The name Casamoré was not born in an Italian restaurant. It was born at 2:30 in the morning in a kitchen in Fort Myers Beach, about six weeks before our first-ever sunset. Tony and I were out of name ideas. We had already tried 'Twilight Club' (too cliche), 'The Beach House' (already taken), 'Sundown DJs' (sounded like a wedding service), and 'Love Music Florida' (Tony's worst suggestion ever, sorry Tony). We were tired, we were a little delirious, and we were eating leftover pasta.
Tony said, 'we need a name that sounds like a place you'd want to be invited to.' Jack said, 'like a house.' Tony said, 'a house of love.' Jack said, 'casa d'amore.' We both stopped. Jack said, 'what if we smush it, Casadamore.' Tony said, 'cut the D.' Jack wrote down 'Casamore' on a napkin. We looked at it. We said it out loud. We both said at the same time, 'it needs the accent, it looks more expensive.' Casamoré. 2:33 a.m. A name was born.
Here is the thing. Casamoré is not actually an Italian word. 'Casa d'amore' is Italian. 'Amore' is Italian. 'Casa' is Italian. But the mushed-together version we landed on is, as far as any Italian speaker has ever told us, a fake word. A beautiful one — every Italian person who hears it says 'oh that's lovely' — but a fake one. We like that about it. It's a word we made for this project only. No one else can own it. It is not on any dictionary page. It exists entirely because Tony and I needed a name for the night at 2:30 a.m. and we were both tired enough to believe in anything.
A House of Love is the direct English translation of what we were trying to say. So we kept both. Casamoré is the duo — the musicians, the brand, the Spotify artist name, the playlists. A House of Love is the night — the sunset series, the dance floor, the thing you buy a ticket to. One is the band, the other is the venue. And the venue is inside the band. And the band is named after the venue. And the whole thing is circular, on purpose.
So when somebody asks you what Casamoré means, the answer is: house of love, in a language that doesn't quite exist, made by two guys who were hungry. Which is, honestly, as close to a theology of small music brands as I've been able to come up with.