Heidi : echoes of ash

“Those first two albums... they were magic, weren’t they?” he said, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“I remember late nights in the studio, me and Mavis bouncing ideas off each other, arguing over lyrics, laughing when we finally got it right. There was this energy—like the music was pulling itself out of us. I’ve never felt anything like it since.”

He paused, his expression shifting as he remembered their performances on stage. “And then, when we got out there… God, the way she held that stage. It wasn’t just her voice—it was everything about her. She could command an entire room with one look, one note. I’d be behind the kit, watching the crowd lose their minds, and it wasn’t just about the music. It was her. She was magnetic. She still is.” 

Ellis gave a small, almost wistful laugh. “Mavis was never just good—she was something else entirely. The best I’ve ever worked with, no question.”

Mavis on the Split: “Those Songs Were Knives” - The band continued without Ellis, but cracks began to show over time. In 2010, Mavis made a controversial decision that would alter the band’s trajectory forever. On the cusp of touring for their sixth album, the band announced they would no longer be performing songs from their first two albums. The backlash was immediate and intense, alienating a loyal fanbase who had built their connection to the band through those iconic early hits. 

When asked about the decision, Mavis reflected with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. 

“That... that was a moment, right?” she began. “You see, here’s the thing. And any member of any band will tell you this. You sing and play the same songs each and every night. And each and every night, you give it your all. No matter what. No matter what’s going on in your life, when you’re on that stage, you’re on that stage for the people who’ve travelled to see you. They’ve devoted their time to come and sing, to bare their soul in a space where they can leave behind every shitty thing going on in their lives, just for one evening. That’s the breath some people need to keep going.” She continued, more assured now. “But here’s the other thing. For me, there was no escape. Offstage, onstage, in the studio, writing… singing those fucking songs every night. The songs I wrote and performed with Ellis—but he wasn’t there anymore. Each song from those first two albums… singing each one was like a knife being driven into my chest. That’s why I did what I did. I wasn’t being petulant. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Despite the pain, Mavis smiled when she talked about the early days. 

“The first two albums... we were kids, weren’t we? Kids with something to prove. I remember Ellis—he’d come up with these ideas that were just… out of nowhere. 

Sometimes it was a drumbeat, sometimes it was a lyric, sometimes a melody. And it wasn’t just one moment, either. He’d do it all the time. You’d be sitting there, frustrated because nothing was clicking, and then bam—he’d say something, or tap out a rhythm, and suddenly we’d have a song. It felt effortless, even though it wasn’t.”

She leaned back slightly, lost in thought. “Those late nights in the studio, bouncing ideas back and forth… God, the arguments we had over the tiniest things. But it always worked. I don’t know how to explain it, but we just… clicked. The way his ideas fit with mine, it was like they were meant to. That’s what made those albums what they were. There was this magic in the process, and I haven’t felt that with anyone else since.” 

By the time their fourth album was released, Mavis had already started writing songs for other artists to perform. “I needed a new outlet,” she explained. “I’d lost my passion for The Renegades, but I hadn’t lost my love for writing. So, I wrote for others. Some of those tracks ended up being bigger hits than anything we ever did with the band.” 

The Pit: Ellis’s Legacy - Meanwhile, Ellis channeled his passion for music into a different kind of project: The Pit, a live music venue he opened in 2004 with his best friend, Mijo. 

“The Pit was always the dream,” Ellis explained. “Even when I was with the band, I wanted a place where live music could thrive. It’s not about fame or fortune. It’s about the music, the connection, and giving people a stage.” 

The Pit quickly became a cornerstone of Pazuzu City’s music scene, hosting both up-and-coming talent and surprise appearances by music legends. For Ellis, it’s more than a venue—it’s a legacy built on his love of music and the community it creates. 

As our conversation came to a close, I asked Ellis the question that had lingered throughout the interview: Did he miss it all? “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “But I’m in a great place now, and I wouldn’t have what I have if I’d stayed. Again, there was no choice.” 

Fans and critics still debate what Mavis Deacon & The Renegades might have achieved if Ellis had stayed. Would the third album have been their greatest work? Could the band have risen to global superstardom? Or would the pressures of success have torn them apart regardless? 

For Mavis and Ellis, the memories of those early years remain bittersweet. Their respect for each other is undeniable, even if reconciliation seems out of reach. Despite their ups and downs, the music they created together endures—a testament to a partnership that, for a time, defined an era. 

Mavis Deacon & The Renegades may not have achieved all they could have, but their legacy lives on through the songs that once captured the hearts of millions.