Belgium’s The Haunted Youth’s music is a velvety concoction of nostalgic notes and melancholic synth sounds. Like a deep purple hue, the sound of ethereal vocals weaves through the room, creating a auditory infusion that lingers in the soul.
On a cold and rainy evening, I briskly approached the Rotondes venue. In the entrance I casually collided with Joachim Liebens, the voice behind The Haunted Youth, puffing away on a pre-show cigarette. Though quiet, there was a serene humility about him. Later, as we settled on the backstage couch, what started as an interview seamlessly transformed into a conversational jam session on the complexities of life, music as a collective healing, and how sometimes the best therapy is to not sugarcoat the harsh realities of existence but feeling like shit and wanting to die.
Joachim’s insights, much like his music, bear the stamp of an old soul—nostalgic, mindful, and profoundly deep. Unfiltered and raw, his approach to music mirrors his approach to life—rooted in self-reflection, honesty, and an unwavering commitment to deliver his very best. As he uncovers the multiple facets of his being, he invites the listener to embark on a shared journey through the labyrinth of self-discovery. No pedestals, but a commitment to keeping it real.
Amidst this merry-go-round of soul-searching, one thing’s for sure— we are yet to witness the full scope of The Haunted Youth’s artistic potential.
Interview
I’ve been reading about your music, and a common theme is that people find it nostalgic and therapeutic. I read that you see your music the same way. Can you tell me more about that?
Yeah, I always seek an experience in my songs and the music that I make. I look for an emotional outlet, or chords, or sounds that resonate with me. The music grows that way, and I think it consistently has that quality to it. When I find something meaningful for myself, others seem to connect with it too.
I find it interesting how music possesses this therapeutic quality. You know, when people listen to it, especially when they’re feeling sad, and sometimes a sad song can actually help. Why do you think that is?
You can get very technical about it, and you can get very poetical about it—there are systems in music that just work. The reason it makes you feel good is because there is a harmony to it; like you start someplace, going somewhere else, and then coming home again. I play a lot with that feeling—either staying home and not going far or not coming home at all, just keeping on the road. It’s because of the chords I use, but also on a lyrical level.
The way I write about my own experiences has allowed people to fit in their own stories when they listen. Sometimes you hear a line or a word that resonates with what you feel or translates something you’ve been trying to express. That’s one of the biggest qualities of a song to me; it helps you discover yourself, express yourself, and identify yourself. That process is super important, and there aren’t many other things in life that provide that kind of experience. So, that’s what I value most in music, and that’s what I go look for in my own songs, yeah.
You often repeat a sentence or phrase in your songs, and there’s a sense that you convey a lot even when not saying much. Could you talk about that dynamic?
Because it’s so simple, you can fit a lot of stories into that one line. It’s supposed to be really unfiltered, just the way you feel it, and I think that resonates with people. It reflects everyday life—there are many ways you don’t get a chance to say things you really want to say, whether you’re scared your lover will leave you, your boss will fire you, or your friends and family will hate you… My quest in my music has been to be honest and not write this whole romanticized rock and roll blah blah, but to be honest about how I felt about things I’ve been through or things happening in the world. It could be anything—anything that gets to me emotionally is valid. So, I think people value honesty and vulnerability. I try to say things that are awkward or really brutal to say, like ‘I feel like shit and I want to die.’ Sometimes when you feel like that, your whole environment tries to help you, but they sugarcoat everything, and you still feel like crap.
I get it… Just putting it out there “unfiltered”, like you said. And I think in everyday life, that is something that people sometimes can’t handle.
It allows people to feel validated in what they’re going through because it’s so real and honest. It’s a moment where they don’t have to pretend or lie about themselves, just for once.
But I love that aspect of it. It’s interesting how people who feel down often choose to listen to a more sad or nostalgic song, and somehow it makes them feel better. I think, as you mentioned, there’s something happening on a subconscious or maybe even a conscious level, which is intriguing.
You just want to see the right reflection… It’s like looking in the mirror, but with sounds, in a way.
Do you believe there’s a sort of collective healing happening when you’re performing at a concert?
Yeah, I think so. Because people feel connected in such a different way compared to every other situation. It’s almost like, I don’t want to label it as religious, but it does bear some resemblance, you know? It’s like a master of ceremony with a specific goal to heal people in a certain way, similar to a shaman in a drum circle. There are individuals who want to hear the message, relate to it, and either lose themselves in the right way or find themselves, something in the middle of it. But it’s not religion, let’s keep that clear.
Yeah, I get it. There’s something almost spiritual about it; perhaps that’s a better word.
Yeah, spirituality is all about connection, and religion is about believing something some guy on a pedestal tells you. And I don’t want to be on a pedestal. I always try to kick it from underneath my legs if people put me on top of it.
I’ve always seen it as such a vulnerable position. As an artist or a singer, when you put your music out there, you’re essentially exposing yourself, standing naked in front of people as you share. Does that ever scare you or make you feel too vulnerable?
Yeah, it does. I have this song called ‘Fist in My Pocket,’ and I stopped playing it for a while because, for two reasons, it was exactly what you said—it felt like too much of a burden to go through that song every time. Also, I didn’t want to deliberately play it too often to preserve the pure feeling I have with the song. I didn’t want to play it until it loses its essence and might never come back the same way. So, why play it if it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do? I don’t feel like playing that song now. It has its purpose and its moments. Maybe I’ll play it again someday; I don’t know. But right now, it’s definitely not something I’m actively seeking in my life.
But I think it’s great that you’re very clear about what you need and what you don’t. Staying clear-headed and in tune with your own desires. Would you say that it’s challenging in the music industry, given its highly commercial and capitalistic nature? Do you often feel that pressure?
I think that working with the right people takes away a lot of potential pressure. I truly feel like I have the room to be as commercial or not as I want with the people I work with. They tell me about commercial factors, which is important when working together, discussing how certain decisions can impact future bills or band salaries, the main focus is on the music and the art. We know that we have nothing if the music doesn’t work or isn’t what it’s supposed to be. I’ve had some warnings like “maybe don’t do this” ,but I did it anyway because it felt right. Making money is nice, but it will never be the same if the music isn’t coming from the right place. I think you definitely can hear that with many artists. Like their first album is real as fuck and has all the bangers and then they start putting out 12, 13, maybe 15 song albums which have like 12 shit tracks on them…
I just want to put out my best work and leave the fillers behind. I hate bad or mediocre songs. I hate when a song has a bad chorus or bad vocals, or sometimes there’s a band playing and they start playing on their instruments and it’s so good and everything hits you but then the singer starts singing and he just shits all over it you know. And I’m really sensitive to that and I don’t say I’m right or wrong I’m just saying I have a very particular way of how I want things to feel and I’m aware of how fine the line is between creating an emotion with the people and the band and destroying it.
So you’re a perfectionist?
Yeah, but also not in a way that is limiting. I try to stay away of those kinds of limitations. I believe you need a certain obsessive mentality about things to create these kinds of songs. Sometimes it happens fast, but more often than not, it takes a lot of effort to make the song feel right – getting the mix right, perfecting the melodies, notes, and rhythm. So, yeah.
Is that the usual process you discover in the studio, or do you typically have random ideas popping into your head?
We’re actually heading to the studio as a band unit for the first time in January. Until then, I might create some demos – just recording stuff on my phone, like chords, a melody, or a vocal line. The songs live in my head; I picture it like a merry-go-round. Each horse represents an idea or a song being put into the world. Every time it comes around, you grab it or hop onto it, ride a little bit, then switch to another horse. That’s how the album seems to be growing right now. I want to avoid making a demo too early, where I might get in too deep, and the song loses its vitality. I prefer to wait until I have songs in my head, and I can tell the band, ‘You play this, you play that,…’ Once we’re in the studio, the engineers have the mics ready, everything sounds right, and we can capture that live energy. We can also write things in the studio as we go – a lot can happen in a week. So, yeah.
It’s nice because it leaves room for that spontaneity in the creative process and allows for natural evolution!
Yeah, and a demo can sound so much better and more vital and more exciting than when you do it all again in the studio. The song doesn’t feel fresh anymore, and I want to save that until I’m in the studio. I still do a lot on my own afterward in my home studio, but this time I feel like I’m able to write and use the band as a tool rather than feel it as an obstacle like I used to. Because ‘Dawn of the Freak’ is me imagining a band. I was imagining playing live, having this line for people to sing along to, and all that, but I had no experience whatsoever. So, it’s a lot different.
Your album ‘Dawn of the Freak’ really resonated with people. From what I read, it seemed like you felt like you were always alone or maybe a certain kind of misfit. It’s interesting that people resonate with that. You didn’t expect that people would resonate with it as much?
I just didn’t think they were going to resonate with the music and the songs. My story isn’t that “new” or anything; it’s not like I’ve invented something. It’s the same story in a different way, and I thought, ‘I might as well tell it and see what happens. Maybe somebody likes it, maybe not. I like it, so yeah.’
Does your success get overwhelming?
Of course, yeah, especially when the first three years of it were like living in constant affirmation all the time. Never being home, not being able to see the people closest to me.
How do you find your balance?
Yeah, it’s difficult. Right now, making the next album feels like taking a step back from everything and checking in with myself. Music is like a journal to me, and I actually journal as well, but it’s a different kind of letting the words come out or letting the experience have its way.
That sounds like you’re very mindful about it, that’s really nice.
The way I’m looking at creating things is like: My head is the studio right now, my journal is part of the studio, and my phone is part of the studio. I try to go to places that inspire me because sometimes my own studio doesn’t feel right, and I’m just better off in a hotel room on a bed, strumming an acoustic guitar for hours. So yeah, I’m really clear about the energy I want to put in it. I know what the message is going to be, I know the title, and everything. But still, all the chapters have to be put in place. I don’t like it when a story is told multiple times in a similar way. I like songs to be iconic, like this is The Haunted Youth love song, and this is the heartbreak song, and this is the teenage rebellion song. That’s kind of how I sometimes look at it to get an overview and to sort out my different ideas because they can get mixed up easily. It all comes from the same place, so it can easily become this cloudy ball of inspiration that you can do nothing with. I can already hear all the songs in my head, but they’re all playing at the same time, so it can get loud all over the place.
Do you find room for inspiration amid the demands of touring and everything else? I imagine it’s already a lot of work that consumes a lot of energy—giving, giving, giving. Is there still space for inspiration to create new music, or does it leave you drained, with an empty cup? Or, on the contrary, does touring fill the cup, making you even more inspired?
Touring has done a lot of things. It made me hate music sometimes. It made me love music in new ways sometimes. It made me learn about the way I could write a song next time. It made me learn about the way I want a song to sound like. It even made me want to have a higher tempo these days. I’m really looking for the crowd to move, because if they’re all standing still, it’s bothering me.
But ‘Dawn of the Freak’ was like the more childlike-easygoing record, yet I began realizing that there are so many more sides of me that I haven’t projected outward. This upcoming album is like opening another door to the world—for me and for the world to see.
Because I don’t know what’s in the room, and I’m still discovering it.
It’s like a journey of self-discovery, shared with others who may also discover something along the way.
It really is like, even as we create and produce the song, we discover it and ourselves with it. And as people listen to it over and over again, they find the same things, but just by listening. Because you don’t hear the whole song at once the first time, like the 20th time around you hear a new layer you didn’t before.
I wish more artists would be as mindful about what they put out, aiming for creations with deeper meaning and soul. In today’s music landscape, there seems to be a trend leaning more towards commercial appeal rather than authentic depth.
Exactly. Music is here to empower people and to heal, and that’s what I think. And then there is the other side, where it’s just about entertainment. But even in entertainment, there’s a bit of relatability.
Just like comedy, nobody laughs when it’s unrelateable. It always has to be like, ‘We all feel like this, ah!’, that’s how it happens.