It’s Thursday mid-afternoon in Los Angeles and the sun is beaming. I’m sitting beside GIANNI — a multidisciplinary artist and friend of mine — on a blanket in Barnsdall Art Park, a place he has frequented since moving out west from his hometown Flushing, Queens, New York in July.
GIANNI (born Gianni Villegas) and I first met in 2019, when I profiled him for The Daily Orange, Syracuse University’s independent, student-run newspaper. We were both seniors at the time and finding our way — me as a journalist and him as a musician.
We coincidentally reconnected in April, a month ahead of the release of his LP 2223. The project houses 18 songs and blends soulful textures with electronic and hip-hop influences, capturing what he describes as “an unintentional, yet deeply personal documentation” of the last five years of his life.
“I just had to learn how to let go. I didn’t realize how much grief would teach me about love, or how many versions of myself I’d have to leave behind,” he told me. “This album came from the dark, but finishing it was a kind of return. I’m not who I was when I started it. And that’s the point. Or the gift, rather.”
Now, with 2223 finally out in the world, GIANNI is embarking on a new chapter, both creatively and personally. He and I caught up during my recent trip to L.A. to reflect on the music, his evolution as an artist, and what’s next.
Cydney: For those who don’t know you, who is GIANNI?
GIANNI: I’m somebody who feels things deeply and then tries to make sense of it through art and expression. I think there’s a mission I’m here for, but I don’t know what it is, but I guess that’s who I feel like I am. I’m somebody who’s here to spread something. I’m a man. I’m a brother. I’m a son. I’m a friend. I’m someone who [wants] to be better than I was before. I’m somebody out here trying my best.
Walk me through the creative process behind this project.
F–king scattered and nonsensical, and [it] required so much patience, trust, and honor. I had to honor what I was going through. So much of me was at points like: ‘I just want to get this out. I’m an independent artist, I haven’t released one f–king album, everybody else released an EP, album, single. And I’m here working on one project [for] this long?’ It’s easy to go, ‘Who the f–k am I to spend this much time on this?’
But [I had to honor] the space I was in, trust that I would get out of it, and [that] this project would reflect that. The creative process was like walking through a dark cave with one flashlight and I couldn’t see that far ahead. It was also very serendipitous and synchronistic. It was stressful and exhausting and challenging in some of the best and worst ways.
It also required so much support that I didn’t realize I was receiving, leaning on humans in real life. What I was documenting in the project was so heavy and a reflection of what I was going through, and I didn’t know it at the time, it was just very unconscious. It was heavy and chaotic.
You hosted a listening ritual in Brooklyn. What was the intention behind calling it that?
I knew there would be an instinctive response for people [and] I wanted that. There had been people like, ‘If you call it that, some people might not want to go,’ [but] this is what this whole project has f–king been. People might not want to hear me talk about how sad and f–king depressed and scared I am, and me almost dying, [but] this is my truth.
The whole project was super spiritual to the point where it was a ritual. I am calling in spirits, and I am working with something bigger than me, and I do call it God. This is what it is, and either it works for you, or it doesn’t. So it had to be called [a ritual] because it needed to take that stance. That’s how I felt the project would be honored best if it took a very spiritual stance on what it represented.
Every time I recorded, I was having a little ritual. I was lighting Palo Santo, I was organizing my space, there was a way I wanted to hold space for whatever needed to come out. And the listening space had to be that way as well.
Which song do you align with the most right now and which do you not resonate with as much anymore?
The intro “2223” has a melancholic but real like, ‘I’m gonna get through this,’ messaging [and] that’s how I feel right now. The song I don’t resonate with is “Slippin’ (Reprise).” I don’t want to be in that space ever again.
Do you see yourself doing another ritual for your next project?
I wouldn’t call it a ritual. I don’t fully know what the next project is, but if I’m correct about where it’s heading, it’s not gonna call for a ritual. I would play it at a party.
Have you learned anything new about your abilities as an artist while creating 2223? If so, what has this experience taught you?
I’m a multidisciplinary artist. I don’t just record vocals, I’m a visual artist and I care about details a lot. I learned that I’m very intentional, and the way I present a message is as, if not, more important than the message itself. I think that’s part of the art. I learned that I’m also capable of seeing through something with a lot of intention in my life, which is something I’m trying to remember outside of art. But I’m a f–king artist! This is not the only thing I want to create, not just music. I can do way more than this.
How do you protect your peace and block out the noise?
I don’t know if I know how to do this well yet. There are things that I lean into when I fall off track. Like I was telling you, I get into my body. Sometimes I just need to run and or go on a bike ride. Sometimes I need to meditate. Sometimes I need to take my shoes off and just ground myself by literally putting my feet on the grass and feel the sun on my face. Sometimes I need to go out and get a bottle of wine. I try to get present with something, have a relationship with something, or engage with something, even if it’s just an object or a food, taste, or smell. Like I need to get into the senses so I can get out of my brain.
I pray a lot and there’s also rituals I do. On certain days, I clean my room and there’s something I’m praying to when I’m doing that. Or in the mornings when I’m writing, I’m speaking to God [and] asking for protection, and in a way, I’m just asking for that within myself.
What are you prioritizing in this next phase of your life?
Self-reclamation [and] self-honor. Nothing is going to get in the way of what’s for me and I need to honor that because if I don’t, then nobody else is going to. I’ve been telling you about this [upcoming] project idea but the s–t that I’ve been writing writing is a little angry but spiritually protected. It’s love but sometimes love means I gotta love me, and that means if you don’t have love for me, then it’s me or you, and it’s going to be me. I feel like honoring that fire that I feel has grown within me. That’s a priority right now because I think that’s where my light is, in that confidence and that conviction.
Creatively, what’s next?
I don’t want rules this time. I still want to be intentional about the way things come out, but I want to honor other emotions and sides of myself. I know the next project, or the world after this, I know I want it to be more. The music moves a little bit more, it’s more lustful. There’s still some spiritual undertones, but it’s more sexual. It’s leaning into other aspects of myself that don’t require so much thought, even though that’s feel like that’s intrinsic in my output. But just being more loose and free with the way I’m expressing myself. I think that’s what’s next. But who knows? I don’t f–king know! [Laughs.]
