For so many, music is a reflective pool. Emotions woven with harmony and exploration become avenues to work through something or find understanding. Deniz Cuylan’s For Luca is a sonic shrine to his dearly departed dog, but it’s also a celebration of small moments that hold immense weight. Wistful melodies are wishes as much as they are lamentations or remembrances. Arpeggiations flicker, mirages just out of grasp as he holds fleeting memories close. Cuylan worked with a host of stellar collaborators, from Peni Candra Rini, gabby fluke-mogul, and Thor Harris to Casper Clausen, Sarah La Puerta, Makoto Kubota and others. Each carries their own stories into these warm, gentle works, the threads tangling further into meditative patterns. Life is in these sounds.
For Luca will be released on September 18 by Hush Hush. Pre-order it HERE.
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What are your earliest memories of sound and music? Were there particular moments or recordings that first pulled you in?
My parents were both captains. So I partly grew up on our small sailing boat, “Clover,” and my earliest memories are filled with the sounds of the Mediterranean Sea. I also remember listening obsessively to Beethoven’s 5th when I was around seven or eight. I thought that was the heaviest music on earth. That and Fikret Kizilok’s “Zaman Zaman”. There was a lot of nylon-string guitar on that record. I guess I’m still trying to combine all these elements in my own music somehow.
You grew up in Turkey and have spent time in LA and other places. How has moving through different countries and cultures shaped the music you make?
Although it’s problematic in a lot of ways, I always had empathy for the delusion of the Orientalists. I knew that wherever I was, regardless of that place’s authentic reality, I would bring my own fantasies into it. That’s what I practiced in Europe, the US, and even in Turkey where I grew up. “Everywhere you go, always bring the weather with you.”
Returning to acoustic guitar after 20 years away seems pretty significant. What was that reunion like? Did it feel like picking up where you left off, or did you have to find a new relationship with it?
I remember recording my first nylon-string guitar to a tape, then playing over that tape and recording it to another tape in the early 90s. I thought I had invented overdubbing for the first time. But there were so many cicadas on a hot summer day in Turkey that with each pass, the background noise would get louder. I absolutely loved that noise. I guess I was never interested in practicing classical music on that instrument. But I loved its sound, the character and the possibilities of production. That’s what pulled me back after all those years of stacking synths on top of each other in electronic music.
Luca came into your life and so much changed: you started psychoanalysis, you found your way back to vulnerability in your playing. What do you think he opened up in you?
Those who are lucky to share their lives with animals surely know that they’re not just pets. Just like a good psychoanalyst, they become mirrors and take the form of your projections without giving in completely. Sometimes your kid, sometimes your parents. And there’s really no choice but to deal with that. You soon realize that co-dependency is not something to be afraid of. It makes you more vulnerable and open. And that’s what music is all about. They really need to employ animals in music schools.
There’s something about the presence of an animal in a creative space that seems to matter to a lot of musicians. Luca was there when you recorded No Such Thing As Free Will. What was his presence actually like in those sessions?
I’ve always been more interested in the sound of the classical guitar than classical music itself. My approach was like an electronic musician using an acoustic instrument for his compositions. So I spent a lot of time finding the right way to record. And that was ultra-close tube mics with fragile ’50s pre-amps. All of that meant I needed absolute silence in the room while I was recording. Of course Luca had other plans. He used to sit really close to the microphone. If he even sighed during a recording, that take was no good. He was just like Rick Rubin, basically. Although Luca was never in prediction market commercials.
Bone cancer at five years old is very hard to accept. Can you talk about what his absence felt like in those first months? The press notes say he was just right here, which captures something very specific about grief.
It’s not easy for me to talk about the first months after we lost him. I remember experiencing phantom spasms, just like the ones he had during his last days. Our bond was super strong, and I turned to music yet again and found a way to maintain that bond without feeling the pain. Sharing this grief with my musician friends was the best way for me to process it. It gave way to this collaborative album.
There were a couple of years between losing Luca and the album starting to take shape. How did you spend that time? Did you feel the album forming slowly, or did it all kind of surprise you and happen at once?
I was already working on my next album when Luca was alive, but when he passed away in May 2025, I decided to revisit the songs that I wrote since he came into our lives and reinterpret them with my musician friends. Everyone who took part in the album knew about the precious but fragile bond between us and our beloved non-human friends. I felt like I wasn’t alone in this.
The album brought together an incredible group of musicians from very different backgrounds and parts of the world: Peni Candra Rini, Thor Harris, Casper Clausen, Makoto Kubota, gabby fluke-mogul, and many others. How did you think about who to invite into this project? Was there a quality or spirit you were looking for?
I remember talking to Makoto Kubota in Tokyo when Luca was still alive. He had just lost his beloved cat Shirasu. From his heavy grief, I understood that I had to prepare myself for the loss of Luca in the future. And by pure coincidence, after a couple of months, we found out that Luca had bone cancer, and he died in a very short amount of time. I immediately thought of Makoto. And I reached out to him to ask for a spoken word recording of Shirasu’s story. That’s how this album started. Everyone else on the record had their own stories to share about their connection with the other inhabitants of this world. The album became a collective effort to celebrate those connections.
Peni Candra Rini appears on two tracks, “Lelana” and “Ali Ali.” She is genuinely one of my favorite singers in the entire world – her voice is just extraordinary. How did you first encounter her work, and what did you feel her voice could bring to these particular pieces?
My co-producer and dear friend Cem Misirlioglu told me to come to Barbes in Brooklyn. Peni Candra Rini was singing her heart out to a very small audience. That was the first time I heard her, and I thought that I had discovered something precious. We talked after the show and remained in touch. When Luca passed away, I thought of Peni’s voice as the ultimate expression of the complexity of love, devotion, as much as grief and loss. Her voice is a projection of your unconscious going through the stages of grief without fear or reservation. You just need to be brave enough to follow her.
Cem Misirlioglu appears across the album as co-producer and as a musician, playing piano, drums, and electronics in different combinations. How central was that relationship to how the album took shape?
This world is full of musicians, but it’s rare and special to encounter one that vibrates to the same frequency as yours. Cem has always been that person for me. We formed a band called Manner when I moved to NY in 2008. He was the co-producer of my second solo album, Rings Of Juniper. We played a lot, and we’ve been through a lot. And since the beginning, I feel like our paths have always remained parallel to each other. When it comes to this album, Luca was one of Cem’s best friends too. So he was always there. In every song, gently giving shape and bringing out my vulnerability with his soft but persuasive power.
The record is deeply personal, but it also feels like it’s about something much bigger than one dog. How did Luca’s story become a story about all of them?
We went to the Channel Islands in California recently, and I saw a baby fox in the wild, running up and down, chasing rabbits. I started calling out made-up names that we invented for Luca. He didn’t seem to care that much. Just like Luca not listening to a single word when he was chasing seagulls on the beach. They both seemed to be possessed by something larger than them. Maybe something similar to what we call the flow state. You become one with something. I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure that Luca was also a part of it.
How do you work now compared to before Luca? Has grief changed anything about how you approach making music?
I’m known to have relentless focus for long periods of time. And when I work on scoring series or films, the project goes on for months. I absolutely love being in that tunnel. But as we all know, love can tear you apart. Although it was a hassle in the moment, Luca used to force me to take breaks. That wasn’t what I demanded, but it was exactly what I needed. Now I pretend like he’s still in the studio, talk to him, and try to take myself out of the production mindset to breathe again. He’ll always be with me, reminding me to see the big picture.
And lastly, to close as ever… What are some of your favorite sounds in the world?
I really don’t discriminate that much. Any sound in the right context can do the trick for you. But to do a full circle in this interview, I gotta say my favorite sound is the gentle waves tapping the hull of a sailing boat at night. Safe and sound.
Foxy Digitalis depends on our awesome readers to keep things rolling. Pledge your support today via our Patreon or subscribe to The Jewel Garden. You can also make a one-time donation via Ko-fi.
