“'For Oliver, My Friend': An Essay by Theo Kandel - Atwood Magazine”

      Throughout the year, Atwood Magazine invites music industry professionals to contribute essays that reflect on themes such as art, identity, culture, and inclusion.

      Today, Theo Kandel shares an elegy that celebrates the legacy of his late friend Oliver, exploring how he is remembered and continues to exist in spirit and music. A singer, songwriter, producer, and multi-instrumentalist hailing from New York and based in Los Angeles, Kandel's music is a rich tapestry, with each song intricately woven like a thread of memory throughout one’s life. His work evokes imagery reminiscent of a campfire beer with friends, a baguette from the farmer’s market, or the last cigarette on the porch after everyone has gone to bed.

      Kandel focuses on the everyday details, finding wonder in them. This essence flows through his beautifully crafted folk music, infused with just the right amount of rock energy. It has contributed to his steady climb as he garners millions of streams and sells out shows.

      After what he describes as "test releases," he debuted with his EP, Spin Cycle, in 2021, which was met with acclaim from outlets such as FLAUNT and OnesToWatch. He later left Nashville to pursue his career in Los Angeles. His 2022 EP, What if it all works out in the end?, featured the track “Me & All My Friends Have Got the Blues,” a contemporary folk piece reminiscent of Jackson C. Frank and James Taylor. The lead single “Flight to JFK” has amassed over 470k streams. In addition to headlining his own shows, he supported artists like Evan Honer, ROSIE, and the legendary John Oates. After releasing his stripped-back EP, Somewhere Along the Trail, Vol. 1, he signed with Nettwerk and is preparing to share more music.

      Since the passing of his close friend, Kandel has spent a lot of time contemplating grief, love, and loss. His guest essay, ‘For Oliver: My Friend,’ and his new single “For Oliver” are published today, coinciding with what would have been Oliver’s 29th birthday. Read on below and listen to “For Oliver,” now available!

      ---

      by Theo Kandel

      It’s been almost a year since one of my closest friends, Oliver Freiberg, passed away on August 25th.

      During this past year, I’ve had ample time to reflect on grief, tasting its bitterness and feeling the burn as it settles in. If love and loss represent two sides of a coin, then grief is the flip, that moment when the coin spins and you can't discern heads from tails. When someone you love dies, that coin keeps spinning indefinitely, merging love, loss, and grief into something as agonizing as it is comforting.

      August 21st would have marked Oliver’s 29th birthday. To honor that occasion, I have released “For Oliver,” a tribute of sorts for our friend we miss dearly. I hesitate to say “lost,” as Oliver was a man of strong purpose, an arrow in flight, unwavering and true. He was kind, loyal, and humorous, especially when he found himself the target of a joke (which happened often). He was easy to poke fun at—not out of weakness, but because of his strength. We quickly learned that if you teased Oliver, he wouldn't rest until he detailed precisely why you were wrong, whether it was about a poor Bloody Mary or the Jets' performance that season. He was Freiberg; he was Freibs; he was Ollie F; he was our friend.

      “For Oliver” reflects all the ways I still see him, capturing his distinct fashion choices: v-neck tees and running shoes, skinny jeans and leather sneakers, scarves, and button-down shirts. I remember the late nights fueled by Red Bull and video games, the burger crew, and his exceptional grilled chicken. Initially, I wrote this song for myself, but now it’s for everyone—his family, friends, and all who knew him, including you, even if you're a stranger.

      People often say that grief fades with time; I do not believe that to be true. If its sharp sting no longer pierces with the same intensity, it’s because it has become part of you. It isn’t a barbarian banging at your doors but rather an old friend, a memory that walks along with you. I have carried this grief, absorbed into my being, for a year, and I will carry it for the rest of my life. That doesn’t diminish its weight, but it does mean it has blended with all the qualities that made Oliver who he was and all that shapes me. That’s a comforting thought, I think.

      There’s a line in my song “Romanticizing Poets” that poses the question: “When you lose someone you love, does it make music in the end?” When I originally wrote that, a year before Oliver's