Everything

I’ve been reflecting on a few things lately, and it's been about two weeks since an inspiration or influence hit me, often sparked by artists we admire. The interesting thing is how it can manifest in varying degrees. For instance, you could be creating folk music and feel influenced by an avant-garde artist or something entirely different, like Brazilian music. How a musician conveys what they've heard can seep into their work, even if it doesn't directly align with the original source of inspiration. That's what I find fascinating.

I was thinking about this because a few years ago, I received a review for one of my albums—looking back, it was a pretty basic one. Something quite melodic that I made during the lockdown. I sent the demo to a magazine that leans more towards neofolk and dark music, and the reviewer absolutely tore me apart. I still believe that a harsh review is more positive than being ignored. The reviewer pointed out that the influences I had mentioned weren’t reflected in the music I made. It’s on this point that I disagreed. What’s amazing, instead, is when you're inspired by something but don’t just reproduce it verbatim. You capture certain essences that the original artist created, and that's what you interpret and reflect in your own way.

My latest album, Back to Iram, was released about a week ago. I must admit, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the reception—it’s already sold well and gotten a fair amount of attention. This time, I’m not producing a large number of CDs, just five. These five CDs will be high-quality and personalized, a method I’ve always done without any negative feedback.

This album was actually supposed to come out a bit later, but my recent travels in Croatia really boosted my ability to synthesize all my ideas. I worked for three days straight on modular synth tracks, sequencing and tweaking them to fit the vocals and guitar arrangements I had in mind. In a way, this album is a follow-up to my previous one, The Sea Horse Complex, which was inspired by the concept of light from Suhrawardi.

I recorded about forty tracks using modular synthesizers, modifying filters only twice. I use three filters on my rack: the Prism by Qu-Bit, the Ping Filter by Hikari, and Viol Ruina by Noise Engineering. Usually, for the last three albums I’ve made, I produce all the bases on an old computer I’ve had for over 15 years that’s not connected to the internet, using a very old version of Ableton. As long as it works and the quality is good, why change? I then transfer everything to a newer version of Ableton on a different PC, allowing me to work in various conditions, whether I’m moving around or in a room where I feel the need for contemplation.

One thing I was missing, though, was a four-input audio interface for this second PC. I just received one yesterday, which will help me work more efficiently moving forward. All the vocal takes were recorded with a small ultra-sensitive microphone, not a traditional one. The same goes for the guitar, where the mic was placed entirely inside the body of the instrument. For both of my last albums, I didn’t even use an audio interface.

My musical tastes were quite different 15 years ago, but now there are three, maybe four, musical entities that shape my days, weeks, and months: Hiroshi Yoshimura, Stars of the Lid, Popol Vuh, and Susumu Yokota. Their work brings me immense joy, and I’ve become incredibly selective with the music I listen to—very little moves me these days, even music I once enjoyed. We’re in a different sphere now, and negative darkness isn’t something I aspire to anymore. I admit, I reached some pretty dark heights in the past, but that’s because I was surrounded by that environment and was like that internally myself. That’s why, since the end of the lockdown, I’ve added a little sticker with a logo on each new album—it symbolizes a new sphere.

Coming back to Back to Iram, I didn’t send out any promotional material. I’ve decided it’s better not to bother journalists two or three times a year while others only release an album every three years. As for me, my rhythm is completely different now. Everything I produce is driven by personal rigor and aligns with a spiritual path to evolve as the world changes. With growing instability in digital realms, everyday life, and beyond, I see the time before the lockdown as my first life, and now I’m in my second.

This includes making these albums, focusing on details, and following mystic teachings while maintaining perfect balance. The most important thing is the present moment. I’ve also adopted a new approach to producing albums, working on three levels. I develop full albums and set them aside—they’re based on precise musical ideas and inspirations, which are flourishing every day, every second, every week. I have a roadmap for realizing them.

The project I’ve named Zi Iacchos revolves around avant-garde music, less vocal, but touching on themes that connect to our shared consciousness. There’s also this acoustic, vocal side, where I’ve written eight or nine songs that echo what I did in Ontologia. There’s this acoustic verve, a parallel avant-garde project, and the third level involves releasing main albums like the one I just put out, which follows a specific spiritual path exploring all possible spheres—upper, middle, and lower.