Before Moscato came to life as a musical project, what did creativity look like for you? What first pulled you toward music as your main form of expression?
As a child, I loved drawing and was always passionate about cinema. It was actually thanks to a film that I first truly realized the evocative power of music.
What initially drew me to music as a performer was singing, I discovered my voice early on, and as a teenager it guided me toward composition. Then, when I stopped using it in a traditional way and began writing more instrumental music, I reconnected with the original spark of my musical passion, composing and performing my songs almost as if they were soundtracks.
You’re currently based in Italy, what does the local music scene feel like from your perspective as a composer of instrumental and genre-blending works? Any artists or spaces that have inspired you lately?
In Italy, instrumental music exists and it’s wonderful, but it rarely reaches major stages, except for a few piano-related exceptions.
Right now, I mostly look abroad for inspiration, artists like Hans Zimmer, Ólafur Arnalds, or Max Richter. Some of them write strong melodies, others focus more on sound design, but they all manage to move me deeply.
Your music exists almost entirely without lyrics, yet it communicates deeply. In a music culture driven by fast social content, how do you approach connecting with listeners in such a unique way?
My music requires time and a kind of surrender, space to dream and be gently carried. That’s why I struggle to communicate effectively through social media.
Some musicians are great at sharing short excerpts of their songs in a social-friendly format, and they do it very well. What holds me back is the belief that social media isn’t the right place to share music. One of my songs would end up being just another excuse for distraction, rather than offering a musical experience that encourages us to re-engage with the world around us.
Social media has become a creative extension (and sometimes burden) for artists. How do you manage your digital presence while keeping your artistic identity intact?
I’ll admit, it’s a burden for me. I know my approach is completely uneconomical, but I’d rather be listened to by a few people than spend time churning out short content among thousands of other short pieces.
My social presence is limited to sharing information, like the release of a song or an interview. If someone’s interested in me, they can listen to my music on streaming platforms or come see me live.
You seem to blur genre lines effortlessly, between folktronica, ambient, post-rock, and symphonic. How do you see yourself fitting into (or standing apart from) today’s music industry?
It’s never been easy for me to find a place. Over the years, I’ve released music independently so I could do things freely. I would’ve appreciated the support of a label, but the offers I received always involved changing what I do to fit a more conventional mold, so I chose not to compromise.
Writing and producing is how I express creativity, so if needed, I’d rather support myself financially through other work, as long as I can keep my creative space untouched.
What emotional or creative space do you feel you’re occupying right now as an artist? Where do you see yourself evolving toward?
I can’t really place myself clearly. I can describe my arrangements or productions, but I always fail when I try to understand how others perceive them.
As for the future, I never know where I’m heading musically. I’ve often tried to plan, only to find myself going in completely different directions.
You’ve been releasing music for years, but Komorebi feels like a shift in tone and depth. What’s one thing you’ve discovered about your creative process while working on HE/HUH?
I composed and produced HE/HUH on my own, and that deeply influenced my creative process, it liberated it. I didn’t have to wait on anyone or find compromises.
I followed instinct throughout the entire process, doing whatever felt right for each track, with only a few people I turned to for feedback. I love teamwork, but I needed to explore myself fully as a composer and producer.
Of course, I was supported by amazing musicians who played on the album and trusted me. I’ll admit, when I finally shared the tracks, I was prepared for any response, from the most positive to the most tragic… Fortunately, it’s gone well so far.
Is there a live performance of yours that felt especially transformative, either for you or your audience? And on the flip side… has there been a live show or creative moment that tested your resilience more than expected?
I remember many beautiful concerts, but none that felt transformative in a positive sense. I do recall one where I had to handle a very difficult situation.
At a festival, the sound engineer had a panic attack and erased all the soundcheck settings. We ended up performing with no monitors on stage and half the instruments muted for the audience. It was surreal.
People still enjoyed the concert, but to this day, I wonder what they actually heard!
Your music invites listeners to imagine, feel, and reflect. But what might surprise people about you behind the scenes, something totally outside the music?
I’m incredibly ordinary. I live by a lake with the same woman I’ve been with for many years, I practice Zen, live a healthy life, I’m completely predictable and boring!
Let’s talk Komorebi, your new single and the opening of your upcoming album. How did this piece come together, and why did it feel like the right way to begin this chapter?
The whole album is a journey through the acceptance of loss, expressed through sound rather than words.
The first track had to convey a sense of disorientation, of emptiness, like the moment when you suddenly fall and feel like there’s nothing to hold onto. Komorebi was the perfect piece to express that feeling.
You worked with Zino Mikorey on mastering and crafted the production yourself, what was your vision in shaping the sonic world of this track?
I wanted to create a sense of suspension at the start of the track, and I found the right approach through the layered voices that form the core of the arrangement.
Then I introduced a rhythmic section and additional instruments to give a feeling of opening and resolution, only to shatter that illusion by suddenly cutting the song off at the end.
It was a complex piece to mix, and Zino’s work made it absolutely magical!
Were there any moments during the making of Komorebi where you felt creatively stuck, or unexpectedly inspired? How did you push through?
There were several early versions. The key to the track, for me, was subtractive work, stripping away beautiful elements that, in truth, were suffocating it.
Listening back now that it’s finished, is there anything you hear differently, or something that you’re especially proud made it in?
I really love the vocal harmonies, but the thing I’m most proud of is the moment when the track is interrupted by a sudden scream.
I needed something piercing, and I asked Enrico Di Lorenzo, the vocalist of Hideous Divinity—to send me a voice recording of a scream. That’s exactly what you hear in the song.
Finally, can you give us a glimpse into what’s coming next? Will Komorebi be followed by more singles, and when can we expect the full journey of HE/HUH to arrive?
There will be four more singles, one each month, and the album will be released in November.
Some of the tracks following Komorebi will explore more acoustic and orchestral sounds, others will lean more into rock, with several important guest artists and a few unexpected surprises!
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