Ugh! So many deaths around these days. On Friday the 1st of August I received a call from Copenhagen, saying that Henrik Møll had died. Henrik was/is my best friend. We have shared so many things and experiences since the late 1980s that it’s hard to fathom the scope of this. Writing this is one way of coping.
What constitutes not just a friend but an actual best friend? Well, many things. But I think the main thing is a resonance that transcends the rational (like, obvious “mutual interests”) and instead just brings you straight into a totally natural “third mind” zone. There were many times when we were just silent and also didn’t see each other for long stretches of time. But it didn’t really matter, because when we shared the same time and space again, it was like no time had passed at all. Just a continuation of the adventures.
Henrik was a big-hearted, emotional, very friendly character who didn’t mind going the extra mile for those he cared about. Exchanging stories with other friends of his, I’m struck with his unselfishness (I mean that in a good way) and his genuine sense of caring. Generosity in the flesh.
Music. Henrik loved music. He constructed his life to the soundtracks he spun at home or in clubs/parties and not the other way around. It was as if the mixes he made and the stuff he played constituted his essence and not the other way around. Some people play music and enjoy it to amplify or possibly escape an emotional mood. For Henrik, music was so important that it was inseparable from everything else.
Copenhagen was blessed with his presence in terms of clubs and events. Yes, he did cooperate with other DJs and promoters. But I don’t think it would have been the same without him. His diplomatic ease in international relations and making sense of the often very chaotic nightlife became his trademark. A real gentleman. A real DJ. Integrity and vision and, again, sharing.
How many memories can fit into a great evening out? Then multiply that by decades of weekly clubbing and playing. It’s a massive piece of work. Remember the dance tent of the early 90s Roskilde festivals? Remember The Orb at Tre Kronor in the Copenhagen harbor in 93? Remember a gazillion nights at Mantra in different locations? Jazzy evenings at Le-Le and other restaurants together with brilliant Rasmus Juel on trumpet?
If music is the food of love, then Henrik was the greatest lover and chef Copenhagen has ever experienced.
And the films… Henrik was a very talented and skilled editor and worked as a freelancer at Danmarks Radio. He was regarded as a somewhat mysterious character at DR Byen, drifting in and out in his zoot suits, always elegant and classy, and always finding time to share bizarre stories of new finds and discoveries in life and culture. But… He always delivered brilliant stuff, far surpassing the directors’ or producers’ expectations.
After graduating from den Danske Filmskole at a time when film was still film, Henrik soon had to get into digital editing to complement his training. No problems whatsoever. His skill and knowledge of pacing and movies in general was already well established. But the key to why people loved him so much had more to do with personal traits I think. Creative, open to ideas and trying new things, and never pushy or demanding. A real solid guy in other people’s creative chaos. Invaluable.
In 2013, we began an adventure together with the film series An Art Apart. Basically conversations with artists and additional archival material, to be turned into documentaries. I would never have begun on such an ambitious project had I not known that Henrik was on board and weaving his magical editing spells. I shot like crazy and amassed material. Parallel to this, we talked about ideas, angles, my own filmmaking fallacies (technical and others!), and I was just so happy to work on this with someone who wasn’t just a filmmaking pro but also lovingly believed in the project as such.
But the biggest loss is not related to that project although I feel utterly confused now… How can I deal with this?
The biggest loss is of course on a personal level, now that memory lane seems to be a one way street, and a narrow one. So many dinners at places he carefully took time to explore. So many films shared and discussed. So much music shared and discussed. So many walks through Copenhagen, day and night, discovering a wide range of life-enhancing experiences. Like drinking strange Korean Bubble-soda to paying our respects at the grave of Carl Th Dreyer – all within an hour’s time. Never a boring moment!
There are not many people I share my personal weaknesses with but Henrik was one of them. And he apparently felt the same way, as emotional turmoil beans were sometimes spilled in my direction. I didn’t mind at all and gave the advice I felt I was able to give in a tough and supportive way. Only to later find myself in the same predicaments – often of amorous kinds. Then he just gave the same advice right back… Grumpy old men!
His cat Illy died the week before he did. That was a feline relationship that lasted for 19 years. And I think his other cat passed last year. Those cats meant a lot to him. He e-mailed me in the middle of the night when Illy had died and there was a different tone to it, totally honest in its utter grief and sadness. I felt sorry that I couldn’t give any cat advice, as he surely needed that right then. Bitter misogyny from my side, no problem. But the cats, no. I did understand the importance of them for him though, so the frustration on my side (and surely his) was great indeed.
Parties, clubbing, mind-bending light shows, video-mixing, eternal Nachspiele, vinyl obsession, the eternal synthesis of Martin Hannett and Lee Scratch Perry, numismatic pleasures, the greatest food ever, the art of conversation, cultural archaeology, suave film edits, the magic of sharing and exploring, but most importantly just plain old love. That was Henrik to me. My very best friend.
