Elvira Kalnik on Grief, Memory and the Raw Emotion Behind “Dad

Elvira Kalnik’s “Dad” began in the immediate aftermath of losing the person who first placed music in her hands. Her father taught her guitar when she was around 12, encouraged her earliest attempts at songwriting and, just as importantly, gave her room to find her own creative instincts. After his death, the song arrived almost at once—but recording it was another matter entirely.

Kalnik says it took six months before she could get through the song in the studio. When cleaning up its trembling breaths seemed to take the life out of the performance, she chose to leave them in. We spoke with Kalnik about grief, memory, the creative freedom her father gave her and the deeply personal recording behind “Dad.”

Elvira Kalnik: The Exposed Vocals Interview

EV: What is your earliest memory of making music with your father?

Elvira Kalnik: I believe I was around 12 years old when my dad first showed me a few guitar chords, and that’s exactly when I started making my first attempts at songwriting. Looking back, I love that he never interfered. He completely let me explore and figure out my own creative path. Whenever I asked for his opinion, he would share it so gently and carefully, never directing me what to do. He always told me, “It’s all about your perception. If you like it that way, let it be. If you want to do it differently, that’s your choice. None of that matters. What truly matters is that you are enjoying the process and growing in your writing.”

EV: When the song arrived after his death, did it feel like writing or more like remembering?

Elvira Kalnik: It felt like an overwhelming wave of vivid memories entirely tangled up with grief. Everything felt so raw and real, while the actual world around me felt like a bad dream I desperately wanted to wake up from. The song truly just poured out of me on its own. I didn’t have to force a single line. It was simply my soul crying out in rhymes. My mind wasn’t even fully present; everything around me felt entirely surreal.

EV: Why did it take six months before you could record it?

Elvira Kalnik: When my father left this world, it felt like the entire universe stopped spinning. Everything just froze, even the wind. The only thing left was this heavy, screaming silence echoing the word “Dad.” Every single time I tried to sing the song, the tears would just take over. I had this physical heaviness in my chest and throat that physically wouldn’t let the notes out. There were moments I was about to give up entirely, but I was so deeply determined to record this in honor of his memory. Deep down, I knew I had to do it.

EV: Was there ever a moment in the studio when you considered cleaning up the trembling breaths or emotional imperfections?

Elvira Kalnik: Actually, that’s exactly what I did at first. I went in and started polishing everything and cleaning it all up. But as soon as I did, I realized the song was losing its entire essence. It was starting to feel completely lifeless.

EV: What did leaving those moments untouched preserve that a cleaner vocal would have lost?

Elvira Kalnik: If I had cleaned it up perfectly, it would have stripped away the raw, real emotion of that moment. Every single sigh and caught breath is what brings the true feeling into the song. Breath is life, after all. We enter this world with our very first breath and we leave it with our last. My father will always live on in my heart. I am a part of him, and he continues to breathe right through me. That connection is also at the heart of the song: the idea that parent and child continue to see the world through one another, and remain part of each other even after loss.

EV: Which lesson from your father shows up most clearly in the person you are now?

Elvira Kalnik: Undoubtedly, my inner freedom. He gave me the courage to be exactly who I am without constantly worrying about what others think, and without trying to control how people perceive me. Everyone views the world through their own lens and beliefs, and I’m not here to change or control that. I can only control myself. Ironically, I’ve noticed that the less control people have over themselves, the more they try to control others. Beyond that, my dad taught me to always keep my word, to be deeply kind to people, animals, and Mother Nature, to be a true friend, and to look closely at myself before ever offering criticism or judgment. He taught me to explore my inner world, because all the answers we ever need are already within us.

EV: Did recording “Dad” make music easier to return to, or did it reopen the grief first?

Elvira Kalnik: It wasn’t easy at all. I recorded it because I felt a profound sense of duty to finish what I had started. But because music was always our shared language, the moment I played those first chords, I had this beautiful, unexplainable feeling that he was right there listening to me. There is a beautiful language out there that doesn’t need lyrics, and the logical mind can’t quite grasp it. That is how the soul communicates through feelings that require no explanation, no words, and no logic. Just pure, unconditional love. Honestly, that’s the most grounded, heartfelt explanation I can possibly give.

EV: When someone who has lost a parent hears this song, what do you hope they recognize in it?

Elvira Kalnik: I can’t presume to know, because everyone’s heart and situation is so incredibly different. I wouldn’t dare to expect anyone to feel a specific way. Instead, I hope the song serves as a gentle reminder to those who still have their parents to deeply appreciate, love, and respect them while they are still here. Parents go through so much for us. They brought us into this world and gave us absolutely everything they could, based on the emotional and intellectual tools they had. It is so vital to be kind, loving, and forgiving. None of us are perfect, but everyone is beautifully unique. Every single person’s life story is worthy of being shared, whether through a book, a movie, or a song.

For Kalnik, preserving the uneven breaths in “Dad” was a way of staying faithful to the moment that produced it. Her reflections return to the freedom her father gave her: music as a space to grow, remember and express what a polished performance might leave unsaid.