Fall 2021.
A time when the world was still holding its breath, waiting to see if the pandemic would loosen its grip. I’m sitting there with Maggý when she tells me, if COVID plays nice, Kælan Mikla’s hitting the road for a European tour come spring. Now, I’m not sure if it was the alcohol talking or just my usual reckless optimism, but I throw it out there: “You guys need a photographer or what?” We laugh, because, of course, it’s one of those ideas that sounds great when you’re a few drinks deep but will never actually happen. Right?
Fast forward to early December, and Maggý hits me up again. Turns out, the rest of the band is into the idea. So, just like that, I’m in. Spring 2022, I’m packing my camera and tagging along with Kælan Mikla on their European tour.
For a week, I’m living that tour life—from Berlin to Paris. It’s a whirlwind. You wake up in one city, catch the band in that liminal space between sleep and showtime, then watch them pour their guts out on stage. And just when you’re catching your breath, you’re back on the bus, chasing the horizon to the next city. Rinse and repeat. It’s exhausting, surreal, and beautiful all at once.
There’s something almost poetic about it—the monotony of the road juxtaposed with the chaos of the stage. You’re in this bubble, hurtling through time zones and cultures, but the routine keeps you grounded. Wake up. Shoot. Watch the magic happen. Sleep. Repeat. It’s not a life everyone can handle, but for those who can, it’s addictive. And for a brief moment, I got to be part of that strange, beautiful machine.
