Sebastian Plano – the places we carry within us

There are people who travel to discover the world, and there are those who travel to discover themselves. For Grammy Award-nominated Argentine composer and cellist Sebastian Plano, the two have always been inseparable.

At seventeen, he left his hometown of Rosario carrying little more than a cello and a growing curiosity about what might exist beyond the horizon. What followed was a journey that would take him across continents and cultures – from the Adriatic coast of Italy to Lisbon, Boston, San Francisco and Berlin, before eventually bringing him back to northern Italy. Along the way, he accumulated more than memories. He collected sounds, silences, landscapes and questions. Each place left an imprint, shaping not only the person he would become, but the music he would spend a lifetime creating. His forthcoming album “Solo“, released on 26 June, feels like the culmination of that journey.

“With Solo, I wanted to tell my story, but it ultimately reflects a universal journey of movement and transformation.”

Written and recorded between Berlin and the Italian countryside, “Solo” is Plano’s first album created entirely for unaccompanied cello. Stripped of electronics, orchestral arrangements and studio layers, the record presents a single voice from beginning to end – intimate, exposed and deeply human. The cello becomes both narrator and companion, tracing a path through memory, movement and transformation.

Listening to “Solo” feels a little like looking out of a train window at dusk. Landscapes drift past. Fragments of the past appear unexpectedly. Familiar places blur into imagined ones. There is no clear destination, only motion and reflection. For Sebastian, however, this is not simply a story about travel. It is about the spaces between departures and arrivals. About solitude, belonging and the search for one’s own voice. It is about discovering that home is not always a place on a map, but something we carry within us. At a time when so much is dispersed across different places, this is a question that is not easy to answer.

We caught up with him to talk about life between countries, the beauty of being alone, crossing the Swiss Alps with a cello in the back of the car, and why vulnerability might be one of the most powerful forces we possess.

photography by Paolo Barretta

Your new album Solo feels incredibly intimate and exposed. Did creating music with only the cello feel liberating or terrifying at times?

It was truly both – liberating but challenging at the same time. The creative process involved a number of complexities at every stage, from composing and performing the pieces to recording them and considering how the room would shape the sound. Writing for solo cello is limiting, but at the same time it is very powerful. It’s like a monologue, and because of its simplicity, the result can be remarkably strong.

With *Solo*, I wanted to tell my story, but it ultimately reflects a universal journey of movement and transformation, experiences we all encounter throughout our lives.

You’ve spent much of your life moving between countries and cities. How have those journeys shaped your identity as both a person and an artist?

Yes, I left my hometown Rosario, Argentina at seventeen and moved to Duino, Italy, then to Lisbon, Boston, San Francisco, Berlin and now back to Italy, sort of closing a circle.

It has shaped my identity enormously, but above all, it has shaped me as an artist. I was on the path to becoming a concert cellist, but during the final year of my studies, I realised that this was not truly who I was or my right path. That was when I decided to leave my career as a performer and embark on a new path as a composer. From that point on, my obsession has been, and continues to be, my own voice as a musician and composer. Each of the six places where I have lived over the past twenty years has shaped that musical voice in different ways. The creative energy was unique in each place, and I was very receptive to it.

“Writing for solo cello is limiting, but at the same time it is very powerful. It’s like a monologue, and because of its simplicity, the result can be remarkably strong.”

You once said that with Solo you finally experienced what it means to journey completely alone with your cello. What did solitude teach you during this process?

I write and record all the instruments for my records in my studio, so I am normally not in contact with other musicians or studio engineers. By nature, this process makes me be in solitude, but I am not alone; I am with music, and there is dialogue, frustration and enormous joy.

The process of working on *Solo* was much more intense because my mind was focused on just one instrument, one voice and one sound. I also encountered different challenges along the way that I didn’t expect, but that is what you are looking for when you step away from your comfort zone.

Do you think there’s a difference between being alone and feeling lonely?

What a beautiful question. I think there is a big difference between being alone and feeling lonely. Do you know who you are? Do you know what you want? If you know, then you can be alone and you won’t feel lonely.

I feel an incredible sense of company when I am with music. I don’t only like it, but I need to have moments of solitude; these are not only moments for creativity but also for winding down and contemplation.

For how I understand it, feeling lonely is a completely different feeling. Being away on my own and quite far from home surely made me feel quite lonely at times; it was normal and in line with the path I had chosen.

You left Argentina at seventeen to study abroad. Looking back now, how did that moment of leaving home change you?

Yes, at seventeen I went to study at the United World College of the Adriatic in Duino, Italy. There, I spent two years living and studying with 180 students from 80 countries around the world; it was an incredible experience that changed me in so many ways. Living among so many different cultures was so beautiful and transformative. I remember returning home to Argentina after those two years and not recognising the Sebastian who had left.

“Do you know who you are? Do you know what you want? If you know, then you can be alone and you won’t feel lonely.”

So much of Solo feels connected to memory and reflection. Were there particular places or moments from your past that kept resurfacing while recording?

Yes, there were specific moments and places, but the main focus was on creating an arc that depicts the entire journey through music, almost like sound postcards from the past. The endings of each piece connect to the beginnings of the next, and the album unfolds as a continuous, uninterrupted solo cello voice, like a story told from beginning to end.

The album was written and recorded between Berlin and northern Italy. How did the atmosphere of those places influence the sound of the record?

Yes, I was working on and recording the album between my two studios in Berlin and Italy, travelling by car with my cello and recording equipment. I remember listening to many of the sketches in the car while crossing the Swiss Alps. I was recording more in the countryside in Italy, and writing and polishing in Berlin.

Your previous works often combined orchestral arrangements and electronic textures. Why did you feel the need to strip everything away for this album?

I wanted to step outside my comfort zone and tell my story in the simplest possible way. I chose to focus on a single protagonist – my instrument, the cello – which has accompanied me throughout my entire journey. In a way, the work can be seen as a tribute to my instrument.

Through this album, I share my own path, but the experiences behind it are universal. These are stories we all go through in different ways. That’s why I wanted to write music that other cellists could also interpret and perform, inviting them to explore their own journey and express every piece in their own voice.

Recording solo cello leaves no room to hide. Did that vulnerability ever change the way you approached composition or performance? Improvisation plays an important role throughout Solo. What do you love most about spontaneous creation?

Improvising versus reading music is a completely different experience for me. I can only truly play the way I want when I improvise. As soon as I have a piece of music in front of me, the connection between the cello and my body changes, and some physical tension starts to build up.

Improvisation is freedom for me. Most of my work is based on spontaneous creation, born out of improvisation, even when I am writing music for films. One of the challenges I faced with *Solo* was that many of the improvisations had a strong musical flow, but lacked a clear sense of direction. I would then transcribe them onto paper and use them as a starting point for further development.

“The music that truly moves you, the kind that affects you physically, comes from a place of vulnerability and sensitivity.”

Your music often feels cinematic, almost like travelling through emotional landscapes. Do you think music can hold geography and memory inside it?

It certainly can. Music has the power to transport you to unknown places or to unlock memories that may have been long forgotten. I want my music to evoke a genuine emotional response. At its core, that is what music means to me – the ability to make people feel something deeply and personally when they listen.

You’ve spoken about not fully belonging anywhere after years of movement. Has music become a kind of home for you?

It has become more than a home – music is the essence of who I am.

There’s such a beautiful tension in the album between fragility and strength. Do you think vulnerability can be a form of power?

Yes, I think so, and I believe it depends largely on how you make use of that vulnerability. The music that truly moves you, the kind that affects you physically, comes from a place of vulnerability and sensitivity. However, once it is completed, that same music, born from vulnerability, can carry immense power.

As another example, beyond music, the morals and ethics of a vulnerable leader can outweigh the atomic bombs of another.

Growing up surrounded by music, with parents in the symphonic orchestra and a tango composer grandfather, did music always feel inevitable to you?

Yes, I could say it did. Music runs in my family – my parents, cousins and my grandmother, who is still teaching piano at eighty-nine. There has always been music around me, so I grew up immersed in it. Although I started playing the cello at the age of seven, it was at thirteen that I decided to pursue music seriously and become a cellist. That decision came after hearing a soloist perform the second movement of Haydn’s Cello Concerto No. 1 in C major. I was moved by it. That evening I said to myself, “I want to sit there and perform this piece”, and I had the opportunity to do so two years later.

After all these years of movement and creating – what have you learned about yourself through music?

Music and all these years of movement have defined who I am in essence.