Hi Adam, thanks for taking the time to speak with Occhi Magazine. What’s your earliest memory of music feeling like more than entertainment, but more like a language you needed to learn? When did the guitar become your voice?
My earliest memory of music feeling like more than entertainment was in the mid-1980s. I’m not sure exactly when, but I was sitting on the kitchen table listening to music coming from the radio in the living room. I don’t remember the exact band, but it might have been The Police. The best I can gather is, up to that point, I thought music was about the instruments. I had this naive idea, which seems weird to me now, that the lyrics just had to rhyme, but I never paid much attention to what they were saying, so I didn’t think they were about anything; just the rhyme rule and whatever evoked a feeling. When I started paying attention to the stories the lyrics told, I realized there was more going on than I had thought.
I’m not sure the guitar has become my voice, but that’s the aim, isn’t it? For me, it’s not about guitar techniques. Instead, it’s about being able to articulate something personal; to channel my musical world through the mechanics of the instrument. Jimi Hendrix was the inspiration to choose the guitar in 1995. On long bus rides home from high school, I used to listen to Electric Ladyland, but I got tired of spending the ride with my headphones on. Music has always been a joy in my life. Eventually, when the bus would empty out, and there was no one left to talk to, I started having musical ideas of my own. It seemed like a natural progression to explore them on an instrument. When I asked a relative about Jimi’s performance of “Star Spangled Banner” at Woodstock, he said some people say Jimi could make the guitar talk. I’m still looking for a deeper connection with my voice on the guitar and in music.
You’ve played consistently for 30+ years, and you studied 1-on-1 for a decade starting in 1995. What did that kind of long, close mentorship give you that you couldn’t have learned from bands, school, or self-teaching? What did it demand from you?
Initially, it was a weekly thing that included a lot of foundational stuff that, fortunately, was compressed into a short timeframe. I imagine it would have taken much longer if I needed to encounter all of that knowledge by chance and extract it within an informal context. Bands and self-teaching were also a big part of the picture. From the mid-1990s through the early 2000s, I worked with a lot of musicians, often in the context of composing original music, jamming, and recording demos. Many of them were talented musicians, and some were eventually signed with other bands, but nothing went far because, for the most part, I don’t think anyone was serious about making music a career.
I wouldn’t describe the 1-on-1 study for a decade as close mentorship. The relationships were more personal than in the classroom, which there was also some of, and having an expert there when I got stuck resulted in easy answers. However, a lot of doing anything for real in life is about learning to identify and solve problems yourself. A lot of the 1-on-1 after the 90s was roughly a month-to-month thing with two guitarists I primarily studied with. One was mostly blues. I asked the other to throw as much at me as possible and independently learned what I got from it, while exploring other areas through pure self-teaching. I’ve found the music community to be very supportive and inviting. I can’t say any of my teachers were demanding, but I’m very curious to learn new things, and my aptitude is strong.
Every musician has a moment where they realise talent isn’t enough. When did you first meet the “real work” of being an artist—discipline, repetition, doubt, rejection—and how did it change you?
I would say I’ve been doing the real work of being an artist for the first 29 years. For me, it’s the complete package: taking a song from inspiration through the final master. It’s great when the depth, breadth, and height of its emotional impact are significant. That requires skills in composing, arranging, performing, producing, mixing, and mastering, to name a few things that come immediately to mind. I failed to meet my standards for a long time because I could imagine doing better than the work I was capable of at the time. The common expression is failing your way to success. I don’t think it changed me because, often, what we may view as a personal failure in that moment is part of the normal process of learning and growth throughout life. Also, I was trying to do everything myself. The change, and probably the biggest contributor to the success I’ve enjoyed since 2024, is having the resources to delegate to the network of professionals I’ve built over multiple decades. I’m privileged to work with a great team.
You’re a guitarist, composer, and producer—often of your own music. What’s the hardest part about producing yourself: the technical decisions, the emotional distance, or the responsibility of being the final judge?
I find the responsibility of having the final say to be liberating. Who else is going to know when the idea is fully realized except the person who imagined it? Then, other people can decide for themselves whether the music feels for them the way it does for me. There is so much support on the technical decisions. I trust the opinions of the players I work with more than my own about how to produce their instruments. The emotional distance is certainly the hardest and most complex part for me. Because I’m interested in how music feels to the listener, not how it feels to be the person who made it, I have to be comfortable with the uncertainty of objectivity in what is ultimately a subjective experience.
There is some complexity in the psychology of putting aside things in the present moment that do not serve the feeling of what is, so far, the very much undetermined outcome of the final master. To the extent possible, I use foresight to steer the project’s trajectory toward the finished production. Although a lot goes into the composition, arrangement, and production of each instrument, I keep the big picture in mind. I’m not always certain what we have until I work with Nic Hard on the mix. He always makes it sound great, and with my input, we finish the mix to the point where the original idea feels the best it can for what it is. I’m confident there are a few great songs of the nine I’ve released, in terms of how it feels to me.
You’ve independently released a steady run of work—Perpetual Motion (2015), Incarnation (2021), then singles through 2024 and 2025. What keeps pulling you back into release mode? Is it a need to document your evolution, to finish chapters, or to stay in motion?
I have so many ideas that haven’t been released or even fully composed and arranged for production. I feel a strong sense of purpose in producing music. If it paid enough to live well today, secure a financial future, and continue producing music without financial compromise, it’s all I would do for work. I feel it’s what I’m here to do. Without it, I don’t think I can look back when I’m old and feel the time I spent was worthwhile.
Your projects involve serious collaborators—Donny McCaslin, Tim Lefebvre, Jordan Perlson, Henry Hey, Oz Noy, plus strings and vocalists. How do you choose collaborators: by sound, by chemistry, by trust, or by who challenges you?
Almost every relationship I have in music started at the 55 Bar. Someone at a show there told me about Oz Noy. Oz introduced me to Chris Tarry, whom I saw many times. When I was looking for a drummer, Chris introduced me to Jordan Perlson. Jordan was the starting point to connect with the string quartet. Other people I know from that scene, like Tim Lefebvre and Henry Hey, introduced me to Donny McCaslin and Chrissi Poland. The 55 Bar was the best place I’ve ever found to network in music. I met Michael Ghegan, with whom I also work with on a regular basis, at Jamian’s in Red Bank, NJ. At the time, he was co-hosting an open mic there and very generously offered to play my music with me. Everyone I work with kicks my ass. I love the way they sound.
Where do your compositions usually begin—rhythm, harmony, a guitar texture, a title, a feeling? And how do you know when an idea is worth building into a full piece rather than leaving it as a sketch?
The compositions begin wherever the inspiration strikes. Maybe any idea can be built into a great song, even if it requires a total departure from the original point of inspiration. I’m willing to continue working on any idea I have. Right now, there’s a backlog of recordings ranging from ideas I sang to partially sequenced MIDI demos of compositions and arrangements, and one song in production that is almost ready to mix. I manage my creativity based on the prioritization of the quality in the finished song. If the trail goes cold on a composition in pre-production, I move on to something else until I’m inspired to work on it again.
You’ve had to balance your creativity as an artist with other professional roles. What does that balancing act actually look like day-to-day—and what’s the cost? Do you feel it protects your art from industry pressure, or does it sometimes dilute your creative energy?
It’s a constant struggle, to be honest. It’s not just the perception of time scarcity, but actually not having enough time in the day to do everything I would like. On the one hand, being able to produce music independently without financial compromise is very liberating from any industry pressure that prioritizes making a product—in all the ways that dissembles itself—rather than making real art. I took a Russian Literature class at university and connected with the professor, a Russian expat, over Malevich’s Black Square, which I saw at the Guggenheim at the time.
My understanding is that Leo Tolstoy had a spiritual crisis late in life, stemming from his concern that art is vanity—entertainment for rich people. I only focus on standing up the realization of my ideas in a self-sufficient way. None of my choices are based on what I think will sell tickets or albums, conform to genre, or fit a pedantic idea about what is—at least for the moment—considered technically correct. I’m not chasing hip sounds or trends. Realizing the idea is about what the song sounds like and how it makes people feel. I gather myself for the moments I choose to be creative, which helps focus my creative energy. That said, I have less time for creativity because of a difficult schedule of obligations based on the commitments I chose to make. Of course, I would be better in any area of music that I spent more time on. That’s the cost, and it’s a trade-off of pluses and minuses that I can manage and am willing to make for as long as I can.
Let’s talk about the current chapter: The Man Who Would Be King, landing on 180g limited edition vinyl (Aug 7, 2026), cut from a high-quality lacquer master. Why vinyl for this project—what does the format mean to you emotionally and sonically? And what do you want listeners to experience that streaming can’t quite deliver?
It will be available on streaming platforms and, besides vinyl, some extra CDs from a short run that was needed for promotional copies. Given the demand, more can be manufactured in any medium.
You were nominated in the Independent Music Awards—specifically tied to your visual concept and direction for Perpetual Motion. How important is the visual identity to your music? Do you see artwork as packaging, or as part of the composition?
I see art as an emotional journey moving toward a peak experience. It’s not a random collection of disparate moments and spectacle. The artwork is an opportunity to advance the story that is told by the truth in the work. To the best of my ability, I use the artwork to focus the central theme in the work and strengthen the audience’s experience with it.
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For readers discovering you now: where should they start—one track that best represents you today—and where can they follow what’s next?
The best three songs of the material I’ve released so far, in my opinion, are “Cycle One,” “Gorilla,” and “Will You Follow?” My favorite composition and production I’ve released is “Will You Follow?” I prefer Apple Music to stream my songs https://music.apple.com/us/artist/adam-de-lucia/1644549930.
For more of what’s to come, you can visit my official artist website https://www.thetektonics.com, follow me on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/adam_de_lucia/, and YouTube https://www.youtube.com/@adamdelucia.
Photo credit: Olivia Melfi, taken in Studio North at Lakehouse Recording Studios in Asbury Park, NJ.
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