Inside Kadjavsi’s Headspace: A Conversation on Music, Uncertainty & Hurt

There’s something disarming about Kadjavsi. Not the usual multidisciplinary artist label people stick on him, but the way he carries all those mediums, theatre, photography, film, music, like they’re just different ways of saying the same truth he hasn’t fully figured out yet. He’s not trying to come off as complete. If anything, he speaks about his work with a kind of amused uncertainty, the kind that makes you trust him more, not less.

What draws you in is how he turns small, almost throwaway moments into something strangely magnetic. How can he be self-deprecating one second and painfully sincere the next? How Bucharest isn’t just a backdrop for him, but a ghost that sneaks into his songs and refuses to leave quietly.

Kadjavsi’s world isn’t tidy. It’s honest, a bit chaotic, sometimes funny without meaning to be, and always reaching for something just beyond its own grasp. Talking to Nikita feels like catching someone mid-transform, and that’s exactly what makes him so compelling.

You’ve been called a complete artist, which can sound both flattering and uncomfortably definitive. When you look at your own trajectory – theatre, photography, film, music – do you see a cohesive self, or more of a controlled chaos you’re still learning to curate?

I feel like the title of a complete artist is an overstatement, even though I did try out different art forms through the years. While the idea of a cohesive self is seductive, I think “controlled chaos” works better. Most of the time, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing anyway. I just blindly go with my gut, which has proven useful so far, especially when combining all of those outlets mentioned earlier into one.

Is there a specific philosophy or worldview that influences your music? What do you want people to think about or feel when they listen to your songs?

Although I’m not conscious about it when I write music, I really like to explore the mundane and make it seem more impactful or important than it actually is. I think it’s really funny to give it a sort of dramatic twist.

It’s a way I make fun of myself, to be honest. And while I like to explore a more “comedic” side, I also like to pour out my most vulnerable thoughts, telling myself that someone out there might listen to them and recognize their own, and so they’d feel less alone. I feel like that’s really important to me.

What part of Bucharest do you carry in your sound? The city’s noise, its indifference, its warmth, its ghosts? And what part of you refuses to belong to it at all?

I think Bucharest is a city very embedded in its own past, and I both hate it and relate to that. There’s a melancholy wandering about, and I like to think that maybe that’s the thing that clings onto my music.

For me, Bucharest’s beauty lies in the fact that it tried to “fight” what it was and began becoming something else. This very thing is what I love most about it; I think it’s real and honest, almost humane. ‘New Sand’, the sixth song off my album, “Above Albatross”, is exactly about Bucharest. I liked the idea of writing a song from the perspective of my hometown. It was funny to write the lyrics as if I were a city; I really enjoyed that.

Your debut album, “Second Sun” was described as a love letter. Your second album, “Above Albatross,” feels more like a confrontation. What changed in you between those two worlds?

“Second Sun” was my first attempt at doing this music thing, so I had almost no experience.I figured my best bet is to be as vulnerable and authentic as possible, writing about what I really (thought I) knew at the time.

“Above Albatross” is more curated, I think, and is written around a different idea; the idea of this thing that seems within reach but is nearly impossible to get to. That’s why I chose the Albatross as the “protagonist” of the album, because even though the bird is real (a funny thing to say!) it’s one of the rarest animals a person can see. So, while “Second Sun” was about certainty, “Above Albatross” flirts with uncertainty and the beauty (and pain) of how fragile we are in front of it.

‘So Arbitrary’ feels both meticulously crafted and deliberately fragile, as if the song is trying to hold itself together emotionally. What was the first image, feeling, or sentence that triggered the track for you?

The song started as a little chord progression, which can be heard within the first seconds of the song. I kept playing these chords for weeks on end back in February 2025, but reached writer’s block and didn’t know where to go with it. I knew it sounded good, so I played it to Marius Leftărache, who produced the song and co-produced the album, and he immediately told me that it’s the song of the album.

We didn’t know where to go with it, but we felt it could be special. We didn’t want to rush the process, so I kind of let it sit for some time. After a while, the first verse came to me, and it felt really right, so the song started to take shape, but then I was stuck again. This on-and-off, cat-and-mouse game went on for months on end until I was finally happy with how the song took shape, which I only finished writing in October, a couple of weeks before the release of the album. Which is incredibly late, but also the most appropriate way to finish the album’s last song. (laughs)

Musically, the song carries echoes of Radiohead’s more fragile moments. When you trace its sonic lineage, what elements were homage, what were instinct, and what were accidents you decided to keep?

That’s a big compliment, yeah, I think they’re the best band in the world, and they have been for quite some time. Maybe my love for them can be heard in some of my songs, but I’m not conscious of it when I write. My only compass for doing so is if it feels right, and sometimes that coincides with things I’ve listened to in the past.

You’re surrounded by strong musicians, Laura, Luca, Lucas, and Horia. What’s a recent moment in rehearsal or in the studio where one of them completely surprised you or forced you to rethink your own idea?

They’re the type of musicians that constantly surprise me, and they’ve done so various times while working on this album. We come from completely different musical backgrounds, and so that’s the thing that surprises us all every time. Laura wrote some of the best baselines I’ve ever heard on tracks like ‘So Arbitrary’ or ‘in situ’. Horia adapted the live version of ‘Oleograph’ in a way that floored all of us during the rehearsals for our release concert. Lucas paved the way for what ended up being ‘Heavensground’ with one of the most heart-wrenching guitar riffs I’ve ever heard, and Luca’s pedalboard is the gift that keeps on giving, as heard on tracks like “Above Albatross” or ‘somenobody’.

Now that “Above Albatross” is out, do you feel like you’re entering a new chapter or closing a wound?

What a great question; I’d say both.

When you get stuck, what’s the most unusual thing you do to unstick yourself?

I go completely opposite ways and venture into things that have nothing to do with music. Like playing some FIFA with my friends, or watching some stupid comedy on TV, or cooking some God forbidden meal with whatever stuff I find in my pantry. But yeah, all in all, a complete disconnection is often the thing I need most to be able to “finish the puzzle” of a song I’m working on.

What is something you feel but can’t translate into any medium?

Nothing comes to mind. I think that it’s sort of my job to do so. If I fail, then I haven’t tried hard enough – or I just need more time. That’s the wannabe deep answer. The short, honest answer is hunger. Like, legit-dying for a double cheeseburger-type of hunger.

What’s the one feeling you want the audience to take away from your live shows, something that can’t be captured in a recording?

That raw, crazy, visceral energy that keeps on getting bigger and bigger like a colossus growing in size. Or that feeling you have after you wake up from a deep sleep and have had the most intense dream that sticks with you for hours on end. I might be asking for too much, but I like to think that it’s possible

What’s the next step you’re pursuing that feels terrifying, exciting, and inevitable all at once?

I tend to have grandiose expectations, and since I realized this about myself, I’m trying to pace myself and live in the moment, exactly as I have at the present. I’m good with just relaxing for a bit, ‘cause the album took a lot of work, so yeah. I just hope it reaches as many people as possible!