2012, 2013, 2014… There was a time when I couldn’t stop making music.

Twenty tracks a year, sometimes more. Ideas everywhere, melodies in my head at 3am, sounds I had to record before they disappeared. It was chaos, beautiful chaos. I had something to say, and I needed to say it fast.

When I started, music was a confession. Every track was a piece of me I hadn’t figured out how to keep to myself.

Then, slowly, things shifted.

The last track I released was “Unfinished”, back in February 2026.

The title wasn’t accidental. In that record, I wrote about going back to my early albums, reconnecting with that version of myself who didn’t know what he’d become. I said it then and I’ll say it again now: maybe the unfinished parts are where the truth lives.

Since February, silence.

And the question I keep getting from people who follow me and from myself is: what happened?

There are two ways to read it.

The first, uncomfortable one: maybe there’s nothing left to say. Or even worse, maybe there’s plenty to say but the system has killed the desire to say it. The algorithm doesn’t reward patience and depth but volume, consistency, presence and (the worst thing) trends.
“Post or disappear. Release or be forgotten. Be like everyone else.”
If I start creating music for the feed instead of for myself, my music will stop to have meaning.

I’ve already written about this before on my Instagram and I know I’m not alone in feeling it.

The second reading, the one I prefer: maybe slowing down is the point.

There’s a concept I keep coming back to. Piano piano, lo stile italiano. Slowly, the Italian way. It’s not laziness. That’s really what we’re like. We refuse to rush something that isn’t ready. It is no coincidence that we have pizza and balsamic vinegar, the very emblems of taking things slow.
Anyway… Sorry for the digression.
A track made in three years carries every moment you almost gave up and didn’t.

Does that make it worth more than the track made in three days?

Honestly, I don’t know. Some of my best work came out of a weekend. Some of my most forgettable work took months. The time spent isn’t a quality certificate.

But, hey! Every track I made was made because I wanted, not because a release schedule demanded it.

And right now, that difference matters more than ever.

People are tired.

Tired of content that sounds like content. Tired of production that’s emotionally empty. Tired of the same palette of sounds, the same song structures, the same algorithmic hooks. There’s a hunger for something that feels like a human being actually made it.

Not just for me, for everyone who makes music the slow, difficult, honest way.

So no, I haven’t disappeared. I’ve been working. Sitting with things until they’re ready to become something and when it’s time, you’ll hear it.

And it’ll be worth the wait. Or it won’t. But it’ll be real.