The music of Alejandro Romero envelops complex textures without renouncing the rawest dramaturgy and expressiveness. His works often burst forth unexpectedly, leaving in the wake of their initial insolence a trail of resonant debris, echoes, and expressive wreckage that gradually reassemble to carve their own path—or, as the composer puts it, their own becoming. His astonishing timbral blends cling to the skin like the patina of a humid summer.

​

The exploration of extended techniques is executed with extreme delicacy, though never with the “look-but-don’t-touch” fragility of Sciarrino. He manages countless nuances of impenetrable density and saturation without venturing into the sonic hooliganism of Romitelli. Romero constructs a musical space that is at once welcoming and unsettling; always surprising, always transforming, but with a kind of hook that becomes addictive.

​

His creative universe doesn’t end within the narrow boundaries of music. His imagination is constantly nourished by refined literature, rhizomatic philosophy, and diverse theoretical frameworks. All of this coagulates in his music not as heavy metaphysical treatises, but as an attractive and unusual sonic world with profound human depth.

​

His compositional processes are like caverns where the composer discovers himself amidst the rumblings of his own echo: he not only twists sonic gestures, textures, and melodies; throughout the entire creative process, he observes himself, reflects on what he is feeling, how he affects and is affected by the material he is working with, with the patience and skill of a goldsmith.

​

This human weight makes his music a mirror in which we see ourselves, revealing something as alluring as it is terrifying. His compositions open up vast possibilities for cognitive interaction: none of his works are heard the same way each time we encounter them. They are always changing, always becoming, forever becoming.