Matías Aguayo: The Sensual Resonance of Food and Music

If you want to understand where Matías Aguayo is right now, you have to look at the pure sensuality of his music and his vision. There is no better embodiment of this than his record label, Cómeme, literally “Eat Me," a platform built on community, independent spirit, and the joy of dancing right alongside people. It’s an approach rooted in the inclusive, raw energy of throwing parties everywhere from dark clubs to open streets. Matías knows that bridging the gap between deep music lovers and deep food lovers is a simple wavelength: if you know, you know.

For those of us who have been following his trajectory since the pre-internet era, the fascination might have sparked back during his early days with Cologne’s legendary Kompakt Records. It was a time when electronic music discovery started with eye-catching, ultra-minimal artwork, followed by the intense anticipation of what the record would actually sound like. You would desperately hope to find some scrap of information hidden in the sleeve, but most of the time, you got absolutely nothing. That left the music to speak entirely for itself in a shared, immersive listening experience. But Matías has never been one to stay frozen in the past. From the timeless, emotive anthems of Closer Musik, his seminal collaborative project with Dirk Leyers, his path has been an ongoing evolution defined by a rich catalog of solo albums. He laid down his signature sound on Kompakt with Are You Really Lost? and the vocal-driven brilliance of Ay Ay Ay. He expanded his global rhythm framework on Cómeme with The Visitor and Support Alien Invasion and consistently pushed boundaries right up to his newest sonic chapter. His energy has always been about community and active disruption, playfully critiquing the digital age while remaining completely focused on the real magic: the raw, physical electricity of a shared human experience.

Fresh off the release of his new album, Anenoa (released on Serendeepity), and hot on the heels of a new live show that completely dissolves the barrier between the stage and the dancefloor, Matías joined us to chat about food and music with the effortless, raw intuition of someone who lives completely inside both worlds.

In an overly polished, robotic world where electronic music can often feel formulaic and safe, Aguayo remains a fierce protector of human imperfection, raw vulnerability, and the inner child. He doesn't hold back, diving straight into his frustrations with modern DJ culture and the current state of the world.

Matías treats food exactly like his music: an emotional adventure, a spiritual ritual, and a beautiful, culinary mess. He shares his ultimate secret weapon for playing an unforgettable gig, explains why the sizzling sound of frying onions is the ultimate romantic foreplay to a dish, and delivers a brilliant masterclass on why a good, slow-cooked broth can fundamentally enhance your quality of life.

Q: How does your day begin on the plate? Which meal of the day do you look forward to the most?

A: I wake up and the first thing I think about is food. My breakfast habits vary very much, though, especially because of all the traveling. I live in México, and my favorite breakfast is chilaquiles, but that is obviously something I can only eat when I am at home. In general I like a hearty breakfast; I am not the type to have one croissant and a coffee. Sometimes I crave “arroz con huevo" (eggs with rice) in the mornings; in general, I am a big rice lover.

Q: Do you design your eating habits around a strict dietary philosophy, or do you prefer an entirely unrestricted approach to ingredients?

A: It’s quite unrestricted, but I try to listen to my body. I think I know very well how I will feel after a certain meal, and also I have very specific cravings. I mostly know exactly what I want to eat, and I also like  to help others in choosing their food. As I said previously, I am a big rice fan, and I know, for instance, that if I eat rice in an evening before a gig, the gig will be really good, probably unforgettable, so if possible, I try to eat rice. That can be in any shape, though, from risotto to the rice in sushi, from fried rice to sticky rice to whatever rice. I just don’t like “arroz con leche" (milk rice). Probably one of the very few dishes I don’t like in general. I also like the smell of steaming rice a lot. Like the contract killer in Seijun Suzuki’s “殺しの烙印” (Branded to Kill).

Q: When you step away from the studio and the road, does the kitchen serve as a creative outlet? If so, what are your signature dishes to cook?

A: Absolutely! And also, the studio doesn’t really keep me away from the kitchen; my studio is at home, and when I work in another studio, you can often find me in the studio kitchen, as it is essential to me to continue to eat well even, or especially, in moments when the work becomes intense. I am a very regular eater; I need breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I cook every day when I am at home; I am never lazy. I love cooking for others. It is my “cable a tierra" (ground wire), and it makes me calm and gives me much joy. And it’s a social thing; I am less ambitious if I cook for myself than if I cook for others. I like making all kinds of dishes I’ve learned on my travels around the planet, but if I have to choose something here, I might have to dig deeper into what it is I love: on the one hand, ceviche, and I mean strictly the Peruvian kind; and on the other hand, of course, cooking with rice, especially preparing all kinds of risotto. 

Q: If you look back at your childhood kitchen, what sensory memories or specific dishes defined the family dynamic around the table?

A: Due to the dictatorship in Chile, I grew up far away from my bigger family context, but I remember being received almost every time I had the chance to go to visit Santiago as a kid with a plate of slightly spicy and extremely juicy “costillar de cerdo” (pork ribs) with potato purée. But going to Chile for me also always meant eating seafood, which was something that I loved from childhood on, especially raw seafood, and especially “erizos”—sea urchins, which is something I always look forward to eating when I go to Chile, well, depending on the season though, because you can’t get them always. 

Q: Is there an old family recipe that has stayed with you and remains a staple in your kitchen today?

A: Definitely the beef tongue in walnut sauce. I am not sure if that dish comes from the Italian part of the family, but that is probably something that I’ve only known in my family context. 

Q: What is the most satisfying acoustic texture or sound you encounter while cooking?

A: Definitely the sound of frying onions or any other "sofrito." When the sofrito starts sounding, I feel like "It's on!” We're paving our way to a beautiful dish; the adventure has begun! Also, it reminds me of the sound of rain; I find the sound of frying sexy and romantic at the same time. It’s like foreplay to the food adventure, as it is also a grounding experience. 

Q: For an outsider trying to understand your roots, how would you articulate the core identity and flavor profile of Chilean cuisine?

A: I love many Chilean dishes, but I don’t see myself all too rooted in Chilean cuisine. I’ve grown up in different countries. I have a Peruvian stepfather, and I have lived in France and Mexico. Then there are the Italian family roots. My background is a wonderful culinary mess. But wherever I go, something that stays with me is the love for all kinds of broths or stocks, which I consider the pillars of so many dishes. If you learn how to do that, your food can really become magic, and most can’t explain why it is so delicious, but finding the time to make a good broth for whatever it is, I think, can really enhance your quality of life and the joy of living. 

Q: Your life maps across a vibrant network of food cultures: Argentina, Chile, France, Germany, Mexico, and Peru. If each country represented a specific phase of your palate, what tastes or dishes recall those chapters?

A: I will follow up on the question in the order you suggested! I’ll start with Argentina. Argentina is delicious but maybe not so varied; at least Buenos Aires is not. But if I think of it, I think of those hot heavy summers and those days when we were taking the city at night, armed with our boomboxes. I am a great "morcilla" lover; I see the world through “morcilla” (blood sausage) lenses, and no matter if we talk about the “boudin antillais" (Creole blood sausage) or the "Stornoway black pudding," I love the whole concept of blood sausage or of cooking with blood. And my favorite “morcis” are the Argentinean ones in all their varieties. 

The first time I went back to Argentina after the pandemic, the DJs Pareja took me to eat morcilla, and when I had my first bite of what was an excellent, very juicy, warm morcilla, tears started rolling down my eyes. I can become very emotional with food. I also once cried when Marco Passarani confronted me with an unforgettable mozzarella somewhere outside of Rome. 

For me, really good food is also an emotional adventure and a ritual. For instance, when I go to Chile, the first thing I do is meet up with my longtime friend and collaborator Larahei to eat a "completo," which is something that, for lack of a better description, you could somehow compare to a “hot dog," but it is on a very different level and much more delicious and also more spiritual. This is somehow our friendship ritual that I don’t want to miss. "Completo," with Larahei, means "Yes, I am back." 

France taught me how to truly love food. It was there that I learned to lose my fear of butter, to indulge deeply in cheeses, and, somehow, to master the art of not eating too much. Learning how to not fill yourself up until you can’t move, but to let digestion do its work alone. And oysters, of course. I love oysters so much. And I never forget how I met a music lover in Rennes who saw me wandering through the market in the morning, and we bought some oysters and hung out the rest of the day together. 

When it comes to Germany, I think, obviously, we are not talking about a culinary paradise, but maybe I can say it enhanced my cooking skills because going out to eat, whether it's street food or restaurants, wasn’t really an enjoyable experience, so I had to learn how to navigate the cities to find good produce and to learn to properly cook to be able to eat some nice food. 

Perú is probably my favorite cuisine in South America; it is so varied and sensual and clever and unique. I think, for instance, I love European cuisine, especially Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese, but if I were to only eat that for a while, I would miss what I call “the holy trinity” of lime, coriander, and chili, which is also represented in delicious Southeast Asian cuisine. That is something I always need to go back to at some point, which is one of the many reasons why I am happy to live in Mexico City, by the way. 

I must also say that due to so much traveling, I have had the joy of being able to try many cuisines that I learned to love, and I have to stress that I love Portuguese cuisine, which for me is a litmus test if you are a real food lover or not. If someone says they don’t like Portuguese cuisine but calls themselves a "foodie," that is a total red flag for me. An honorable shout-out also goes to the cuisine of Réunion Island, food that makes you dance and love! 

Q: How does that literal appetite for global cultures feed into the cheeky "Eat Me" double entendre of your label, Cómeme?

A: I think Cómeme always had a sensual meaning. We were always into that more lustful side. And I think food can talk a lot about sensuality, as music does too. There is food that is naughty, as there are naughty bass lines. Music and food connect with sensuality. There is a look in the eyes of real music lovers and real food lovers that has something in common. If you know, you know what I mean. Something like that, I mean. Not all cultures are very connected to that. For instance, I find Mexico very sexy food-wise. Eating is a challenging and active process; it is not chill; it is an adventure. Not all cultures are like that, and I can’t think of anything more down-turning than the expression “let’s grab a bite”, I find it is an offense to food. Also, I don’t understand why in English there is no expression for “buen provecho” or “bon appétit"—why is that so? Who wants to love like that? 

Q: Leaving Chile for Germany created a life shaped by cultural duality. How has this permanent state of navigating both "belonging and not belonging" influenced your music and social projects? Is this fluid identity the key to your ability to adapt so effortlessly to new environments?

A: Absolutely, and I can also see that in other kids with an immigration background because they'll never feel like entirely part of a place. I guess the best is if you achieve combining experiences of your backgrounds, and I guess that in my case that means somehow the in-between but also the openness towards new experiences. I am very glad I haven’t lost any curiosity in life, as living in different places of the world has made me identify cynicism, lack of curiosity, and an ever-ironical approach to everything as closet stupidity (that mostly comes together with arrogance and ignorance). Curiosity is respect and appreciation. And it makes me angry and sad to live in a moment of history where stupidity is so overly present. 

Q: At what point in your youth did it become clear that making music was a lifelong calling rather than a passing obsession?

A: Basically when I realized I was in it already. It was a gradual process. Yes, it was my passion and still is, but suddenly I realized I could build a professional structure around it. I built this structure to protect the child in me. Though, I tried to build a more or less solid structure around silliness and playfulness. This has become more and more difficult with the collapse of independent music culture. But that struggle continues, and it is essential to me that we save alternative structures through these very hostile times of a culture that despises beauty and all kinds of poetic approaches. 

Q: If you had to trace your sonic DNA, which artists or subcultures laid the foundation for your experimental drive?

A: I guess it was helpful in my case to live as a teenager in the dull countryside of Germany. It was a place in which you inevitably would be regarded as "weird." So that was a very good school to learn not to care about what others think of you and that not everyone needs to like you or what you do. That is something we kids from the small towns had to learn. For our city counterparts, it was much easier, I think sometimes, as the cities offered niches of, somehow, like-minded people. The disconnection I think helped me very much in finding my own ways of expression and my own sound. 

Q: What was the very first instrument you picked up, and how did it influence your relationship with rhythm?

A: A keyboard, but I played it in a very percussive way. I found a recording of something I did when I was 14 or so, and I realized I haven’t changed that much. I always liked to play rhythms, to do danceable stuff, and to sing very rhythmically along with that, often very silly stuff. In that song I sing about a new dance called “teddybear breakdance," and I tell the story of a party from its beginning to its end and how it starts again. It is children's avant-garde pop.

Q: Think back to your introduction to dance music culture; what was that first environment like, and what kind of physical or emotional awakening did it spark?

A: Since childhood I was very much into disco, funk, and electro, and a DJ, who was a friend of my father, would always provide me with mixtapes from his sets in a club in southern Germany, where they’d play all kinds of things from D Train to Grace Jones to Colonel Abrams, etc. Garage music, so to say. 

I remember setting up a birthday party when I was 12 or so, and it was strictly dance floor oriented, but most of my friends weren’t into it, and it was the first time I ever heard someone saying, "But this music sounds all the same; like, all tracks sound very similar." This I would hear very often again and again later in life. And also not care about it because dance music unified everything I loved. And also it was serene and tranquil alongside ecstasy. I remember how suddenly going to parties started to become a peaceful experience. As opposed to my teenage years, where you would always end up running away from nazi skinheads. We really thought we would change the world with music. That was naive. Now DJs are taking selfies in front of Berghain to boost “visibility” in their algorithm. 

Q: How did you first cross paths with the Kompakt family, and how did that relationship shape your early trajectory?

A: We crossed paths before they were even called Kompakt. I think the DJ sets in the 90s in Cologne, from Michael Mayer and Tobias Thomas, laid  the groundwork for what I love about dance music up until today. Cologne was not a very big city to live in, but it was very active; everyday life was centered around living a music life. And that was very much so, but it was not only Kompakt. 

Q: What was the catalyst that made you realize you needed to step behind the mixing desk and start producing your own tracks?

A: I was always doing my own music; I think the catalyst was more my friend Maximo telling me I should really show this music to someone. Which he forced me to do with Michael Mayer back in the day. It was so natural for me to make music despite not having an audience that I was positively surprised some people would actually think this had to be released. 

Q: Modern production often chases a polished, robotic perfection. How crucial is it for you to leave space for mistakes, happy accidents, and raw human imperfection in your tracks?

A: It is crucial for me to find adventurous and unique ways of making music; that’s the whole adventure. It is really not so far away from cooking. It’s finding good seasonal ingredients and combining them in a lively and clever way. That polished stuff, I find very boring and also not very intelligent or deep. So much electronic production sounds already as if it were made by AI, without it being made by AI. I think we are living through an attack on talent or an exclusion of connection via vulnerability; just essential things about music are being actively erased by unpassionate rich kids who crave visibility. It is a moment where originality and experimentation are not rewarded, especially not in dance music, which has become one of the most reactionary or conservative segments of music. For me, it is important to change ways of working, to recreate the situation in which you are not an expert on the tools you work with and in which you actively create situations in which finding surprises becomes inevitable. 

Q: What does your creative workspace look like right now? Are there any specific hardware units, instruments, or software tools that are currently fueling your inspiration?

A: My workspace was created by my friend Nancy, aka Sound Construction. She's an acoustic architect, and we centered my studio space around a beautiful photograph of the moon that I purchased in an anticuario (antique store) in Oporto many years ago. My studio looks a bit like a cabin in the woods and at the same time like a spaceship. It is a space that is very much created around my vibe, so when I am in there, I am instantly in my world, and ideas start to flourish effortlessly. When it comes to equipment, right now, I am using my Eventide Ultra Harmonizer, the UDO Super Six synth, my Elektron Digitakt, and the Fulltone TTE tape delay. 

Q: You constantly disrupt standard electronic music structures by weaving live vocals and Latin rhythms together. When you are writing lyrics, which language dominates your internal monologue: Spanish, German, English, or French?

A: Spanish, at the moment. I live in México; I speak more Spanish than any other language at the moment. 

Q: Was there a particular track in your new album Anenoa that practically wrote itself overnight, and conversely, which one required a long, intense battle in the studio?

A: "Sentimientos Encontraos" and "Asuca, Rock, Roll" were very fast if we speak about how the main idea was developed. I took much more time for “Cuando ya no esté de moda," or, for instance, for “No ves." I was stuck in that composition, which is why I asked my friend Javiera Mena if she could help me with it. She did indeed help and ended up singing in the song. 

Q: Satire and playfulness are deeply woven into your style. How do you balance humor with serious dancefloor weight when writing your lyrics?

A: I think humor, or silliness, is deep. I somehow can’t take “serious” music very seriously. I am really not at all interested in music that shows no vulnerability or doesn’t expose any contradictory emotions. For me, it is about the whole balance. The dance floor is an emotional and fun place. And a creative space. I like lyrics that suggest something and leave a space for the dancer. I like lyrics that are centered around musicality. Lyrics that invite you to dance. Those are often silly, like "La tortuga ya salió, ya no está bajo del mar; ta gozando la tortuga. Lo que quiere es vacilar. " And Cómeme was all about that in the beginning. I find it a little sad about Latin American electronic dance music that so much of it nowadays sounds as if it were created to please an Anglocentric audience that takes itself super seriously. 

Q: The track "The Beat" strips everything down to the absolute bare essentials. Was this minimalist approach a subtle, tongue-in-cheek critique of the formulaic music production tutorials found on the internet?

A: No, not at all. “The Beat” has tons of layers and is very complex but sounds super easy. I like that a lot; I love sophisticated work that sounds effortless in the result. I was studying the rhythms of DJ Quik. Actually, my friend Katerina, aka DJ Snoopy, is his biggest fan, so I asked her to introduce me to the music of DJ Quik. So I was listening to his early tracks and trying to understand how the rhythms were built, for instance, that double kick at the end of every bar that is slightly off tempo and that relationship to the bass line. So I was programming that myself, but then I sped it up, and it became this bouncy acid rhythm, and I was thinking of my friend, so I created the track as a fun present for her first, telling the story of her being in the studio with her white cat, making rhythms; it all happened in a very fun improvised process. But I also remembered that Katerina loves melodies above all, so there I had to put in that part. I thought, “Hey, what's wrong? Ah, you need a melody” for her to really appreciate the song. Then I invited Etienne Jaumet to play the saxophone on the track. By the way, I don’t distinguish melody from rhythm too much. I think that is important. A good rhythm, I think, is at the same time a good melody and vice versa. 

Q: In "Sentimientos Encontraos," there is a fascinating tension between the characters. What is the emotional landscape or story they are navigating? Do the pursuer and the pursued find each other?

A: No, I think it goes on and on and on, and this anxiety is somehow transformed into fun and revolutionary energy. This song was very much created in the context of the free public space parties of La Nueva Red de Bailadores in Mexico City, those free parties “sin costo, sin acoso, sin alcohol, sin competencia” (no cost, no harassment, no alcohol, no competition) that I have been taking part in around the whole city and that have been a source for a lot of inspiration. 

Q: The Anenoa live show is highly conceptual and collaborative. What has it been like to take this project on the road and actively collaborate with local musicians and performers to shape each unique performance?

A: It is extremely demanding and fun work. I think I must like to put myself in situations of intense community work. It has been super fun so far, as it connects you with the places you go in another way. And also the show connects in another way to the audience than if I were just touring without involving local collectives. So it has been an incredible adventure so far that was born out of the difficulties of today’s music industry, in which traveling has become excessively expensive and touring with musicians almost impossible. I think this is a cool and fun work, and it offers a possibility to rethink how to work in music, and also it is so post-internet and post-social media; it is so much about the direct encounter and its electricity. 

Q: Your live shows completely dissolve the line between the stage and the dancefloor. How important is that raw closeness to you, and what is it like to create a moment where all barriers vanish and you are completely at one with the audience?

A: I saw Masma Dream World performing last year, and I think she does something similar in a very different way, or I can also mention Tony Morris, so I think this closeness, this living of that vulnerability that creates connection, and the immediate contact are some of the things we need now more than ever. These are times in which the work of DJs has been so overrated; sometimes I feel like it’s just to fit the needs of extremely untalented people on stages. I think direct participative contact with the audience, this somehow ritualistic and crazy moment, is something that will never be replaced, and I can see, not only with myself of course, that there is a necessity of connection; that music can wake up parts of the dancer’s body, mind, and soul that they might not have been aware even existed.

Q: When you step away from the stage to experience that exact same energy just as a dancer in the crowd, what specific sounds are pulling you onto the dancefloor these days? Is it cumbia, salsa, merengue, reggaeton, tejano, or good old techno and house music?

A: All of it! I like all dance music that has a good rhythm. But yes, underground house music may be the one that keeps me most endlessly on the floor. 

Q: Once the curtains close on the Anenoa tour and this chapter is complete, what is the next frontier for Matías Aguayo?

A: I don’t think of that at all at the moment, as I dive into a project and become overly present in a way that I don’t think about a life after it. It will happen, of course, but I am right here now. 

Q: Matías, thank you for sharing your time with The DJ Cookbook!

A: Thank you!

Follow Matías Aguayo on Instagram.

Listen to Anenoa here.