Name: Tooker
Nationality: Italian
Occupation: Composer, producer, DJ, drummer, label founder at Sonara
Current release: Tooker's Rosanera EP, a collaboration with composer Mathilde Marsal is out via Sonara.   
Local Recommendation: Walk to the cliffs on the western side of the island of San Pietro at sunset. No bar, no restaurant, no Wi-Fi. Just the rocks and the Mediterranean stretching out toward Africa. Bring some bread, some cheese, and someone you like. That view is the reason I moved here and the reason I stayed.
Things I am passionate about but rarely get to talk about: Crystals and gemstones. I run a small import business called Infiniu alongside my music. I source crystals from South America, and it's become a genuine passion. Minerals form over thousands of years under pressure, in darkness, waiting for the right conditions to reveal something beautiful. Honestly, that's not a bad description of how a good track comes together either.
 
If you enjoyed this Tooker interview and would like to know more about his music, visit him on Instagram, and Soundcloud.



Are there examples of minimalism in music – and outside of music – that impressed you early on?

A great drummer knows that the space between the hits is what makes the groove. I learned that before I learned anything else. In electronic music, a few producers showed me how powerful restraint can be.

Outside of music, moving to Carloforte on a tiny island in Sardinia was the biggest lesson in minimalism I've ever had. Island life strips away the noise and forces you to confront what actually matters.

That, and learning to make a proper tomato sauce with three ingredients instead of twelve.

Were you ever interested in minimalism as a style?

When I moved to Berlin around 2011, minimal music was everywhere, and it taught me a lot about space, silence, the power of repetition, automations, and subtle variation.

To this day, I'm still learning how to say everything with almost nothing. Remove any element that doesn't serve the essence of the song. The economy of choices is so important.

Do you tend to find that "less is more?" Are the notes you don't play really as important as the ones you do play?

Completely. As a drummer, this was drilled into me early. The pocket, the groove, it all lives in what you leave out.

In production, I learned the same lesson the hard way. My early tracks were overloaded with ideas, like putting every ingredient in the pantry into one dish.

Over time, I started trusting the space, and the music started to breathe.

Do you feel as though making music is a process of adding elements until it is done – or one where you chisel away pieces from something that is already there?

Both, but the chiseling is where the real cooking happens.

I tend to start by jamming and layering ideas freely, almost like sketching with sound. Then the editing begins, and that's where the track actually reveals itself. Most of my best decisions in the studio haven’t been things I've added, but things I've removed.

The best tracks always came together in a flow state, almost effortlessly. The challenge then was not messing with it too much and allowing for the rawness of the emotion and the simplicity of the layering to be center stage.

Many artists are becoming more minimalist as the years go on. How is that for yourself?

That's exactly my trajectory.

My earlier work with KMLN was more layered, more dense, more of everything. As Tooker, and especially since moving back to Sardinia, everything has become more intentional. I'm less interested in showing what I can do and more interested in whether a track makes you feel something.

When your daily life is the sea, the studio, and the people you love, your music starts to reflect that simplicity. I don't need to prove anything anymore. I just need the track to be honest.

What were some of the starting points for your most recent releases? How did a minimalist mindset inform the creative process?

“Rosanera” started with a melodic rhythm I kept playing in my sets for years. When I invited French composer Mathilde Marsal to record live violin, the track suddenly had its soul, and then it was about protecting that. Not burying it under layers, just letting the strings breathe over the percussion.

With the Say Less EP, I wrote lyrics from a man's perspective on “Magnetic,” while “Electric” tells the same story from the woman's side.

The vocals needed room. If the production had been busier, the intimacy would have been lost.

Do you like to set yourself limitations?

Always. Sometimes I'll choose to build an entire track with just one or two instruments in the studio.

That kind of limitation actually opens up whole new worlds. It pushes me to look into deeper ways to transform sounds, to explore textures I wouldn't have found otherwise, and to allow for an environment where mistakes can happen. Those mistakes then become the core idea of a track, making it sound like nothing else I've heard.

On “Rosanera,” the limitation was that the violin had to be the centrepiece; everything else served it. On the Say Less EP, the tracks had to work as a conversation between two perspectives, so they needed a shared sonic language while each having their own identity.

Like a good risotto, the fewer ingredients you allow yourself, the more each one has to shine.

What are your considerations regarding sound design and the endless possibilities of sampling and digital synthesis?

I try to anchor everything in something organic. A live instrument, a field recording, an unexpected sound created from an analog synth. The slight imperfections of a real violin bow on real strings, or a voice that cracks slightly on the right word. Those details are what make a track feel alive.

Digital tools are incredible, but I always want a human fingerprint at the foundation.

Would you say you approach your creative tools with a minimalist mindset?

I've gone through phases of accumulating gear and plugins, and what I've found is that too many options slow me down.

These days I keep my setup focused. A few synths I know deeply, Ableton, my instruments, and the studio itself. Knowing your studio inside out and only having what you need is more valuable than having a thousand plugins and presets at your fingertips.

It's like cooking in a kitchen you've used for twenty years versus a brand new one with every gadget imaginable. You'll always be faster where you know where everything is.

What were some of the most important pieces of gear or instruments for these releases?

For “Rosanera,” Mathilde's violin. Full stop. For the Say Less EP, honestly, the microphone. Singing on “Magnetic” was a new step for me, and the vocal performance became the emotional anchor.



Beyond that, it was really about the production environment at SONARA Studio. Warm monitoring, a treated room, and the patience to sit with a track until it tells you what it needs. The gear matters less than the intention behind how you use it.

"Minimalism is about focusing on what truly matters." What are your strategies for separating what matters from what doesn't?

Focusing on what I feel when I listen. If something moves me enough to carry a song, I will focus on not covering that with too many other sounds and layers.

It's a long process, and I'm constantly working on this. It's probably been the biggest challenge and still is to this day. Knowing when to stop, believing in its simplicity and rawness.

With so much incredible music instantly available, how do you pick the music you really want to invest in?

I trust my body. If a track makes me move or gives me goosebumps, I pay attention. If it doesn't, I move on.

Running the SONARA Sessions production retreats here in Sardinia has sharpened that instinct. When you're listening to music for hours every day with emerging artists, you develop a very honest relationship with what moves you and what doesn't.

Would you say minimalism extends into other parts of your life?

Without question. I traded big cities like Berlin and San Francisco for a small island with no traffic lights, mostly stars and the sea.

My daily life, just like that of the people living here, is simple. I'm constantly reminded that real life is slow and simple. Studio time, nature time, dinner with people I care about. That rhythm feeds the music directly.

I don't miss the chaos. And if I ever do, I just try to make risotto with too many ingredients to remind myself why less is more.