Lena Terhaar is learning to hold everything at once

Between university, a new flat, and a growing catalogue of fragile indie-pop songs, Lena Terhaar is figuring out what it means to build a music career in real time. There’s a kind of controlled chaos running through Lena Terhaar’s life right now and she knows it.

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“I’m doing okay,” she says. “I think I’m trying to balance life right now. I have my own flat, I’m going to university, I have a job, and I’m trying to make music. It’s a lot.”

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It doesn’t sound rehearsed. It sounds lived in. The German indie-pop artist is speaking from the middle of a transition period most emerging musicians quietly orbit: the space between identity and survival, between making music and building a life around it. That tension sits underneath everything she creates.

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“Crossed the Line” and the weight of release

Her most recent single Crossed the Line arrives as both confession and catharsis one of those songs that feels slightly heavier than its runtime should allow.

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“It was a heavy release, but it felt good,” she says. “And the aftermath was really fun, I got a lot of support, and I was able to open up and work through everything that went on in my life back then.”

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There’s no attempt to dramatize it further. If anything, Lena resists overstating her own emotional narrative. The release wasn’t a grand statement, it was a necessary one.

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A second life in Fume

Alongside her solo work, Lena also operates within a band project called Fume, a quieter but fully formed creative outlet she shares with a close friend.

“We have a song finished, completely produced, mastered. It’s done,” she says. “We just have to release it.”

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The track also splits language lines: German from her collaborator, English from Lena.

“It’s really fun because it’s a mix of both languages.”

It’s a small detail, but one that hints at something larger in her work: a comfort with duality, with switching emotional registers depending on the project.

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From birthday sets to imagined stages

For now, Lena’s live performance history is still in its early chapter. A small set at a friend’s birthday became a surprising turning point.

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“It was the first time I really played my own songs in front of people,” she says. “I was so nervous, but it was so much fun.”

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The reaction stuck with her, not industry validation, just people responding in real time.

“Some people knew the lyrics and sang along. That was always what I wanted. It felt surreal.”

That moment has already shaped her expectations for what comes next.

“I want to stand on stage again this year, an actual stage.”

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Writing, losing, and letting go

If Lena’s music feels emotionally precise, her writing process is anything but stable. She moves between notebooks, ideas, and sudden digital chaos.

“I wrote a song on my phone and didn’t back it up,” she says. “My phone fell into the bathtub and it’s gone.”

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There’s a pause in the logic of it then laughter in the aftermath.

“I loved the lyrics so much and I can’t remember them anymore.”

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Elsewhere, she admits to having taken down one of her earlier songs entirely.

“I love it, but I wasn’t 100% behind it anymore.”

The pattern is clear: creation, attachment, doubt, revision or deletion.

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“Pull the Gun in Aim” and emotional reversal

One of her unreleased tracks, Pull the Gun in Aim, has already circulated online in fragments. It’s nearly finished, she says, but not quite resolved.

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“I just need a few more vocals.”

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The song itself comes from a familiar emotional pivot: romantic disillusionment turned into control.

“I realized quickly it wasn’t going to work,” she says of the relationship that inspired it. “So I wrote a song where I take control of that feeling instead of being passive in it.”

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Whether it will be released remains uncertain.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should think about it again.”

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Always the next song

Ask her to pick a favourite track, and Lena avoids the premise entirely.

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“It’s always the next one I’m working on.”

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Still, two songs emerge as anchors: Tend to Hide, which she describes as the most fun to perform live, and Crossed the Line, which carries more emotional weight behind it.

One is movement. The other is release.

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Covers, cameras, and instinct

Visually, Lena’s project is shaped by something almost accidental: her background in modelling and photography.

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“I started modelling when I was 16,” she says. “So I’ve worked with a lot of photographers.”

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The result is a catalogue of cover art that feels less designed and more discovered.

“I’ll see a picture and think - this is it. That’s the cover.”

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The distance between artist and audience

For now, most of her fan interaction exists online, but that hasn’t made it feel any less real.

“Even if someone just says they listened to my music, that already means a lot.”

There are moments that still feel surreal: someone remembering an old song she assumed had disappeared into obscurity, a Discord thread resurfacing early material years later.

“It was insane,” she says. “That someone remembered me at all.”

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Control, light, and future stages

When Lena imagines live performance in full, she doesn’t just think about sound. She thinks about control. Light, space, movement, atmosphere.

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“I already think about lighting when I produce music,” she says. “Where I would stand, what would happen in the background.”

It’s not fantasy. It’s staging in advance.

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“I want an environment where I can decide everything.”

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“Keep on creating, keep on dreaming”

At the centre of it all is a quiet insistence on continuation, on making things even when they feel unresolved.

“I just want to connect with people through music,” she says. “I want to show that we’re not alone in what we go through.”

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And then, finally:

“Keep on creating, keep on dreaming. It’s tough, but it’s worth it.”

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Source: Small Music Artist Hype podcast S2 Ep3 feat. Lena Terhaar

Quotes have been edited for clarity and length.