep up-to-date with their goings on.