To kick off this new season, we were blessed with the opportunity to talk in depth with the rising artist and brilliantly talented masked guitarist Δƒ (Delta F).
With a handful of new projects under his belt this summer, not least of all the stunning instrumental EP The Sky Blooms Only For You, we were keen to talk everything from personal struggles to creativity, building an artistic identity, escapism from turmoil, composition, guitar playing style, and plenty more. Here’s the conversation in full.
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Hi Δƒ – excited to connect with you. Your music is beautiful – where did this journey begin; who or what first inspired you to learn how to make music?
Hello! Thank you so much. Music came into my life the way some people find shelter in books or art, I needed it to survive. I grew up in a house where music was everywhere: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Bob Marley, Rush, The Police, Yes, King Crimson, and so many others. My family would sit together and talk about how each song or album made us feel, not just what it sounded like. That shaped the way I see music, not as something you simply hear, but something you deeply feel.
I was introduced to instruments very early on and immediately fell in love with the guitar, but I couldn’t always play the ideas I had in my head. That led me to drums, where I played in countless local bands, learning rhythm and dynamics from the ground up. Over time, I realized my true strength was composing. I could imagine emotions and then chase ways to translate them into sound. Even now, every note I play feels like a piece of that kid trying to speak, searching for a language beyond words.
You recently released the two-track project Invisible Scars – an acoustic guitar set that’s blissful, heart-breaking, and deeply moving to escape into. How do you begin composing a track like Invisible, and did the music just come through as a therapeutic playing process, or do you decide upon the concept first?
“Most of my music begins as therapy. When I face something intense in life, a moment of joy, heartbreak, doubt, or deep loss, it almost always comes to me in the form of music.”
It’s hard to explain, but I experience feelings as melodies or textures, and when I sit down with a guitar, I try to give those emotions a voice. I don’t usually “decide” on a concept first, I follow the feeling until it becomes something real.
Invisible came from one of those overwhelming moments. It’s about that ache of loving someone, trying your hardest to connect and be present, but feeling like your efforts go unnoticed, like you’re invisible. One day I was crushed by that feeling, so I took my acoustic guitar out to the garden just to breathe. As I played, the song started to write itself. Thankfully, I had my phone nearby and managed to record the idea before it slipped away.
I could have gone back and polished it more, made it cleaner, more “perfect,” but I didn’t want to lose the honesty of that moment. I chose to keep it as close as possible to how it was born, raw, imperfect, and full of feeling, like a time capsule of that exact day and emotion.
You state that your music is meant to be felt, not simply impress. In my view it does both, but the former takes precedence, thanks to the space, the tempo, emotions and mood of what you create. Given the contrasting softer pace of Scars, the different scenes for escapism, how do you decide which direction to take a new composition in?
Thank you for saying that, it means a lot. I always hope people feel something first, so hearing that my music also impresses you in some way makes me feel both happy and a little shy.
With Scars, it felt like a natural continuation of Invisible. When you carry that feeling of being unseen or undervalued for years, even decades, it leaves marks inside you. Those scars become part of who you are, a reminder of the pain but also of your strength. Over time, I’ve come to see them not as regrets, but as proof that I endured. That’s why Scars had to feel different from Invisible, quieter, heavier, but with a sense of dignity.
The emotion always decides for me. I don’t write from a technical standpoint. If I’m angry, the guitar speaks that way. If I’m fragile, it whispers. Scars felt like a scream that had been softened and buried by time, so it needed to be minimal and slow. I let songs lead me where they want to go, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Who are some of the guitarists that inspire your style of playing, and will you be releasing live visuals for these tracks?
Buckethead has been a huge influence, his ability to channel pure emotion through the guitar is something I deeply relate to. I also admire Alex Lifeson for his sense of atmosphere and storytelling through the instrument, and Shawn Lane for his otherworldly precision and creativity. Yvette Young, Andy Timmons, and Tommy Emmanuel have also shaped me in different ways, they’re all masters of creating entire worlds with a single instrument.
As for visuals, I’ve been gathering the courage to record some live clips and share them with those who’d like to see a closer side of me as a musician. I don’t imagine them being high-production videos, more like an intimate performance, as if you were sitting in the same room with a close friend playing guitar. I want people to feel that closeness, that honesty, as if they’re part of the moment the song is being born.
In your bio, you’re open about the suffering you endured as a child. When did you discover the magic of music in relieving the ache of those struggles, and what do you hope that others get from listening to your work?
I was very young when I realized music could take me away from where I was. I’d lock myself in my room and play for hours until everything else faded. That guitar saved me more than once.
Growing up, I was always afraid and insecure about myself, constantly feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. I carried this heavy sense of being inferior, of not fitting into any group or place.
“Music became my safe space, a way to exist without needing permission. Over time, I learned that being myself, even if it meant standing alone, was far more important than trying to pretend to be someone else just to be accepted.”
That’s what I hope listeners take away from my music: that there is incredible value in being who you are. Nobody else can live your truth for you. If even one person feels seen or understood because of something I played, that’s the highest success I can imagine. I don’t want to be “cool” or “virtuosic”; I want to be honest. Music gave me a voice when I felt invisible, and I hope it reminds others that their voice matters too.
In what ways does being a masked guitarist help you to put your truth and soul into music, and are there any drawbacks – perhaps when it comes to live performance or audience connection?
The mask is a boundary, but not in the way people might think. It isn’t there to create distance; it’s there to protect the part of me that still feels like that scared kid, the one who never felt like he belonged anywhere. When I put it on, I’m not hiding, I’m stepping into a space where I can finally be free enough to pour everything I have into the music without fear. It strips away the distractions of appearance, ego, or image and leaves only the sound and the emotion.
There’s something sacred about that. The mask feels like armor, but also like a mirror, it reflects the music back to the listener, letting them see themselves in it rather than focusing on me. That’s what I want most: for people to connect with the music first, not the face behind it.
Of course, there are drawbacks. Sometimes it can feel isolating or even a little lonely, especially imagining live performances where eye contact or a smile might be expected. But there’s a certain beauty in that detachment too, it makes every performance feel like a ritual, like stepping into another world for a little while.
I like that there’s a bit of mystery. It invites people closer, not because I’m trying to be untouchable, but because mystery leaves room for their own story. I’d rather my music be a mirror for someone’s feelings than a spotlight on mine.
For the self-titled 2025 album Delta F, the sound is distinctly fuller – a huge rock soundscape introducing things with Flicker of the Forgotten. What are your tools at the helm – do you record the instruments live, program things in a studio, or get a band together?
The ideas and compositions on the Delta F album are pieces I’ve been carrying with me for years, fragments I’ve recorded and saved over time, like journals of sound. Over the years, I built a home studio that feels like a sanctuary, filled with the tools I need to bring those ideas to life: electric, classical, and acoustic guitars, bass guitars, an electric drum kit, and a keyboard.
When I work on a song like Flicker of the Forgotten, I use a mix of approaches. Some parts are recorded live in a single take to capture raw emotion, while other sections are carefully layered, often with multiple guitar tracks weaving together to create a wall of sound. I program drums in Logic Pro when I want precision or a specific texture, but if I can’t get the right feeling through programming, I’ll sit at the kit myself and record the part.
The process is long and sometimes exhausting, but it’s also deeply rewarding. Each song becomes a landscape, every layer, every effect, every pause chosen with intention. I see production as an extension of composition; the sound design itself carries emotion. Flicker of the Forgotten was built to feel like a tidal wave, not just in volume but in emotional weight, while still leaving space for vulnerability underneath.
What’s the meaning and intention behind this opening track?
Flicker of the Forgotten is a quiet memory fighting to stay alive. It’s the sound of something beautiful slipping away before it ever had the chance to fully begin, a moment, a person, a feeling you can barely hold on to but that still lingers deep in your heart. I wanted it to feel like trying to catch light through your fingers: fragile, fleeting, but unforgettable.
The track begins with layers of atmosphere and rhythm, building like a wave of nostalgia that’s both soft and crushing. The lead guitar line is like a voice calling through fog, gentle, almost hesitant, carrying a kind of longing that feels both intimate and far away. It weaves in and out of the heavier sections like a memory surfacing and fading, expressing that tension between wanting to hold on and knowing you can’t.
This song is my attempt to preserve that flicker, to capture the emotion of a moment that could have been everything but was gone too soon. It’s both a lament and a form of hope, that even things we lose can leave behind something beautiful.
What’s the connection between, and purpose for, the two tracks Room for You and Room for Me?
They’re like two sides of a mirror, reflecting the tension between giving and receiving love. Room for You is about making space for someone else, emotionally, spiritually, and even physically, offering them a safe place where they can be fully themselves. It carries a tenderness and vulnerability, that quiet act of opening yourself completely for another person.
Room for Me, on the other hand, is the harder lesson: learning to create that same space for yourself. It’s about forgiveness, acceptance, and recognizing your own worth. Writing it was a way of reminding myself that you can’t fully love or support someone else if you’ve abandoned yourself.
My hope with these two tracks is to create awareness, to gently encourage people to look at love from both sides: how we give and how we receive, both to others and ourselves. I wanted them to feel like a conversation, not just between two people, but between parts of yourself you may not often listen to. If these songs can help someone see themselves differently, or take a step toward healing, then they’ve done their job.
You also released the stunning and intimate EP The Sky Blooms Only For You this summer. How different was your mindset for these tracks, and what was the composition process like for the sensational and beautiful opener ‘The’?
That project came from a completely different mindset than a lot of my other work, it was me rediscovering hope. After spending time writing heavier, darker pieces, I wanted to create something lighter, almost like a deep breath after holding it for too long. With The, the opener, I was chasing a feeling of stillness and childlike wonder, like watching the sunrise in silence and letting it remind you that beauty still exists.
The whole EP was written from that place, a desire to build a world that felt fragile yet comforting, where every note carried intention. It wasn’t about technicality; it was about honesty. I recorded a lot of it alone in my home studio, trying to capture the small details: the textures of the guitar strings, the space in between notes, even the emotion in my hands as I played. My goal was to make it feel intimate, almost like stepping into a secret you’re meant to keep close.
This project gives off a massive sense of hope and possibility. How long was this in the making, and what prompted you to name each track one word of the overall title – what does this term represent for you and this part of your journey?
It took many days of quiet reflection to write those songs.
“The title The Sky Blooms Only For You came to me like a sentence I needed to whisper to someone I cared deeply for, a way of saying, “You matter. There’s beauty in this world because you’re in it.” “
Naming each track as a single word was intentional. It makes you pause and assemble the phrase yourself, almost like putting together a puzzle or unfolding a love letter piece by piece.
This EP is a symbol of hope for me. It was written at a time when I needed to be reminded that even in solitude, love and beauty can bloom. It’s about the quiet, powerful connections we carry, those people or memories that make the world feel brighter just by existing. I wanted every note to reflect that sense of tenderness, devotion, and possibility.
To me, The Sky Blooms Only For You is like a soft light breaking through heavy clouds, a reminder that beauty isn’t something loud or dramatic; sometimes it’s in the smallest moments, like a flower blooming unnoticed. That’s what I hope listeners feel when they hear it: a sense of peace, warmth, and a little reminder that they’re not alone.
Given your strong release schedule, how do you balance passion and work ethic as an independent musician, and how will you maintain authenticity and feeling as your audience continues to grow?
I write when I feel something worth saying. I don’t release music to chase trends or algorithms; I release it because it feels necessary. Most of my songs come from moments that touch me deeply, whether it’s love, loss, hope, or doubt, and I try to capture those feelings while they’re still raw and real. Music, for me, is like keeping a journal, except instead of words, I use sound to preserve those experiences.
The only way I know how to be authentic is to stay connected to that inner voice, even if it takes time and means releasing less music than others. Growth is great, and I’m grateful for every new listener, but honesty will always matter more to me. I’d rather create something real that reaches a few hearts deeply than something trendy that fades quickly.
You’ve amassed a monthly listener count in the tens of thousands. How does it feel to connect with so many listeners?
It’s surreal. I never imagined that so many people would listen to music I wrote alone in my room. Honestly, part of me still feels like I’m dreaming, like maybe there’s just one listener out there… well, two now, because you just listened to it. But every single person who takes the time to press play means the world to me. I don’t take a single stream or message for granted.
Knowing that something I created has reached someone’s heart makes me feel less alone, and that’s why I make music: to build that invisible thread between us. I’m also incredibly grateful for the people who help me share this music with the world, the friends who assist with releases, social media, merch, promotion, and even keeping our Discord community alive and welcoming. Every person involved in this journey has my deepest respect and gratitude. None of this would exist without them, or without the listeners who choose to spend their time with my songs.
What’s your biggest ambition moving forwards, and are live shows a part of your plans?
My biggest ambition is to create music that feels like a refuge, something people can step into and feel completely safe, understood, and connected. I don’t just want to release songs; I want to build experiences that stay with people, moments that can offer them peace or strength when they need it most.
Live shows are absolutely part of that vision. I’d love to take these songs to the stage in a way that feels like stepping into another world, a space where the lighting, visuals, and sound create something almost cinematic, but deeply personal at the same time. My dream is to have a full band with me, so every layer of the music is brought to life right there in front of you. I want people to feel every detail, every emotion, and walk away not just entertained but transformed.
If a new listener only has time for one track, which from your repertoire would you recommend first, and why?
I’d say Invisible. It’s raw, imperfect, and honest. If you understand that track, you’ll understand who I am as an artist.
What do you think it is about music that frees us from our struggles, and unites us so universally as humans?
Music bypasses language and speaks straight to the heart. It doesn’t ask for translation; it just connects us. We can come from completely different worlds, carry different stories, and yet a single melody or chord progression can make us all feel the same thing. That’s the closest thing to magic I’ve ever known, something invisible that reminds us we’re not as different or as alone as we think.
What’s something about you that might surprise fans of your music?
I’m actually very quiet and introverted. I think a lot of people imagine musicians as confident or outgoing, but that’s not me. I’ve always been more comfortable expressing myself through music than words, the songs say everything I struggle to. In a way, Delta F exists because I needed a voice, and the guitar became that voice.
Is there anything else we should know?
Just that I’m grateful, truly. Every person who listens to my music is part of this journey, and I hope it gives you something real to hold onto. Thank you for giving it space in your life.
And thank you, Rebecca, for taking the time to listen, to ask me these thoughtful questions, and to give me this opportunity to share a piece of myself. I don’t take it lightly. I’m humbled by every person who chooses to press play or read these words, and I hope this is only the beginning of a deeper connection through music.
If you listen, I hope these songs feel like a place you can rest for a while.
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Check out the latest release. Find Delta F on Instagram, Facebook, Discord, YouTube, Bandcamp, X & his Website.
