Each Measure Feature: Simone Eversdijk

FEATURE

Some are bold enough to imagine a link between the living and the dead. We tend to shy away from such seemingly fanciful ideas—ideas that threaten our stakes-free sense of materialism. To make oneself vulnerable enough to listen for a voice from beyond is risky. It demands a willingness to face disappointment, embrace deeper heartache, and even risk the derangement of one’s own mind. As I said, such idealism has stakes—namely, one’s own nerves. And so, when reflecting on the lives of those who’ve gone before, many settle for sentimentality.

But that is not what Dutch singer-songwriter Simone Eversdjik settles for in her new single, “2 Years”—a song that functions not merely as a tribute to her late mother, but as a brave outreach to the woman she believes has been offering solace and guidance ever since her passing.

In the opening lines, Eversdjik captures both the brave attempts to connect and the heartbreak that hope entails:

“I wake up every morning, reach out to call your name / But you’re not there to answer me / It never feels the same.”

It’s a jolt of realism in the face of her desire for reunification. Yet, as the song unfolds, that hope proves not to be in vain.

In the second verse and chorus, she doubles down on that hope—expressing a quiet faith that her mother not only watches over her, but gently guides her path. And in the bridge, the thin line between here and there grows more porous:

“If I close my eyes, I can feel you near / Your voice whispering softly, calming all my fears.”

Both musically and lyrically, “2 Years” becomes a defiant expression of hope—not only in a future reunion, but in the subtle, mysterious ways we might experience the presence of those we’ve lost in the here and now.

The sweeping saxophone evokes a liminal space where two worlds briefly touch—a sonic mood reminiscent of David Lynch, where the real and surreal exist together. Yet the single’s artwork deserves mention too. It depicts a smartphone receiving an incoming call from “Mom,” while in the background, a framed, filmic photo shows a woman we presume to be Eversdjik’s mother. The image is a stroke of brilliance—balancing technology with heirloom, present with past, and daring to imagine a bridge between them.

It’s a final testimony of faith: that whatever connection has been severed might still, somehow, be mended.

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