Name: Sergio Díaz De Rojas
Occupation: Composer, producer
Nationality: Peruvian  
Recent release: Sergio Díaz De Rojas's Muerte en una tarde de verano, a meditation on the suicide of his composer grandfather, is out via Nettwerk. The LP is based on the idea of how Sergio would spend the last day of his life.

If you enjoyed this interview with Sergio Díaz De Rojas and would like to stay up to date with his music, visit his official website. He is also on Instagram, Facebook, and Soundcloud.



Music can deal with life and death in many ways. What are examples of pieces by other artists that you find particularly inspiring for you personally? Has one of them possibly changed your view on life and death?

Almost eight years ago, Sufjan Stevens released Carrie & Lowell, an album that conveys deep darkness, brutal honesty, and pure beauty.



I have spent countless hours reflecting on forgiveness, grief, loneliness and serenity because of this record. It helped me understand the importance of being at peace with myself and with others, and it reminds me that it is alright to write music that isn’t trying to prove anything, that simply reflects on my life and the way the world unveils around me.

Even though the entire album is, in my opinion, a lyrical masterpiece, there are a couple of fragments that I hold dearly to my heart and, if it is okay, I would love to share with you.

From “Fourth of July”:



Shall we look at the moon, my little loon?
Why do you cry?
Make the most of your life, while it is rife
While it is light
Well, you do enough talk
My little hawk, why do you cry?
Tell me, what did you learn
From the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We're all gonna die.

From “John My Beloved”:



So can we pretend sweetly
Before the mystery ends?
I am a man with a heart that offends
With its lonely and greedy demands
There’s only a shadow of me;
In a matter of speaking, I'm dead.

So can we be friends sweetly
Before the mystery ends?
I love you more than the world can contain
In its lonely and ramshackle head
There’s only a shadow of me;
In a matter of speaking, I'm dead.

The death of a loved one can make us acutely aware of our own mortality. What was this like for you when your grandfather died and how did you deal with it?

I am not sure if I was too young and naive to understand what it means to lose someone you love in such a tragic way, or whether it was maybe just some sort of defence mechanism. But I don’t think I ever dealt with it, at least not in the way that people tend to react.

I simply accepted it and moved on with my life. Whenever we lost someone from our family, the people close to me seemed so broken and deeply affected by it that I felt it was my responsibility to stay calm and to let them grief, because they knew the person longer and better. So they had more reasons to suffer than me.

But today, many years later and in the current tranquility of my solitude, I find myself thinking about it, and writing music about it. For the first time, I am aware of how much I miss the people that aren’t here anymore, and the importance of being truly and consciously loving and attentive to those that are still present.

Your grandfather was a composer as well. Tell me about his music, please.

I started listening to his music not long ago. I only have a couple of his vinyl records as the entire collection sits thousands of kilometres away in Peru and there’s not much available online.

But from the few works I had access to, it became very clear that his music is cheerful and unworried. I mean, there are albums which titles translate to The Party of the Year or The Handsome Man. On the covers he is always smiling and making funny faces, and, for some reason, there are lots of women in bikini.



So yeah, I think it was the happy, party music of that time and place. Funky bangers, virtuoso piano solos, deep rolling baselines, and exquisite arrangements.

As you mentioned, when you heard about it at the time, you couldn't fully grasp the event. On the other hand, I wonder if the grown-up perspective is truly more “advanced” - or whether we're not simply piling lots of complicated concepts on top of something that is ultimately as simple as it is brutal.  

At the end of the day, it is as simple as it is brutal. But, as we grow up, there is more awareness and empathy, and in most cases, much more to lose.

As a kid, I didn’t think that a person could feel so sad and lonely that they could take their own life, or that random accidents occur, and that these events aren’t necessarily something distant but that could also happen to the people we love the most or even to ourselves.

It was a difficult realisation that, instead of becoming a burden or a fearful thought, has helped me draw attention to what I consider truly matters in life.

Unless it's too personal, what's your own view on life and what happens when it ends?

I try to spend my life doing what I love the most, surrounded by the people I care about, and in places that inspires me, because that’s what makes sense to me and I have the privilege of, at least, standing a chance at it. I try to be kind and honest, and I am learning to accept my limitations and to not get lost in irrelevant or hurtful thoughts. I want to live a life that, with all of its beauty and pain, won’t allow room for regret.

Concerning what happens when it ends, I think that’s it, that nothing comes afterwards. But I hope I am wrong. I am not particularly fond of any religion or spiritual belief, but there are various theories that sound way more exciting and precious than eternal nothingness.

Do you think that death and finality already played a role in your music before you started working on Muerte en una tarde de verano - only less consciously and in a less obvious manner?

I don’t think so. I only started exploring this topic around two years ago.

There is, however, a piece from an unreleased album I was working on before Muerte en una tarde de verano that originally held that name. It was a shy attempt at exploring the idea of death but I felt it deserved more, that it was more complex than just a three-minute piece. So I wrote an album about it instead.

Muerte en una tarde de verano has an almost playful approach to the topic. At the same time, this, too, can make the idea all the more intense. What was creating the music like for you?

It was a quite intuitive process from the late night sessions in which I wrote the pieces to the mixing of the record using hardware effects for the first time ever. It was a period of innocent exploration, like a child that discovers something unaware of the world’s preconceptions.

The playful approach to the topic comes from and connects directly with the similar perspective that allowed the music to exist in the first place.

In terms of still getting “important things done”, a day doesn't offer a lot of time. And yet, on a grander scale, our human lifespan is not particularly long either. What did playing with the ideas of Muerte en una tarde de verano tell you about where to draw meaning from in life?

I guess it it’s not so much about where I draw meaning from but about what I am grateful for. Which I think are completely different things.

There is no meaning at all in pressing flowers, collecting postcards and handmade pottery, or watching the sunset by the seaside, which are some of the activities I talk about in the album. However, we have to be enormously lucky to live a life in which we can, so comfortably, do these things.

Life can be as cruel as it can be unpredictable, because so little depends on us. The country we are born in, the financial stability of our parents, the education we receive, the current sociopolitical situation of the world … everything will influence who we become and the kind of life we live. And even if everything was wonderful, life can drastically change in a matter of hours or even seconds. We just need to pay attention to what is going on in Ukraine, Turkey, Syria, even my home country, and in so many more places.

So, if I am here today, at age 28, answering this question from an apartment in Valencia, Spain, making a living as a musician, then there is definitely a lot to be grateful for.

What do you still remember about the recording of the album?

The moment I finished the first piece, “Una copa de vino sobre el piano”, I felt that, after eight long years since the release of my first album, I was finally up to something exciting again. It was quite encouraging because, before that, I honestly thought I wouldn’t be able to craft another big project.

I also remember the moment I finished mixing the album. I couldn’t believe it was ready! All those sleepless night sessions composing, recording and mixing certainly paid off.

For music to truly be a cathartic experience, you sometimes have to go to painful places. In which way was working on this material painful for you? Did writing the music offer you concrete solace? If so, what made it helpful?

It made me remember me that, often, I wasn’t a good son, sibling, and person in general. That my selfishness and pride hurt the people I care about the most, that it is too late to fix some things, and that I have to learn to live with that. It breaks my heart to think about these experiences but it is important to be fully aware of the past so we don’t make the same mistakes again, and I have undeniably learned a lot during this process.

On the other hand, working on this album has been immensely illuminating and liberating. I sat down to think about the people and experiences I am grateful for, my partner, my family, my  friends, even my music career, and the beautiful adventures I have lived.

I have learned to not take any of it for granted, to put things into perspective, and that each new day is an opportunity to be and do better than the day before.

I'd be interested in what you were able to express through music but not through words? Was it a feeling of working through the emotions – of allowing something to be released - until you were able to verbalise them?

For me, words are effective but they aren’t compassionate. I can use them to explain my thoughts but they won’t offer solace — that’s what music does.

Words will perfectly tell what I did wrong but only the right melody and chord progression will allow me the opportunity to heal.  Only after expressing my ideas and feelings through music am I able to speak about them.

One of the goals of the process was to learn to accept that death is part of life. I find that interesting, as many like to incur Dylan Thomas's “Rage against the dying of the light” quote. Where do you stand on this after this album?

At the end, it will always be a matter of perspective. It is certainly not the same to see your parents go peacefully from old age in the comfort of their home than to tragically lose a lover or a child. And it will always be easier to say it than to deal with it. So, probably, I wouldn’t be too honest with you if I answer this question now.

However, working on this album has helped concerning accepting my own fate. I feel I could leave this world calmly, terribly sad if it happened any time soon of course, but at least without fear, hate or regrets.