photo: Molly Smith

Rafael Anton Irisarri is a multi-hyphenate American artist—composer, curator, producer, and mastering engineer—whose influence permeates much of contemporary electronic music. His work blends ambient, classical, and experimental elements, creating a unique alchemy that explores themes of introspection, nostalgia, and the emotional interplay between sound, silence, and the spaces they inhabit. Irisarri's compositions present modern ambient overtones and oceanic symphonies, intricately layered with distortion and bleached-out textures.

Blending influences from metal, shoegaze, and minimalist electronic music, his albums explore a rich spectrum of sonic textures: tape loops, bowed electric guitar, cello, synths, and expansive washes of noise, melody, and harmony.
Irisarri shares a carefully assembled selection of works, spanning modern classical, ambient, and deeply immersive soundscapes. The mix drifts across melancholic strings, minimal piano, subtle vocal textures, and layers of noise, inviting space for reflection and deep listening.

What is your preparation process before a live performance? How do you decide on the right setup for each show, and how does the environment or audience influence your choices?

My preparation always begins with listening—both to my own intuition and to the context of the performance. I take time to research the venue, considering its acoustics, atmosphere, and even its cultural or historical significance. Ambient music, when performed live, should be deeply responsive to place, so my setup is always modular and adaptable. Whether I’m playing in a reverberant church, an intimate gallery, or outdoors in nature, I design the sound palette to reflect and interact with the space itself. The audience is equally important. I treat the performance as a dialogue—responding in real-time to the energy in the room, using texture, space, and repetition as forms of communication. My set is intentionally malleable to allow for this exchange. There’s a quiet conversation happening between me and the listeners, and the shape of the performance is often guided by that shared presence.

Based on your experience, what is the most efficient way to create and produce new music at this time? Could you share with us what workflow has worked best for you?

Efficiency in ambient music isn’t necessarily about speed—it’s about cultivating flow. My most sustainable workflow begins with capturing ideas in the moment through improvisation. I’ve developed a live looping and layering system that allows me to build textures quickly, without getting stuck in overthinking. From there, I revisit the material later with fresh ears to refine the arrangement and mix. I intentionally embrace limitations as part of the creative process. Working with just a minimal set of guitar pedals keeps my focus sharp and encourages depth rather than distraction. What’s helped me stay consistent is not waiting around for inspiration—it's showing up regularly, committing to improvisation sessions, and letting the process itself guide the music forward.

How can young musicians, who wish to create ambient music, embrace and manage the limitations of the tools and instruments at their disposal? What techniques can they employ, or what approaches can they adopt to transform these limitations into opportunities for creativity?

Limitations are often a gift. When you work with fewer—but more thoughtfully chosen—tools, you're pushed to be more inventive and intentional. I encourage younger musicians to stay curious—not just about music or sound design, but about life in general. Fully explore and understand the tools you already have, whether that’s a single synth, a free plugin, or your own voice. Techniques like resampling, layering, and creative effects—granular processing, reverb automation, modulation—can turn simple sounds into deeply textured sonic worlds. Field recording is another accessible and personal method; it allows you to turn your environment into an instrument. Constraints often lead to unexpected breakthroughs. Happy accidents can become the soul of a piece if you’re open to them. Learn to embrace mistakes and shape them into something cohesive and intentional. As Brian Eno said, “Honor thy error as a hidden intention.”

It is essential in ambient music, innit? Space and silence are just as meaningful as sound—they’re part of the composition. Using fewer but more intentional elements allows each layer to breathe and resonate with clarity and confidence. It also makes mixing more intuitive: by avoiding clutter, you create a more immersive and emotionally focused experience. Minimalism doesn’t mean emptiness—it means purpose, presence, and restraint. Every sound should earn its place. When I find a loop or texture that feels alive, I often give it room to evolve naturally. Sometimes the best thing I can do is step back, set the machines in motion, and let them speak for themselves with minimal interference. That trust in the process is where the magic often happens.

What is your biggest motivation and greatest reward for staying consistent as a musician and continuing to produce material? What do you think will keep you going for a long time to come?

Curiosity is my biggest motivator—curiosity about sound, about music, about the world, and most importantly, about my own place within it. Music, for me, is a way of processing experience; it’s both cathartic and therapeutic. It helps me make sense of things that words often can’t. The greatest reward is when someone tells me that my music helped them through a difficult moment, gave them space to reflect, or simply allowed them to pause and step away from the relentless pace of modern life. That kind of connection is incredibly humbling. What keeps me going is the infinite possibility of sound, and the desire to document moments in time through it. As long as I’m curious and listening—truly listening—I’ll keep creating.

Are there any specific visual or literary works that consistently inspire you during your creative process? How do they shape the way you approach sound and composition?

Absolutely. Visual art and literature often spark ideas for atmosphere, narrative, and pacing in my work. The short stories of Horacio Quiroga—with their emotional intensity and raw connection to nature—have deeply influenced how I think about tone, tension, and storytelling through sound. Likewise, the minimalist paintings of Agnes Martin and Robert Ryman inspire a deep appreciation for restraint, repetition, and the contrast between silence and intensity—elements I often try to echo in my compositions. I’m also very inspired by sculpture, particularly the works of Eduardo Chillida and Jorge Oteiza. Their explorations of space, weight, and negative form resonate with how I think about sound: not just as presence, but as absence, contour, and resonance. These works remind me that subtle shifts can carry enormous weight, and that space itself can be as expressive as any note, word, or gesture.