Rafael Anton Irisarri remembers precisely where he was a few months before the 2016 US Presidential election, and it was in a state of deep concern.
“I was touring in northern Italy (god, I love it there) and was just wandering around this quiet neighborhood in Milan when I stumbled across an American-style diner called ‘Il Mito Americano’,” he tells PopMatters. “I speak just enough Italian to know they were trying to say ‘The American Dream’, but what they wrote was ‘The American Myth’. I swear I stopped dead in my tracks, thinking, ‘Well, shit, that’s exactly what it is — a fucking myth!’
“That little translation fuck-up hit me hard and sparked all these ideas that would become the foundation for FAÇADISMS. It’s wild how one random moment like that can kick off an entire album.”
His inspiration can take many forms for the Seattle-bred but New York-based Irisarri. He’s traveled into dark cinematic vistas (like with 2020’s dour Peripeteia) to something approaching blissful catharsis (as with his two full-length collaborations with Leandro Fresco, the first of which was PopMatters’ 2017 Ambient/Instrumental Album of the Year). While he has explored themes of societal abandonment with records like 2017’s The Shameless Years, FAÇADISMS cuts harder because there is no light at the end of the tunnel: the collapse that Irisarri sees is nothing short of inevitable.
“I think the American Myth has pretty much crumbled,” Rafael Anton Irisarri notes when pressed on the new record’s thesis statement. “It’s like we’ve been living in this fairy tale that’s starting to fade, you know? Every great empire has a story — just look at ancient Rome with Romulus and Remus, those twin brothers raised by a she-wolf, symbolizing resilience and destiny. The American Dream feels similar, suggesting anyone can rise from humble beginnings to greatness through hard work and determination.
“But honestly, it’s so fucking frustrating because the game is so rigged. Systemic inequalities hold people back from true upward mobility. We keep hearing this promise, but it often overlooks the real barriers faced by folks from marginalized backgrounds or less fortunate places and communities. While hard work is crucial, it’s actually about having access to resources, networks, and opportunities that determine who makes it. It all feels pretty hopeless sometimes, especially when you think about how that echoes the complexities of Rome’s rise and fall.”
On tracks like “A Little Grace Is Abundance”, harsh synth tones are smothered under a hushed blanket, trying to break out while a casual halo synth softly dances above it. There’s tension in these works, which in turn makes for a decent soundtrack for societal collapse.
“Just look around,” notes Rafael Anton Irisarri when pressed on whether his work has deliberately taken on darker tones over the years. “Sometimes it feels like we’re smack in the middle of a dystopian film. The world’s changed so damn much since I first started putting out music nearly 20 years ago, and don’t even get me started on how completely different and fucked up the music industry is now. I can’t imagine trying to kick off a music career in this mess.
“Making music has always been my way of coping with the fact that, as one person, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do to make the world any better. Most days, it’s this overwhelming sense of hopelessness, like no matter how hard I try to live sustainably or ethically, the whole damn game is fixed. How so many people live unsustainably totally overshadows any good I’m trying to do. It’s super frustrating, you know?
“There’s this grief I feel for all the losses — community, identity, place — just all that shit you go through in life. I think we’ve reached a place in late-stage capitalism where it’s like we’ve hit the point of no return. What’s happening today feels eerily similar to what ancient civilizations went through during the Late Bronze Age collapse. I can’t stop thinking about that connection and how we’re starting to live through our collapse. We might not see the full fallout in our lifetimes, but I can’t shake the feeling that the clock is ticking and the countdown has already started.
“That’s where a lot of my music over the past decade has come from — this idea that history is cyclical. We’re stuck in these endless, intertwining loops, and I’m just trying to make sense of it all through sound and art. That’s why I lean so hard on looping techniques; it’s my way of reflecting on how history keeps repeating itself, and we’re caught in this constant cycle. It’s heavy to think about these things, but it’s what I know how to do.”
Rafael Anton Irisarri’s journey through the ambient space hasn’t been without its detours, from side projects (like the shoegaze-y Sight Below and Mazzy Star-indebted Orcas, the latter of whom already put out a great record this year) to collaborations to numerous engineering and mastering projects via his own Black Knoll Editions label, which in turn has lead to him to work on recordings and remasterings of the likes of Terry Riley, Eluvium, and Ryuichi Sakamoto.
Yet when it comes to his own albums, no matter how imposing the tone, Rafael Anton Irisarri often hands off his work to a collaborator like Stephan Mathieu so that there is always a degree of freshness to what he presents.
“I heard someone say once, ‘What makes a perfect recording are the imperfections you decided to keep.’ It really stuck with me,” he notes. “So here’s the thing: even though I’ve got a mastering studio, over 20 years of experience, high-end gear, and a ridiculously long list of high-profile albums under my belt, I don’t master my music often. I love having fresh ears on it because it’s like a built-in system of checks and balances.
“When I hand my tracks off to someone like Stephan, it’s all about trust. I’ve got this awesome circle of sound engineer friends whose opinions I truly value, and Stephan is definitely at the top of that list. He’s got such a gifted ear and amazing taste. Plus, he’s a dear friend, so talking shop with him is always a blast. When I send him my mixes, I know he understands me, but he also brings his unique approach to the table.
“When Stephan sent me the first pass of the masters, I played them in my studio and immediately texted him: ‘This is fucking amazing, holy shit!’ I was blown away. He took my tracks to a completely new level. He brought out nuances and details I had completely missed after working on them for so long. When you’re deep in the weeds with your own music, it’s easy to lose perspective. At first, you’re focused on the big ideas, but as you dig in, you start layering in all these damn details. The longer you work on a track, the more shit you have to juggle, and that can really cloud your vision. It’s like being so close to a painting that you can’t see the whole fucking picture anymore. You end up missing those little subtleties that could potentially elevate the music.”
Yet all of the outside ears in the world don’t mean much if the songs themselves aren’t built on a solid foundation, and for FAÇADISMS, Irisarri controls his chaos carefully. While Rafael Anton Irisarri has worked through just about every synth patch and DAW you could ever imagine, to say nothing of his work as a guitarist, he brought in cellist Julia Kent and vocalist Hannah Elizabeth Cox to complete his ambient-brutalist vision.
“Okay, so let me break down ‘Control Your Soul’s Desire for Freedom’,” he starts. “I started it by laying down most of the structure, all from some guitar improvisations I recorded in my studio. I was using this aluminum neck Travis Bean guitar tuned to Drop A and let me tell you: it’s a beast. That guitar tone rolls in like a Sealand truck, crushing everything in its path. I picked up that tuning trick and guitar tip from Stephen O’Malley of Sunn O))) years ago when we were playing shows together in Australia. I’ve been hooked on that guitar tone since I saw him play solo live all those years ago, and my Travis Bean guitars are like my children – I’d walk into a burning building to rescue them.
“I’ve known Hannah for over five years now, and it’s kind of wild how we really bonded during the lockdowns back in 2020. We started making music together then, and she quickly became not just a collaborator but a solid, supportive friend — honestly, she’s the best. During all that chaos, we managed to do this remote session while she was in Boston and I was stuck in New York. Can you believe we didn’t even meet in person until 2024? Crazy, right? Everything was done online, and it’s just one of those things that makes you appreciate the magic of technology, for some things it’s just amazing what we can manage to do with it.
“Once I had Hannah’s vocals locked in, I sent the arranged piece over to Julia. She’s an absolute gem — a dear friend who I absolutely admire. I’ve worked with Julia as a mastering engineer for over a decade now. Seriously, she’s one of the kindest souls I know, and I’m always blown away by what she creates. So, I just said to her, ‘Hey, do your thing! Add whatever you feel like,’ and man, oh man, did she deliver. She sent me stunning cello takes and motifs that I instantly fell in love with.
“Afterward, I went into arranging mode: looping, layering, and creating with those parts. It all felt so alive and spontaneous. It was like I was painting with all these vibrant colors on a canvas. I wanted to capture that ‘in the moment’ vibe, you know? Just like I had already done with the guitar parts I recorded. Each layer was about embracing that raw energy and letting it breathe, transforming the studio into this dynamic space where everything flowed together organically. I was creating something that felt alive and full of emotion, and that reflected the chaos and beauty of those times.”
Yet, as somewhat of an elder statesman of the ambient scene, Rafael Anton Irisarri knows his role isn’t just to remaster the classics and add his own POV to the tomes of instrumental music. He also wants to nurture young talent, which is why the FAÇADISMS ends with “Red Moon Tide”, a song that has an explicit feature credit for the likes of upstart Kenyan ambient artist KMRU.
“I met KMRU ages ago at a music festival in St. Petersburg, and I’ve been a huge fan of his music for years,” notes Irisarri. “I had worked with him as a mastering engineer on a few of his releases and wanted to collaborate for a long time, so this was a great opportunity to create something together. Red Moon Tide begins with field recordings captured by KMRU and then shifts into a celestial disquiet that really hits you right in the gut. You’ve got these roiling waves of hymnal vibes and Lyra 8 synth mixed with my heavier guitar parts, and that creates an unsettling, unmoored soundscape. It felt like a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body. But when it leaves, there’s nothing but a big ol’ void.
“In this piece, I dive deep into the disintegration of illusions and the quest for wholeness in a world that loves to erase your identity. The theme of decolonization resonates with me on a very personal level. While I’m fully of European descent, surprise, surprise: I was born and raised in a poor, single-parent family in Puerto Rico – one of the oldest colonies in the world. Growing up there meant that you witnessed the brutal reality of colonialism and how it impacted people’s lives and was the cause of violence, rampant crime, endemic poverty, and corruption — you name it. American corporations constantly siphon off the island’s capital and resources like they own the damn place because, well, spoiler alert, they fucking do.
“KMRU, on the other hand, comes from Kenya — a country with its own colonial scars. Yet, despite the distance — he’s in Berlin now — there’s this incredible thread that connects us. Both of us navigate our own landscapes of identity and belonging. It’s interesting how our experiences as outsiders transcend race, geography, and culture. We worked fully remotely, which felt like having a heart-to-heart across continents. It’s a reminder that music can bring us together, allowing us to share our stories in a common language that speaks to the chaos of our reality and existence.
“I’ve grappled with feelings of alienation, navigating the complexities of identity in a world that often feels unwelcoming,” he continues. “When I first moved to the continental US as a young person, that alienation hit me really hard. Even though I am a US citizen by birth, I still get asked, ‘But where are you REALLY from?’ upon hearing my ‘un-American’ accent (English is my second language). It’s such an otherizing thing to ask someone, yet it’s so common in the USA. It highlights the ongoing struggle to define my identity amid constant scrutiny. Do I really have to explain to strangers upon meeting them the complex historical relationship between the USA and Puerto Rico? Do I have to explain how my peasant, indentured servant forefathers fled Europe, only to be stripped of their Spanish citizenship and forced into American citizenship so they could become cannon fodder during World War I?
“‘Red Moon Tide’ embodies that feeling of limbo and being set adrift from one’s sense of self. Collaborating with KMRU was a perfect fit because his sound often evokes themes of displacement and fluidity. Rafael Anton Irisarri’s talent for field recordings and atmospheric textures allowed us to delve into that messy disintegration of identity, capturing the soul’s quest for wholeness amid chaos. This track closes out the album; to me, it feels like it signifies the unraveling of shared beliefs. As the sound crescendos into beautiful havoc, it serves as a powerful metaphor for the fractured experience of being otherized and the ongoing fight to reclaim one’s identity. Together, we’re weaving a sonic tapestry that speaks to our shared struggles, crafting a bridge that transcends borders and unites us in this beautifully messy existence as humans.”
Yet for an album like FAÇADISMS, a drifting work that acquiesces to the inevitable instead of raging against it, there is still time to marvel at all that has come before. While his sparse-yet-ornate debut album Daydreaming came out in 2007, it’s close enough to its 20thanniversary that records like FAÇADISMSstand in seismic contrast to it. When pressed as to when Irisarri last listened to the album and what lessons he’s learned from it, he comes across a fine mix of honest and wistful.
“Honestly, I think people would be surprised to know that once I’m done with a record, I rarely listen to it again,” he explains. “I’m such a perfectionist that it just makes me too anxious. The way I work, I’m constantly pushing myself and trying to get out of my comfort zone, so going back to old stuff just brings up this flood of self-doubt (probably something I can thank my Catholic upbringing for, ha). I’ll hear things and think, ‘Why didn’t I change this?’ or ‘This would’ve been so much better if I’d done that.’ Not to mention listening back with my mastering engineer hat on, and realizing how green I was when it came to sound engineering; it’s just not an enjoyable experience at all!
“For me, recorded music feels like a snapshot or a sculpture that captures a mood and a specific moment in time. Once it’s done, it’s done. When I think about Daydreaming, it feels like a whole lifetime ago. So much has changed since then, both in my music and in my life. Back then, I could not have imagined that I’d be able to make a living doing what I love — music. And certainly not that I’d be able to travel around the world playing it or meet and collaborate with people I look up to, like the late great Ryuichi Sakamoto—also Biosphere, MONO, and so many other incredible artists. If you told me back then that all of this was possible, I probably would’ve laughed it off.
“Back then, the only thing I was really ‘daydreaming’ about was to have enough time and energy to make music in the first place. I had an incredibly stressful job in the labor movement down in the Southern U.S. I was part of a union that helped workers navigate their rights through collective bargaining. It was heavy stuff, and I was so young and idealistic back then. I truly believed I could help change things, make life better for workers, and all that. I had so much hope and energy, but what I didn’t know at the time was that the game was already fixed. The system is set up to keep things exactly the way they are. Looking back now, it all feels like an illusion I got wrapped up in.
“But that period of my life really shaped me. In some weird way, I think all that stress and frustration pushed me even harder into music. I needed an outlet. I needed a way to process everything I was feeling at particular times, and that’s where music came in. Now, two decades later, it’s wild to think that the very thing I turned to find a sense of solace and balance in, is the thing that’s taken me all over the world.”
Even if that world he now tours is close to being ravished? At least Rafael Anton Irisarri has no illusions of what it means, as records like FAÇADISMS aim to hold up a mirror to our pained artifice.
“What happens when the façade can’t hold anymore? It’s scary. We’ve built our entire prosperity and ‘freedom’ in the West on the backs of so many people who are struggling, not to mention all the places around the world we’ve exploited. This album asks whose freedom we’re celebrating and at what cost. It grapples with that reality and looks beneath the surface, confronting the inequalities we’ve been ignoring while the algorithm keeps feeding us distractions. It’s not just introspective like my last album; it’s a push to examine the systems of control we’ve all come to accept. So yeah, the myth feels like it’s unraveling, and it’s about fucking time we take a hard look at what it all means.”