Deaf Havana's James Veck-Gilodi talks us through the making of their revelatory latest album ‘We’re Never Getting Out’, set for release on October 03.
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James Veck-Gilodi is doing everything a little bit different this time around.
When, in the past, it came to pushing a Deaf Havana album out into the world, he had relied on the same brand of muscle memory that had carried him in his late teens and early twenties, even though it never felt like it was doing him any good. Be that feeling like they have to be out on the road constantly to make sure that people give a shit, to falling back into the destructive habits to ease the anxiety and doubt that comes with baring your soul for the world to see, something had to change.
But when it came to ‘We’re Never Getting Out’, the band’s seventh and, arguably, most sensational album, he knew that it deserved more. Throughout the rollout period that has been the last five months, he hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol, a comfort and vice that he has fallen back on many times over the years and always come to regret in some way, shape or form. The band have only played one show, too, a special affair at London’s gorgeous Omeara, an intimate opportunity to blow off the cobwebs carefully rather than go all guns blazing into oblivion. And rather than sitting alone and dwelling on the contents of the record as it is unfurled, a stark and searing account of what it means to pick up the pieces when everything you once leaned on crumbles around you, he has thrown himself headfirst into a new loving relationship built on a blend of support and encouragement that he always thought other couples just made up.
By putting himself first and accepting that things needed to change, he is approaching this critical avenue in the band’s long and winding journey with the most important thing at his disposal. Genuine happiness.
“It’s been weird and totally different to how we usually do stuff, but it seems to be working better,” he admits. “For once, I prioritised my wellbeing, and it turns out that it’s something I should have been doing the whole time. It actually fucking works. The happiness and pride I’m feeling are genuine because I’m allowed to experience them, and they are being encouraged in this environment and relationship I’m in now.
“And when I listen to these songs, they definitely remind me of all the times they are about, but they also remind me of what not to do. It reminds me of where I can be. I know what happens if I don’t sort this shit out because I have never sorted it out. And now that I’m doing all the things I have been putting off for a decade, I feel so much better for it.”
THE SOUND
Throughout their career, Deaf Havana have worn many different hats. From their chaotic post-hardcore beginnings of ‘Meet Me Halfway, At Least’ to the quintessential British rock of ‘Fools And Worthless Liars’, the heartland stomp of ‘Old Souls’ to the shimmering neon of ‘Rituals’, every colour of the alternative spectrum has been touched on by them at some point.
But looking back, James is the first to admit that none of it comes close to how much closer to ‘We’re Never Getting Out’ he feels. And that is because for the first time in a very long time, he put what he liked first and foremost, not what he thought everyone else would want.
That epiphany came near the completion of another record during the Summer of 2023, one that in another universe would have been released instead of this one. Closest in feeling to 2022’s ‘The Present Is A Foreign Land’, it took James realising that they were sleepwalking into complicity to tell bandmate and brother Matty Veck-Gilodi, who had been doing much of the work on it, that they would be pulling the plug
“You can almost let the misery start to creep in again before you have even started,” he explains. “I’ve done that on every album up until now, and there’s not an album where I am 100% happy with every single element. That was going to happen again. We had almost finished recording it, and my heart just wasn’t in it. Like, who the fuck am I actually doing this for? Selfishly, from there, I just decided to then make the album that I wanted to make this time around, and it ended up being the right decision for once.”
And you can feel how much more aligned James is with the songs he then stepped up and wrote. Bringing in his love of everything from country pop to awkward emo, channelling as much Ethel Cain and Bon Iver as Elliot Smith and The 1975, it is a beautiful amalgamation of everything that makes alternative music so entrancing and euphoric. From the sun-speckled swagger of ‘Lawn Tennis’ to the delicate tear-stains dripping all over the acoustic ‘Frida 1939’, the neon glow that sits at the foot of ‘Cigarettes & Hotel Beds’ to the sugary sweet hooks that are attached to ‘Hurts To Be Lonely’, it is the most varied and vivacious blend of textures that the band have ever put on one release.
Much of that comes down to two specific factors. The first is returning to the method of writing the whole song before committing it to tape, letting the guitar and the heart guide the way, over just building up layers on a computer and seeing what feels right. The second is the incredible ear of George Glew, a young and hungry producer who has helped bring colour to the work of artists such as Keir, Hanniou and Scout, who was actually staying in James’ spare room when all of the change that defines this record was taking place. Taking those fully fleshed-out songs and adding what felt right in the moment, rather than just what would sound good on the radio, has resulted in a sound that is Deaf Havana and Deaf Havana alone.
“All of the cool sounds on here are because of George,” James beams. “He is so unorthodox in the way that he works. Anything he suggests is like, ‘Alright, let’s do it.’ What I wanted to achieve, and we have, is really characteristic songwriting that we had in our older material, but packaged in a more modern and interesting-sounding way.
“And because of that, it feels fulfilling for the first time. It has been like that in the past, of course, but I have got carried away with sounds. ‘Let’s do this because that’s what people want,’ you know? But for the first time, I made what we wanted, or I made what I wanted. This is the first album that I have made that I love listening to because it is interesting. I’m so fucking proud of it. I normally hate talking about my own music, but I would actually show this to people and be proud to do so and say it’s my band. It’s finally ending up sounding how I wanted it to sound.”
THE LYRICS
Now, taking the reins on the direction their sound would take in 2023 wasn’t the only moment where James took things into his own hands that has made ‘We’re Never Getting Out’ what it is. The second took place a year later, when he called time on his marriage, one that had been defined by unhappiness and uncertainty for longer than it had been by bliss. All but one of the songs found on the record were written whilst still in that marital home, as close to your inspiration as you can possibly ever get. That’s also the reason the lyrical turns here, speaking so candidly about the heartbreak and heaviness that come with coasting, feel so crushing. Because they are.
Yet where many a break-up, or path to a break-up album, is full of plenty of hearty Fuck Yous and hands aloft relief to be heading out of the woods, this is almost the opposite. Because, as James will admit, the end of the relationship wasn’t all fireworks, thrown plates and necessary closure. It was a numbness and uncertainty of just making it through, because the other option felt so much worse.
“We were sleeping in the same bed, we were talking a bit, but it was more like housemates,” he remembers. “It really wasn’t that aggressively awful at the end, either. It was just two people existing together. Just numb and grown apart, which is almost worse. There’s a reasoning that you can make sense of when there is a terrible ending, but that just wasn’t there. It was simply a culmination of mutual resentment and differing opinions. And I will also take the fucking blame for a lot of it. But, yeah, we were functioning. It was liveable. But it wasn’t a relationship.”
It’s this sort of feeling that gives rise to songs like ‘Carousel’ and ‘Break’, musings on the endless cycle of self-medication that eases the sadness constantly teetering on the edge of disaster. It’s how a song like ‘Dog’ gets thrown in the mix, where, despite everything, that deep-set lust that kicks off any relationship never truly fades, even if it isn’t wanted. And it’s heard at its most unequivocally raw during ‘Frida 1939’, a song that perfectly captures the feeling of being beaten, broken, yet unable to break away.
“Listening back to these songs, that’s when it really started to hit,” he continues, recalling the moment that he snapped into gear and knew enough was enough. “I had to tell myself, ‘You can’t live like this, boy. You’ve got to get out of this, now’. But I also think that’s also why I found the actual recording [at Otterhead Studios in Rugby] so hard, because I was trying to deal with all these realisations. I got out of the relationship, but I was struggling to make sense of what was happening. It got so much worse before it got better, too. That’s when I realised what really being depressed was. I had no idea where I was going to end up.”
Yet that is how we end up with a song like ‘Tracing Lines’, the only song written outside of those four walls and, in many ways, the only hint that things will be okay found on here. However, it is the fact that it exists, despite going through all of this and realising how much everything has changed, that makes it serve as such a beacon. That you can end up with absolutely nothing, and sometimes that is what you need to figure out how to find everything once more.
And in implementing the changes he has put into place throughout 2025, these songs are no longer burdens or open wounds. They serve as indicators of how things can, slowly but surely, improve when you take action.
“This has been the year that I have transformed and changed the most. Now, when I hear and play these songs, it doesn’t take me back. It reminds me of just how much I have moved on and grown in a short space of time. It depends on the angle that you approach it from, and I feel very lucky that I was able to get out the way that I did.”
THE COLLABORATORS
In the same way as ‘We’re Never Getting Out’ wouldn’t sound the same if James hadn’t asked George to help him bring his demos to life, there are two other names that also added their own flair to the narrative.
The first is Ross McDonald, known for his sterling work with The 1975, who plays bass on the record. And the second is Freddie Sheed, a session musician who has done his thing with everyone from Take That to Lewis Capaldi, who plays drums. The result is one of the most talented, unique, and storied rhythm sections that Deaf Havana have been privileged to have, and that means a great deal to James. By bringing in individuals with no prior connection or emotional attachment to the band or their past sound, they were able to be completely themselves, which makes for exponentially better songs.
“Without bringing them in like we did, we wouldn’t have been able to make the album like we did,” James beams. “I think it’s so instrumental to why the album sounds how it sounds. Freddie is such a fucking weird drummer, and on paper, he was the weirdest choice. There’s so much in there that he randomly did on a take that ended up making it to the album. He’s more like a jazz drummer than anything else. And Ross has a great sense of taste, which is something I lack. When I play bass, I play it like a guitar, but he knows exactly what to do and how to get the most out of a song.
“It makes the whole thing so much bigger, and being able to bring in people that don’t have any loyalty to us, so they can just do what they want. I really wanted that because I wanted the characteristics of both of them to be there, as I didn’t just want them to play what I had written. I wanted them to do what is natural to them. I couldn’t be happier about it.”
THE TITLE AND ARTWORK
Considering how much this record means to James, both in terms of its sound and the extent to which the last two years of his life are woven into it, it would have been easy to make this a Self-Titled album. A record that, if it’s the last one they make, is as close to the definition of Deaf Havana as you can get. But in holding off from that and instead opting for ‘We’re Never Getting Out’, it serves a purpose as something much more potent. There are some things in life that remain the same. No matter how much you try and escape them, they will always be a part of you. Even though James has made so much positive change, turned such a vital corner in the health of his body and soul, his past is still his past. And it is up to you to use that to your advantage rather than let it hinder you, but also to not let it fade into obscurity.
Instead, the artwork depicting James and Matty, the first time the band has put themselves on a cover, feels much more fitting as a marker of that definitiveness.
“I said it as a joke, but then Matty was like, ‘That might actually be perfect’. Realistically, what is this album about? It’s probably the most vulnerable and open thing that I have ever written, and what is more vulnerable, for someone who fucking hates having their picture taken, than putting my own face on the front cover?”
Topping and tailing on an overblown chessboard, it says more than any fancy interpretation of the title could. A reminder that life isn’t always black and white, that staring down your fears is usually the best way to overcome them and that no matter what happens, even if you push them to the very limit of their patience, your family will always be there to hold you up.
“Our relationship is probably the best it has ever been right now,” James adds, focused on what this record has done for him and Matty as siblings as well as associates. “In the past, in the periods I have been at my worst, we really haven’t got along. But that comes down to the fact that he simply doesn’t want to see me die. When I take care of myself, we are a lot better. It’s been a journey, but I feel like we are the strongest we have ever been, and that’s fucking amazing.”
THE FUTURE
Because James is doing things so different this time around, the future of Deaf Havana is as firmly in his hands as it has ever been. And in saying that, it is also at a time when he is not letting the band be absolutely everything he is for, probably, the first time in their career.
There’s something scary about that, mainly when your whole adult life has revolved around it, but being able to separate James Veck-Gilodi from ‘James from Deaf Havana’ is beneficial for everyone. It makes writing songs in the future freer and more enjoyable, it makes touring and playing shows an experience rather than a burden, and it makes whatever life throws at all of us next that little bit easier to handle.
“Whatever I was feeling, it came from the band,” he concludes, looking forward with a real sense of excitement. “My entire personality, being and purpose in this world, I thought, was this. But it’s a weird contradiction because I wasn’t actually putting anything into it. I was just doing whatever the fuck I wanted and ended up resenting it a little bit. In taking back control, doing the things I want to do and having a healthy life outside of it, is only going to benefit us and me.”
