Meeting Déhà

I started writing this as a live report.

Because that’s what I do, right? When I’ve been at a gig.

 

Déhà played at Bambi galore in Hamburg last Thursday.

He opened for Double Darkness and Wolvennest.

I was there. I took pictures.

 

So I sat down. Wrote the live report.

Only—it wasn’t one.

Because honestly? I barely paid attention to the music.

 

So. Two options.

Bin it.

Or just admit what this really is.

Brainfog.

 

Because let me tell you—

fog happened last Thursday. 

You might’ve heard me mention Déhà once or twice on here. Or six times. Or more. I’ve lost track. It doesn’t matter.

Point is: by now it’s no secret that this man’s music walked into my life earlier this year and I’ve basically been building cathedrals in his name ever since.

 

Dramatic? Yes.

Are we owning it? Absolutely.

 

So. Picture this: I’m on holiday with my family in Denmark. Holiday cottage by the coast. Six adults. Two kids. Zero chill. And I get a message. A voice message. From Déhà. Saying he's playing a Nethermost set in Hamburg next Thursday. And asking if I could clear my schedule.

 

Clear my schedule?

Consider it cleared.

Didn’t check. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even pretend to deliberate.

I answered "Sure, I’ll be there," then immediately embarked on a nine‑day emotional internship in catastrophic overthinking.

 

Those of you who know me already know. Not embarrassed.

This is just how it goes.

I obsess. I panic. I overthink every possible scenario. And then I write about it so everyone else can suffer secondhand embarrassment with me.

 

Right. Fast forward to Thursday.

I arrived early as I was invited to stay for soundcheck.

Parked the car. Got out. Walked towards Bambi galore.

And promptly considered dropping dead on the pavement.

 

Because I was about to put a face to the voice that—by now—felt like home to me.

And I was not built for this.

I mean—how was this supposed to go?

I was 97% sure this was going to be a disaster.

Never meet your heroes, right?

Especially not the ones who already know the shape of your shadows.

 

And yet. There he was. Up front. In the flesh.

And somehow I managed not to make a complete fool of myself.

I think.

 

At least I didn’t try to shake his hand.

Because we do not do that anymore.

I’ve learned. I’ve grown.

This time, I went in for the hug. Smooth. Chill. Normal. Look at me go.

 

Quick dash into the venue.

I parked myself in a corner, trying to stay out of the way of soundcheck chaos.

Which lasted roughly 0.4 seconds—until some guy from the venue came over and asked if I was with the band.

Did I have an AAA pass? 

Nope.

Any kind of pass?

Still no.

 

All I had was Déhà, who’d told me to "just stick around"—and then promptly disappeared.

The man moves like a glitch in the matrix.

Everywhere, nowhere, always mid-task.

Not exactly someone you can cling to for emotional support or logistical clarity.

 

So I just looked at the guy and went, "Yeah."

And he said, "Cool."

And left.

I’d just begun breathing like a regular person again when Déhà reappeared and hit me with:

"You used to live here, right? Is there somewhere we can get AA batteries?"

 

Brilliant.

Absolutely brilliant.

 

Of course there was.

Billstedt Center. Just around the corner.

 

Did I want to go there? No.

Did I know how to get there? Also no.

Do I have basic orientation skills? Hard no.

 

And yes—technically I’d lived in Hamburg for nine years.

Chris even used to live in Billstedt. It was the first bit of the city I ever saw.

Still decided to move here. Questionable choices. That’s the theme.

 

So technically, sure, I was the Hamburg girl.

But shopping centres?

Absolutely not in my skill set.

 

Still. I did what I always do in these situations:

Said "sure" with conviction I didn’t feel and marched off like this was a completely normal turn of events.

Enter: Budni.

It was loud.

It was way too bright.

It was everything I hate about the city condensed into one overly fluorescent rectangle.

 

And there I was. Standing in the beauty aisle next to the man who accidentally rewired my brain. 

Looking for batteries. As one does.

 

I glanced around, useless.

"I have no idea where they keep the batteries."

"Well. Surely not with the bras."

 

That was it.

That was the moment my nervous system stopped throwing sparks.

Because it was so absurdly, comfortingly mundane.

Two introverts. Hating this. Hating Budni. Just trying to solve a problem.

We found the batteries. Paid. Left. Survived.

 

Got back to the venue like returning from a quest.

Clearly, we had earned a beer.

Astra. Of course.

He didn’t like it. I do. That’s fine. No one’s perfect.

We had some time before soundcheck kicked off, so we talked.

About music. About life in that vague, practical way you do when you're still figuring out the edges of a real-world version of someone you mostly knew through headphones and messages.

At 7:45 PM, he handed me his phone for safekeeping and headed off to the stage.

One man. One guitar. One laptop. A lot of fog.

That’s all it takes, right?

 

If you still haven’t listened to Nethermost—seriously, what are you doing? Go do that.

It’s not easy listening. But it’s not complicated either.

You just have to let go. Let him take over.

 

I didn’t expect it to work live.

Some music doesn’t. Some music folds inwards.

And this album always felt like that to me—too raw, too close, too made for my headphones.

 

But it started surprisingly well.

The sound was good. The atmosphere held.

He sang. He growled. He played. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

 

Standing off to the side, I caught it—

a little blue rectangle flashing across the laptop screen.

Froze. Watched as he dropped under the table.

Cables. Panic. A brief but palpable "What the fuck now?" energy in the fog.

 

And then: laptop off.

Fully off.

Just—dead.

Windows had decided to run a system update.

 

Mid-set.

Mid-song.

Mid-Nethermost.

 

The audacity!
Apparently even operating systems have no respect for doom.

He popped back up. Kept going.

Voice. Guitar. Pure stubborn will.

Switched gears, salvaged the rest of the set, probably dissociated the entire time.

 

It was bumpy.

It was frustrating.

It was so deeply cursed.

 

And honestly?

Couldn’t have been more fitting.

 

Because if there’s anything more on-brand for this weird little full-circle meeting of ours than a heartfelt doom set being derailed by a f*cking Windows update—I haven’t found it yet.

 

And yeah—frustration was very much had.

We laughed about it later. Eventually.

When he was done being mad. 

 

That moment stuck with me though.

Because it was that song.

The one that started all this. 

And now we were here.

In real life. In this weird little crossover episode.

 

And the song had glitched.

Broken.

Refused to behave.

 

Which, if I’m honest—felt about right.

Because that’s kind of where I’m at, too.

Glitchy. Broken. Still showing up.

We had another beer. ("You finished already? Of course. You are German.")

I took a few more photos. We hovered. Circled.

Didn’t really catch the other sets—just rotated around each other.

 

Backstage. Outside. Freezing. Merch table.

Trying to find a spot where the lights weren’t blinding and our asses wouldn’t go numb. Trying to find a moment.

And we did.

 

It was strange. Powerful. Familiar in a way that made no logical sense.

Two people who hadn’t known each other long, technically—but already knew the shape of each other’s wiring.

 

Being able to look each other in the eye.

To sit across from someone you already knew—just not in this dimension yet.

And realising the thing you'd built—through sound, through words, through a screen—wasn’t fragile. Wasn’t fantasy.

It was there. In the room. In the air.

 

It was energy. Loud and quiet at once.

Like something you could almost touch if you just reached out at the right angle.

Two frequencies finding each other and going, "Oh. It’s you."

 

It was one of the most confusing, grounding, completely undoing experiences I’ve ever had.

Not fireworks. Not noise. Just alignment.

 

And I burned through all of it.

Because that kind of energy—it takes something from you. It leaves you frayed.

So I called it a night. Went backstage. Finished my water. Grabbed my camera bag. Shrugged on my jacket.

Came back down to say goodbye.

Waited—because he was deep in conversation about pedalboards. Obviously.

 

And then he walked me to my car.

And I drove off feeling like I’d just stepped out of a different universe.

Missed my exit.

Drove 30 km in the wrong direction.

Ended up in Schleswig-Holstein.

Maxed out my car battery range.

Because—again—I cannot be trusted with navigation. I told you that.

 

And now I’m home. And I’m okay.

Because for once—the thing I wanted to happen actually happened.

No almost. No maybe. No catch.

Just i’s dotted. t’s crossed.

 

And something in me quieted.