In “The Longing,” Harry Kappen cracks open the quiet fault lines that form when love, loyalty, and identity pull in opposite directions. What begins as a whisper of doubt swells into a confession, a reckoning, and ultimately a surrender to the truth inside him. Freshly uprooted from the Netherlands and newly landed in Mexico—his wife’s homeland—Kappen reflects on the emotional storm that shaped the song: a tug-of-war between head and heart, family and freedom, certainty and the beautiful, necessary mystery of choosing the unknown. In this candid conversation, he reveals the decision that “set his brain on fire,” the tension that fuels his art, and why embracing longing may be the most honest act of all.
Harry… “The Longing” feels like a diary entry set to music. What moment, what memory, sparked this quiet storm inside you?
HK. It became very relevant when I wanted to make a decision at the end of last year whether to stay in the Netherlands (head) or move to Mexico (heart), where my wife is from.
When you sing, “Sometimes my brain’s on fire,” it sounds less like a metaphor and more like a confession. What were you wrestling with when those words surfaced?
HK. The decision to move to Mexico and live in my wife’s homeland also meant leaving the Netherlands and my immediate family (especially my son and my sisters) behind. And since I’m a rather loyal person, the result was that my brain was quite heated. It was a reality I had to face.
There’s a tension in this song… a tug-of-war between head and heart. Have you always lived in that space between what you think… and what you feel?
HK. To be honest, I’ve always followed my heart when faced with difficult decisions. I do try to reason out why it would be wise to follow my heart, but then you quickly find yourself in that tension between heart and mind. In my profession as a music therapist, I’ve also dealt with many clients who became conflicted and frustrated by this issue. As a result, I’ve become quite adept at dealing with it.
The track rises from a whisper into a roar, almost like an emotional eruption. Was that shift something you planned… or something that insisted on happening?
HK. No, I planned it that way. I wanted the composition to also reflect the “battle” between heart and mind. As a result, it became a dynamic song with calmer and more intense passages. The use of acoustic and electric guitars and an orchestra also made a difference.
In the guitar solo, it almost sounds like another voice joining the conversation — maybe even arguing back. Who, or what, is speaking there?
HK. Funny you should say that. I love it when a solo is an extension of the voice and not just a bunch of notes in a row. In this case, I literally sang the solo in my head before playing it. It became a kind of translated primal scream that my busy mind expressed in that way.
The lyric video takes us through the clouds, suspended between earth and sky. Is that where you feel you are right now — somewhere in between?
HK. Ha ha, thankfully I’ve landed safely in Mexico now and am back on the ground. The clouds reflected my state of mind; between heaven and earth, floating between heart and mind, but also simultaneously flying towards Mexico :).
Your influences span from Lennon to Bowie to Zeppelin… legends who carried their own contradictions. Do you see pieces of yourself in their struggles?
HK. Well, everyone encounters contradictions in their lives. That’s not something unique to Bowie, Lennon, Zeppelin, or anyone else. No, it’s not as profound as you might think; I simply love their music, I admire their creativity and their ability to rediscover themselves, as people, as musicians.
And tell me, Harry… in your own story, in this battle you’ve so beautifully exposed… does the heart always win? Or is that still a mystery you’re trying to solve?
HK. I’ve come to the conclusion that you should always follow your heart in this short life, but that you also have to make sure you don’t lose your head :).
I also want to get rid of the idea that it’s a battle. I’m at peace with the fact that there will always be a mystery. A mystery that I welcome with open arms and accept for what it is, and that I don’t necessarily want to solve. With mystery, the longing remains alive.