Tell Us about:

Your latest single you have released:

My latest single, “Asanta”, is probably one of the most personal and spiritual songs I’ve ever written. It was born in solitude, during a walk through the golden wheat fields of central Sicily — the land of my ancestors. I had no phone signal, no distractions, just the wind, the silence, and my breath. And it was in that moment that a melody I had been carrying with me for months finally asked to come out.

It began as a sort of chant — something halfway between a lullaby and a prayer. The word Asanta doesn’t exist, and yet it somehow sounded ancient and sacred, like a name you might whisper to the wind. The song speaks of transformation, healing, and the soft struggle of change. It shifts between English and Sicilian, because emotionally I needed both — like two opposing forces in conversation with one another. That duality reflects who I am, and who I’m still becoming.

Your favourite lyric in this song:

“I hear their voices, I hear their prayers / But in my house I will never bow down.”

That line captures a quiet rebellion — the kind that doesn’t scream, but simply refuses. It speaks to inherited beliefs, traditions, expectations — the voices that surround you growing up, the rituals you’re supposed to repeat. I hear them. I respect them. But I also know I don’t belong to them entirely. That line is my way of saying: I carry the past with me, but I won’t kneel to it. My house, my rules. It’s a lyric about drawing boundaries with grace.

Your favourite song that you have created that is an album track:

One that stays close to me is “Long Shadows,” from my album “Of Shadows”. Sometimes songs take me years to write — to really find their voice. But every once in a while, something unusual happens. I was in Córdoba, Spain, on a day off during a tour. That night I couldn’t sleep, and in the stillness, the song came to me almost in one breath. The next morning, I had some studio time available as part of the deal for my gig. I went in thinking I’d record a rough demo… but the take felt so real, so emotionally accurate, that I ended up using it for the final version. The vocals and guitars you hear were recorded just hours after the song was born.

Your favourite song to play live:

It has to be “La Llorona”, a traditional Mexican piece I play at all my shows. Singing it live is unlike anything else — it’s not just a song, it’s a summoning. I first discovered it through Chavela Vargas, an artist who changed the way I understood singing. With her, it wasn’t about perfection, it was about truth — raw, trembling, fearless. That opened a whole new door for me vocally: the idea that tone and breath could be more honest than words themselves.

When I sing “La Llorona”, I feel connected to her spirit, but also to something that runs deeper — a kind of emotional terrain that Mexico and Sicily seem to share. There’s mourning, beauty, intensity, a love for the dramatic gesture that hides real pain. It’s a timeless lament, and when I sing it, I’m not performing — I’m offering myself as a channel for something older and more mysterious.

The song that was the longest to write and why?

That would be “Shine”, written with my very best friend Paolo Fuschi. It took us over ten years — from the first spark of the verse’s melody to the moment it finally felt complete. We wrote the seed of it during a carefree time in our lives, just two friends chasing melodies late at night. But the song itself had a different timing in mind.

It lived with us quietly, maturing as we did. We’d revisit it now and then, but it always felt like it wasn’t ready to speak its truth. And perhaps we weren’t ready to listen. Over the years, life added layers — love, loss, distance, reconnection — and all of that filtered into the music.

When it finally came together, it felt like meeting an old friend who had grown alongside you all along. That’s “Shine” — a song that waited patiently for us to catch up with it, which was featured in our collaborative album “Skint And Golden”.

Your most emotional track:

One of the most emotional tracks I’ve ever written is from my upcoming album “Insularities”. It’s called “The End of Me Can Be Your Start.” It’s both a song of love and of grief — of surrender, and of making space.

It’s a song about letting go — not in anger or bitterness, but with grace. About the strange kind of beauty that can exist in saying goodbye. Writing it cost me something, but it also gave me back a kind of peace. And that’s what makes it, to me, one of the most emotional songs I’ve ever written.

Dream collaboration:

Writing and singing a heartbreaking love song with Rosalía.

Describe the feeling you get when you walk on stage to do a show:

It’s “home”. I’m a very shy person in life, but the moment I walk on stage, the rest of the world disappears. What remains is a sacred space — a space of encounter, of sharing, of searching for something beautiful together.

Whether I’m playing for a handful of friends in a living room or for thousands at a festival, I give everything I have. There’s no holding back, no halfway. It’s the one place where I feel completely present, completely honest — and completely free.

The hardest track to play live:

“La Llorona”, without a doubt — both emotionally and vocally. That song carries a weight that’s centuries old, and it demands everything from you if you want to do it justice. But lately, “Asanta” — my new single — has been just as demanding. It’s stripped down, intimate, and any crack in your focus becomes part of the performance. And then there’s “The End of Me Can Be Your Start”, from my upcoming album — I haven’t even performed it live yet, but just singing it alone at home sometimes moves me to tears. I know it’s going to be one of the most challenging moments of the set, in the best possible way.

Essential items you always take on tour with you?

At least a couple of books, my Leica M2 (an analogue camera from 1960s) and my laptop.

Describe your fans in three words:

Kind. Thoughtful. Grounding.

Everywhere I’ve toured, I’ve been struck by how genuinely good the people in the audience are. Their presence doesn’t just support the music — it inspires me to be a better man, too.

A song by another artist or band you wish you had written:

Lately, I’d say “Surfer’s Journal” by Leif Vollebekk. As an amateur (and very bad) surfer myself, the title first drew me in — but it was the song’s emotional tide that kept me there. There’s a sense of drifting memory, quiet longing, and motion in stillness that I deeply relate to. It flows like a personal letter carried by the sea. The way Leif captures intimacy without overexplaining is something I admire — it feels like a whispered truth you overhear and carry with you. It’s a reminder that the best songs don’t always shout — they breathe.

What we can look forward to from your band this year:

This year marks the release of my new album, “Insularities”, which comes out on September 26. It’s a very personal and layered record — a collection of songs that explore what it means to be an island, both geographically and emotionally. It speaks of identity, distance, memory, and the quiet but powerful forces of transformation.

To celebrate the release, I’ll be performing a special show in London on the very same day at the West Hampstead Arts Club. It’ll be the beginning of a new chapter, and I can’t wait to share it with those who’ve followed me this far, and those just now discovering the journey.

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