Berlin’s Double Life roll out their next move with “Supermercato,” the second single leading into the upcoming album “Please Delete This,” landing January 9, 2026 via Thirty Something Records (TSR107) on digital and vinyl formats. Pre-orders are already up in EU/ROW, UK, and USA.
The track comes with a video directed and edited by Sol Astolfi, carrying a plain-spoken sting that reflects the record’s general posture—no gloss, no hand-holding. Recorded by Justin Felder at 1408 Productions in Hannover, with vocals tracked separately by Elaine at B-Flügel in Berlin, the material later went to Brian McTernan at Salad Days in Baltimore for mix and master. Preproduction was handled by Daniel Thaden at The Bunker in Bremen.
“Supermercato” pushes through themes of self-doubt and the weird shame that sticks to you when you’ve let patterns run too long. The band leans into language that’s quietly self-critical without romanticizing collapse. Lines like “drafting a bible of my excuses” tighten the frame, and the repetition of being bent and broken reads less like melodrama and more like someone admitting they were complicit in their own erosion. There’s no victory lap here—just someone tired of being tired.
The imagery gets uncomfortably literal at points: “pave the street with my skin / and paint the lines with white chemicals.” They describe feeling “still useful but damaged,” and the song suggests that usefulness becomes another trap. Nothing returns to its original shape once you’ve stretched it too far—“it never goes back to the way it was.” The lines about being a doormat and trashcan are blunt, almost anti-poetic on purpose, which fits the band’s approach: direct, unadorned, no interest in mythologizing pain.
The upcoming album’s title, “Please Delete This,” folds neatly into this headspace. It hints at embarrassment, the desire to wipe the slate, maybe even the wish to disappear from past versions of yourself. The title feels like someone hovering over the undo button, knowing it won’t save them.
Double Life move inside familiar hardcore shadows, but they keep the emotional charge sharp rather than nostalgic. They don’t try to pretend things feel good—just that they’re worth acknowledging. The new material tracks the quiet dread of watching yourself repeat, and the uneasy hope that maybe admitting the cycle is the start of breaking it.
