Gabriel Agudo is a
distinctive figure on the Argentine progressive rock scene. A singer,
songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and producer, he first came to prominence
with the band Bad Dreams, before embarking on a solo career that would
lead him to work with some of the leading international names in progressive
rock. He has released two solo albums to date, New Life (2020) and Tales
& Thunders (2023), and is currently preparing his third solo album,
scheduled for release in 2027.
Agudo's musical
background is deeply rooted in the progressive and symphonic rock of the 1970s
and 1980s, with bands such as Yes, Genesis, Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Camel,
and Marillion among his major influences. His musical interests also extend to
hard rock acts such as Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Deep Purple. Throughout
his career, he has explored jazz-rock, blues, soul, and funk. These diverse
influences helped shape a vocal style that owes less to the conventional
Argentine rock tradition than to the Anglo-American school of progressive rock.
Having attended an Irish school from an early age, Agudo developed a
native-like command of English. This linguistic and phonetic advantage helped
him overcome cultural barriers and perform on equal footing with
English-speaking bands—something that has historically been a significant
challenge for musicians from Latin America.
The Turning Point: The Birth
of a Solo Artist
Gabriel Agudo's
departure from Bad Dreams in late 2017 did not mark the end of a chapter
so much as the beginning of his consolidation as an independent international
artist. Having reached artistic maturity on the progressive rock circuit and
performed on international stages with his former band, Agudo suddenly found
himself facing an uncertain future: alone, without a band, but carrying a
wealth of experience and musical knowledge.
Rather than
allowing the challenges of independence to overwhelm him, he turned this
pivotal moment into creative fuel. Encouraged by his close friend René Bosc, he
spent several months in France, stepping back from his previous musical
identity to define his own artistic voice. This restorative period abroad gave
rise to his acclaimed solo debut, New Life (2020), a deeply progressive
and experimental album conceived as a journey through different stages of
spiritual development.
Demonstrating his
ability to attract leading figures from the genre, Gabriel assembled an
impressive international cast of musicians, including Steve Rothery of
Marillion, Clive Nolan of Pendragon and Arena, Dave Kerzner, and Fernando
Perdomo. The album also featured the orchestral contributions of Hélène
Collerette, first violinist with Radio France. More than a declaration of his
new artistic chapter, New Life opened doors to some of the world's most
demanding music markets, achieving immediate commercial and critical success in
Japan, Europe, and the United States.
Consolidation and Maturity:
The Power of Tales & Thunders
The natural
evolution of Agudo's solo journey took shape in his second album, Tales
& Thunders. Whereas his debut was an introspective journey with a
distinctly 1970s sensibility, this more mature release revealed a stronger,
more contemporary, and more eclectic side of the artist. Drawing on his metal
roots—influenced by giants such as Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden—he blended
heavier sounds with ethnic textures and elements of the soul music that had
shaped an earlier chapter of his career.
The album is a
testament to resilience, exploring themes ranging from major milestones in
human history to deeply personal experiences of healing and transformation.
Agudo reaffirmed his role as a songwriter while taking his independent approach
to a new level: he composed all the arrangements, recorded multiple
instruments, and oversaw the painstaking processes of production, mixing, and
mastering.
Once again, some
of the leading names in progressive rock joined him, including virtuoso
keyboardist Derek Sherinian (formerly of Dream Theater), guitarist Dave Foster
(of Big Big Train and the Steve Rothery Band), and Steve Rothery himself, whose
unmistakable guitar work further enhanced the record. The result cemented
Agudo's distinctive sound and strengthened his position on the international
progressive rock scene.
The Creative Present:
Looking Ahead to Chapter Three
Far from resting
on his laurels, Gabriel Agudo is currently immersed in writing and producing
his next studio album. For this new release, the singer and
multi-instrumentalist has decided to return decisively to his heaviest musical
roots, embracing a powerful rock approach and an unyielding sound.
Moving away from
the autobiographical emphasis of his previous albums, Agudo is developing this
record around what drives him most at this stage of his career: the sheer joy
of musical experimentation. The project reflects his conviction that artistic
freedom knows no boundaries.
Other Projects
One of the most
compelling turns in Gabriel's career unfolded after he left Bad Dreams.
He began collaborating with Steve Rothery, Marillion’s longtime guitarist,
serving as the lead vocalist for the Steve Rothery Band during its South
American tour dates.
He also joined In
Continuum, a project led by Dave Kerzner, alongside stellar musicians such
as Marco Minnemann, Matt Dorsey, and Randy McStine, as well as other highly
regarded guests from the progressive rock world.
Another major
milestone on Agudo's calendar is his confirmed participation in the 2027
edition of Cruise to the Edge. This is no small feat: Cruise to the
Edge, the premier progressive rock festival at sea, is a literal mecca for fans
of the genre worldwide. What makes Agudo's participation particularly
noteworthy is that he has become one of the very few Argentine and Latin
American musicians to grace these prestigious stages not just once, but
multiple times. He has shared dressing rooms, jam sessions, and official
lineups with the living legends who defined the genre.
This international
journey is far from over. Agudo is officially confirmed for the 2027 voyage,
setting sail from Miami in April aboard the Norwegian Jewel. His ongoing
presence further cements his standing among the elite artists of the
international progressive rock circuit. The latest announcements and official
updates can be found on the Cruise to the Edge 2027 website.
Agudo's
international schedule is equally demanding before he sets sail. The Argentine
artist is also slated to perform at the prestigious ProgStock 2026
festival in the northeastern United States, taking place October 8–10 at the
Williams Center in Rutherford, New Jersey, just outside New York City.
At the festival's
tenth-anniversary edition, Gabriel is set to perform on Saturday, October 10,
accompanied by none other than Bill Hubauer of the Neal Morse Band. He will
share the bill with major acts and artists including Eddie Jobson's U.K.
Revisited, Spock's Beard, and IZZ. Full lineup details and passes for in-person
attendance or streaming are available on the official ProgStock Festival
website.
THE
INTERVIEW
How did you
first get into music?
My home was
always filled with music because my father was a tango singer who never quite
pursued his ambitions professionally. As a result, tango is in my blood simply
because I listened to it constantly as a child. In fact, I'd love to record a
tango album or sing tango at some point in my life.
My mother, on
the other hand, loved international music, so my earliest exposure to that
world came through The Beatles in 1967. Their records were played on a loop at
home. One of my mother's closest friends lived upstairs, and her son, Eduardo,
played guitar and was also a massive Beatles fan. I used to hang out in his
room all the time just to watch him play. That was the exact moment I felt
completely captivated by music.
Did you start
out on guitar?
Yes. I started
taking guitar lessons when I was about nine, and later I studied harmony and
composition on the piano. After that, I developed as a musician by playing in
bands. It happened organically during my school years, when classmates would
get together and jam.
Listening to
records must have played a part, too, right?
Absolutely. I
grew up in Caballito, a neighborhood in Buenos Aires where Rivadavia Park was a
major hub for music culture. We would meet there to trade records. You could
run into musicians and rock fans of every stripe.
I'd been going
there since I was very young, and that's where I discovered cornerstone albums
like Yes's Close to the Edge, early Genesis records, and Argentine rock icons
like Pescado Rabioso and Charly García, alongside all the great bands of the
1970s.
Meanwhile, I
kept studying music independently. I quickly realized I had a natural aptitude
for singing and a sharp musical memory—I could pick up melodies and lyrics
effortlessly. But it wasn't until I was fifteen that I realized I could truly
develop as a singer alongside my instrumental skills.
What was it
about progressive rock that captivated you?
When I first
heard Close to the Edge, it felt as though my brain had shattered into a
thousand pieces!
I already loved
classical music because my grandfather listened to it constantly at
home—Italian tenors and complex composers like Prokofiev. But when I first
heard Close to the Edge, I couldn't process it at first. They were blending so
many different styles and structural forms. It was an immense palette of
colors: rock, soul, blues, classical music, and so much more. It was
mind-blowing.
From Yes, I
transitioned to early Genesis with Peter Gabriel, discovering a more intricate
form of progressive rock that still anchored itself in strong song structures.
Naturally, I then dove headfirst into King Crimson and Jethro Tull.
You were
absorbing everything you could find...
Precisely. When
you begin exploring music, you try to consume as much as possible—you become a
sponge.
Those were the
years of the military dictatorship in Argentina, when a great deal of music was
banned. Among young people, that restriction created an electric sense of
urgency around discovery. We found ways to gather with friends, track down rare
records, and listen to them in secret.
What fascinated
me about progressive rock was that it was an infinite ocean of possibilities—a
vast palette encompassing every conceivable style. I was captivated by how all
those disparate elements fused together. The final result was astonishing, and
I loved analyzing how each band engineered its own unique formula.
The sheer
originality of that music was extraordinary. I thank God I was alive when the
pioneers of progressive rock were mapping out those uncharted waters.
And you
eventually ended up playing with some of the musicians whose posters hung on
your bedroom walls...
Yes, it's
surreal. When I first started playing with Steve Rothery, I told him that as a
kid, I had Marillion posters taped to my bedroom wall right next to pictures of
David Gilmour, Steve Hackett, and Peter Gabriel.
Back then, we
used to stick posters up with Scotch tape. Nobody talks about that teenage
ritual anymore, but it meant the world to us! (laughs)
One of those
posters featured Rothery himself, who was an absolute hero of mine. At the
time, I was also obsessed with the Argentine guitarist David Lebón—whom I've
always adored—alongside Luis Alberto Spinetta.
Sharing a stage
with those musicians and getting to know them as peers has been one of life's
greatest gifts. I feel deeply honored and profoundly grateful.
Did you attend
a conservatory, or did you study privately?
I studied with
private teachers and was largely self-taught. I never attended a conservatory
or pursued formal academic training. Instead, I picked up knowledge from
various mentors and later through instructional videos, masterclasses, and
hands-on experience.
Of course,
there was no internet back then, so we learned the hard way: by playing with
other people and constantly refining our instrumental technique and vocal
delivery.
Did your family
expect you to pursue a conventional career alongside music?
Well, I studied
law and qualified as an attorney. For a while, I balanced law with my musical
pursuits, but over time I realized practicing law wasn't my true calling. So I
gradually transitioned entirely to music, fully aware that making a living from
it in Argentina would be an uphill battle.
Building a
professional career in the arts is generally tough. Things have shifted
considerably, but when I started playing live in the 1980s, Argentina had a
much more vibrant cultural underground. The 1990s brought an explosion of live
venues—particularly pubs and intimate theaters. The landscape changed
dramatically in the 2000s, though today it feels like live music culture is
staging a major revival.
Still, there's
always been this lingering stigma that choosing art means choosing an
unnecessarily harsh path, especially financially. I've worked plenty of other
jobs along the way to support my creative ambitions.
Which band were
you playing with in the early 1990s?
For many years,
I fronted a band called Voodoo Child. By that point, I had shifted away from
progressive rock and immersed myself fully in soul, funk, and blues.
I've always had
a profound love for Black American music, tracing all the way back to Robert
Johnson. I was transfixed by those genres and threw myself into them heart and
soul. However, it was a tough sell in Argentina at the time. Very few people
were tuned into those sounds. Soul and funk were confined to a handful of niche
venues, and while there were blues clubs—particularly in the western suburbs of
Buenos Aires—soul and funk were far from mainstream.
With Voodoo
Child, we recorded two albums and played countless live shows. We wrote
original material, with me handling the lyrics and melodies while the band
worked out the arrangements collectively. The songs were entirely in Spanish.
What happened
next?
We were on the
verge of signing a major recording contract with Universal. At the time, two
bands were shortlisted for the deal: us and an argentinian band Bersuit
Vergarabat. Then Universal merged with Polygram, and Bersuit was ultimately
chosen for the spot.
It was a
devastating blow. I had been fighting tooth and nail to carve out a
professional music career for years, and just when the breakthrough seemed
within reach, everything dissolved. I ended up walking away from the
professional music scene for five full years.
I kept playing
at home, but I was utterly burnt out and exhausted from grinding away on the
underground circuit only to see our big break vanish at the eleventh hour.
That hiatus
lasted until my friend Marcelo Bordoli, a saxophonist, mentioned that a group
of musicians were playing Genesis covers and desperately needed a singer. I was
living in Pilar at the time, and that's where they were based as well. Marcelo
rehearsed in the drummer's studio space.
Initially, I
turned the offer down because the bitterness of my past experience was still
raw. But eventually, I gave in, went to the audition, and got the gig.
We started
performing Genesis tribute shows. Our repertoire leaned less on the early
Gabriel-era epics and more on the Phil Collins years, though we did sprinkle in
a few Peter Gabriel-era tracks.
Incredibly, the
project snowballed. We quickly graduated from small clubs to headlining the
prestigious Teatro Coliseo. From there, we expanded across the country, playing
major theaters in Mendoza, Rosario, and other key Argentine cities, as well as
touring Chile and beyond.
The apex of
that journey was playing at Luna Park Stadium alongside conductor Ángel Mahler
and a full symphony orchestra. We performed stunning arrangements crafted by
the maestro Ángel Mahler, who sadly passed away recently. He was an
extraordinary musician and a magnificent human being.
You reached the
pinnacle of the tribute-band circuit...
You could say
that. But right at that peak, I called a band meeting and announced that I no
longer wanted to stay restricted to tribute material.
First of all,
Genesis's music is built on mathematical precision, and what we were doing was
our own interpretive take on it. We weren't aiming to be a note-for-note carbon
copy like tribute acts such as Rael or Genetics.
We allowed
ourselves structural and interpretive freedom. But anyone who loves Genesis—and
I am chief among them—knows how fiercely protective their fanbase is. They
expect absolute fidelity to every minute detail.
I felt we had
matured enough as a unit to write our own material. And because I had the
advantage of learning English from childhood at an Irish school, I knew I could
write lyrics in English with confidence.
A complete
pivot in direction...
Exactly. The
rest of the guys thought I was out of my mind, warning me that releasing
original progressive rock in English from Argentina was professional suicide.
But I was
unwavering in my conviction. So we teamed up with Bad Dreams' keyboardist and
began work on the compositions that would become Apocalypse of the Mercy, the
band's debut album.
To our
surprise, that record started making waves in markets we never dreamed of
cracking—Japan, Europe, and the United States. The band gained organic traction
through original music, opening doors for tours across Central America, South
America, and the U.S.
We were invited
multiple times to perform on Cruise to the Edge, one of the premier global
progressive rock festivals.
Unfortunately,
as is so often the case with bands, internal friction caught up with us after
our third album. Egos ultimately toxicify and fracture groups from within.
Eventually, the rest of the group decided they wanted to move forward without
me.
Once again, I
was cast into an uncertain future—much like I felt after my soul band collapsed
years prior. I had experience and pedigree, sure, but I was entirely on my own,
with no bandmates and no safety net.
I took some
necessary time off to soul-search and figure out my next move.
Right around
that period, Steve Rothery was mapping out South American dates and needed a
vocalist capable of handling Fish-era Marillion material. He reached out to me,
and I jumped at the challenge.
It must have
been daunting stepping into those shoes...
As I mentioned
earlier, I was suddenly sharing a stage with a guy who used to live on my
bedroom wall as a poster! Naturally, the stakes—and the scrutiny—were
astronomical.
Playing in the
major leagues, so to speak...
Let's call it
the Premier League! (laughs)
It was intense.
I had a very tight window to learn Fish's sprawling lyric sheets, subtle vocal
inflections, theatrical phrasing, and precise pronunciation. Those nuances are
sacred in progressive rock. You can't just wing it when you're standing
shoulder-to-shoulder with a guitar icon like Steve Rothery.
I think I held
my own on that run.
During that
transitional phase, Dave Kerzner also reached out to me. He's a close friend
and a prominent figure in the American prog scene, known for his work as a
keyboardist and songwriter in Sound of Contact (fronted by Phil Collins's son,
Simon Collins).
Dave was
preparing for a special performance on Cruise to the Edge featuring an all-star
guest lineup, including the singer and bassist from Yes, Steve Rothery, John
Wesley, Randy McStine (currently with Porcupine Tree), Durga Mc Broom, Harry
Waters (Roger's son) and other prog heavyweights.
He brought me
in for a Pink Floyd tribute set, where he was also showcasing some of his solo
material. Soon after, he asked me to sing lead vocals on select Pink Floyd and
Sound of Contact pieces with him.
That led to an
invitation to join In Continuum, the American progressive rock outfit carrying
forward the torch of Sound of Contact. I didn't hesitate for a second—I said
yes. That marked the beginning of multiple trips to the U.S. to record on the
band's first and second albums, followed by live dates across several American
cities.
Was that when
your solo career officially kicked off?
I had notebooks
full of song ideas and a burning desire to launch a solo project, but nothing
concrete yet.
Thanks to the
backing of incredible friends—including Clive Nolan, Steve Rothery, and above
all, René Bosc—I was able to take the plunge. René is a dear friend and former
director at Radio France International who holds massive weight in the Parisian
classical music sphere.
I spent several
months living in France, workshop-ing and refining the ideas I'd been hoarding
for years. That immersive experience became the incubator for my debut solo
album, New Life.
Did you bring
in guest artists for the recording?
Yes. I was
incredibly fortunate to collaborate with world-class guests, including Steve
Rothery, Dave Kerzner, Clive Nolan, and the sensational American virtuoso
Fernando Perdomo.
René Bosc
contributed as well, alongside his wife, Hélène Collerette, the principal first
violinist of Radio France.
To my delight,
the album struck a chord, selling exceptionally well in Japan, Europe, and the
United States. Everything unfolded organically; none of it was part of a rigid
master plan.
Doors opened in
Europe, and I found myself connecting with heavyweight musicians eager to
collaborate, including members of the Neal Morse Band (Bill Hubauer, Randy
George, and Eric Gillette), as well as European talents like drummer Jimmy
Pallagrosi.
What keeps your
drive alive?
Honestly, I
don't really know. When I look back at the trajectory—I'm 59 now, so I'm
certainly not twenty or thirty anymore, though I still feel like a kid
inside—the journey amazes me.
Opportunities
arose organically, and here I am. For better or worse, I've built a substantial
catalog and poured my soul into making music.
Fortunately,
the fans have been the absolute bedrock of my solo career, backing both my
first and second albums. Crowdfunding and the direct-to-fan model pioneered by
Marillion decades ago have fundamentally rewritten the rules for independent
artists.
Today, loyal
listeners are an essential lifeline for independent musicians operating outside
the rigid machinations of major record labels or industry power brokers.
How does that
dynamic function in the streaming era?
Digital
platforms can be brutal because consumer culture has shifted toward expecting
music for free.
That makes
survival intensely difficult for artists who depend on their craft to put food
on the table. Historically, physical record sales were a primary revenue
stream; today, live performance has taken over that role. Even then, you
experience intense boom-and-bust cycles—months packed with back-to-back shows
followed by dry spells.
You also
launched a tribute project dedicated to Peter Gabriel's catalog...
I've always
harbored a deep love for Peter Gabriel's solo work. So, alongside Sergio Da
Rosa (the original drummer of Bad Dreams), I formed Monkey, a band rounded out
by phenomenal Argentine musicians.
We dive deep
into Gabriel's solo discography, focusing on his iconic eras. Out of pure
respect for the artist, we steer clear of his most recent studio releases.
On top of that,
I was approached by a stellar group of musician friends from Mendoza Argentina
to front a Phil Collins tribute project called Collins Hits. It's proving to be
an exhilarating vocal challenge, and momentum is building nicely.
Returning to
your solo albums, you tackle profound themes like freedom, karma, love, and the
cosmos. Where did that fascination come from?
While I was
conceptualizing my debut album, I was navigating an intensely painful spiritual
crucible brought on by my mother's illness. She suffered from Alzheimer's for a
decade—a devastating ordeal for her and everyone who loved her.
She passed away
shortly before the record dropped. Simultaneously, I was processing the
wreckage of my departure from Bad Dreams and the profound instability that
follows the dissolution of a long-term band.
It's a heavy
period because artistic breakups invariably mean losing friendships, too.
All of that
internal turbulence forced me inward, sparking a genuine spiritual awakening.
That's why I titled the album New Life. I wrote the lyrics introspectively,
processing my raw reality in real-time.
The album
artwork features a bird symbolizing liberation, with an internal map charting
distinct phases of spiritual evolution. I wanted to map out those emotional
stages from my own lens, exactly as I lived them.
The journey
touches on liberation, karma, the paralyzing fear of rejection, and existential
rebirth.
So, the debut
was approached through a deeply spiritual filter. Sonically, it was
experimental and progressive because I was actively searching for my authentic
voice—willing to take far greater risks than I had within Bad Dreams.
And how did
that sonic quest evolve on your sophomore record?
Heavy metal and
aggressive rock have always been part of my core DNA. I've been a die-hard fan
of metal royalty like Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden for decades, so I decided
to inject that heaviness directly into Tales & Thunders.
While my debut
wears its 1970s aesthetic proudly on its sleeve, the second album is modern,
muscular, and aggressive, while still paying homage to my soul-music
background. It also incorporates global ethnic textures, inspired by historical
themes I was researching at the time.
That's why I
named the record Tales & Thunders. It draws inspiration from monumental
myths and historical milestones that have captivated us since childhood—like
humanity's first steps on the Moon or the Voyager deep-space missions. It also
confronts raw human realities like divorce—something I've navigated
firsthand—and the complex emotional weight of pulling the plug on a
relationship.
I explored
mortality through the lens of Romeo and Juliet in a track featuring Steve
Rothery, and ventured into indigenous shamanism and Sioux culture as well.
Quite an
eclectic balancing act...
Totally. None
of it was premeditated; it all surfaced organically.
I was blessed
to have heavy-hitter guests on board. Dave Foster laid down brilliant guitar
work on a track, Derek Sherinian dropped a blistering keyboard solo, and Steve
Rothery returned for another stellar cameo.
The production
side was grueling because I took on almost everything myself: arrangements,
recording, mixing, and mastering. Thankfully, my brother-in-arms Sergio Da Rosa
stepped in to sanity-check the mixes and masters. When you get tunnel vision
doing everything solo, you risk losing all objectivity.
It was an
exhausting marathon, but equally therapeutic and rewarding. Self-producing and
releasing independent music is an immense financial and emotional
investment—it’s a relentless grind, both artistically and economically.
You've
weathered deep personal storms—your mother's illness and passing, divorce,
economic hardship, and even accidents. How do those scars manifest in your
music?
Life throws
hardships at all of us. The differentiator is resilience: the refusal to stop
moving forward when the ground gives way beneath you.
As Nietzsche
famously said, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You emerge from the
fire with a deeper appreciation for existence and a profound respect for the
present moment.
You also
realize that the craft isn't about feeding your ego; it's about building a
meaningful body of work. As creators, we have to transcend our petty struggles,
learn to let go, and rediscover the pure joy of making art.
The true magic
lies in realizing that even after catastrophe, you have the power to rebuild,
reinvent yourself, and start anew.
What is your
read on the current progressive rock scene in Argentina?
I'm thrilled to
witness its renaissance over the last few years. A wave of exceptionally
talented young prog bands is emerging locally, and I've come across some
jaw-dropping local musicians.
The upcoming
generation possesses immense technical and compositional prowess. Argentina has
historically been a fertile breeding ground for progressive music, so seeing
the ecosystem roar back to life is fantastic.
I hold my
fellow Argentine musicians in the highest regard. We have absolutely nothing to
envy international acts for.
Mutual support
among artists is essential if this momentum is going to last. We need to
champion the genre, create more stages for it, and expand our reach. People
need to realize that progressive rock is visceral, cinematic music that
stretches the limits of imagination.
Who stands out
as your ultimate vocal inspirations?
The pantheon of
singers who shaped my musical DNA is vast: David Bowie, Peter Gabriel, Bruce
Dickinson, Robert Plant, Otis Redding, and Buddy Guy among others. Each of them
left an indelible mark on my style.
I'm a voracious
listener; I love dissecting vocal mechanics, phrasing, and emotional delivery.
You can glean lessons from every corner of the musical spectrum. Learning never
stops, and humility is your greatest compass.
That exact
philosophy inspired the cover art for New Life, where I'm depicted sitting
inside a dark cave, gazing upward at a beam of light. The message is simple: we
are perpetual students, capable of evolving every single day. The exact moment
you assume you've mastered everything or hit your ceiling is the moment
artistic growth dies. You have to keep that hunger alive.
As a vocalist,
your instrument grows alongside your life experience. Emotions continuously
bleed into the creative engine—not just in how you execute a vocal line, but in
how you compose and arrange. Remaining plugged into that emotional current is
vital.
Here's a
classic songwriter question: What is one song by another artist that you
genuinely wish you had written yourself?
There are
countless masterworks, particularly in progressive rock, that I admire to no
end. But if I had to pick one piece, it would be the first movement of
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. To channel that level of depth, dramatic weight,
stark simplicity, and absolute perfection... that would be the ultimate
achievement.
And, naturally,
Genesis's Supper's Ready.
It blows my
mind how timeless music like that operates—every time you revisit it, new sonic
textures and nuances reveal themselves. That's the ultimate hallmark of true
greatness.
What is fueling
your creative fire right now? What themes are you exploring in your upcoming
work?
Right now, I'm
leaning heavily back into a high-octane, guitar-driven rock sound. I'm
revisiting my hardest-hitting roots and letting loose.
I'm currently
stitching those heavier elements together in the studio. I write new material
by visualizing cinematic narratives in my head and building lyrics around those
mental scripts. Lyrically, I'm pivoting away from direct autobiography toward
external storytelling. Of course, personal philosophy inevitably bleeds into
the subtext because total objectivity doesn't exist in art, but I prefer
constructing songs around imaginative external premises.
For instance, I
recently finished a track called "Whispering Boy," which centers on
meditation. My latest single explores soul reincarnation through the narrative
of a spirit migrating across different bodies and faces, retaining its core
identity across lifetimes.
I'm currently
plotting a song inspired by the mindset of a vigilante, alongside a quirky
concept piece told entirely through the eyes of a cat—exploring the world from
an animal's perspective. These are the kinds of cinematic concepts that strike
me out of nowhere.
Sometimes a
melody hits me unannounced, so I scramble to record a voice memo and build an
arrangement around it. Naturally, it's a meticulous process. Composition isn't
instant gratification; it requires engineering a complete architectural
structure, followed by the grueling hours of tracking.
I prefer taking
my time to execute things right, unbothered by artificial deadlines. Naturally,
mid-process you might hit a wall, scrap an entire arrangement, and hit the
reset button. It's a chaotic, winding road, but that's just the nature of
creation.
Gabriel
AgudoOfficial Links:
●
Instagram:
@gabrielagudook
●
Facebook:
@gabrielagudomusic
●
Bandcamp: https://gabrielagudo.bandcamp.com/
Interview by
Emiliano Acevedo
.jpg)
.jpg)
