• Welcome guys, your band has had quite the journey since 1990 but for readers who are just discovering Ramses now, how do you describe what this band is and what it’s always been about?

The group’s founder, Stefaan Lambrecht, has always been passionate about ancient Egypt and named the group Ramses (in reference to the great King Ramses II) with the aim of combining a concept with melodic heavy rock.

• Why the name Ramses? It’s a bold choice for a band from Belgium with no direct cultural connection to Egypt. Where did that come from?

The name Ramses was chosen in reference to the great King Ramses II, and although we have only our passion for Ancient Egypt, it serves as a source of inspiration for lyrics and Eastern melodies.

• Following on from that – Egyptian mythology is a very specific lane. What drew you to it as a thematic foundation? There are plenty of Belgian bands who have never once thought about the pharaohs.

Founder and guitarist Stefaan became interested in Ancient Egypt after watching a documentary on TV. He made his first trip to Egypt in May 1994 and was captivated; his passion for Ancient Egypt grew. He read books on mythology and immersed himself in Egyptology. He also met an Egyptian, Mohamed Holail, who lives in Belgium and works as a guide and Egyptologist, and has travelled to Egypt with him more than 20 times. He loves not only Ancient Egypt but also modern-day Egypt and its people. With Mohamed Holail, he travelled from Abu Simbel to Alexandria, visiting sites and monuments that ordinary tourists never see, and explored the four main deserts: the Eastern Desert, the Sinai Desert, the Western Desert and the Great Sand Sea. Egyptian nature is also a source of inspiration, such as Wadi El Hitan, Wadi El Ryan and Wadi El Natron. He stayed with local people in Diyu Al Wusta (Delta), visited mosques and the monasteries in Wadi Natroen.

• The band split in 1997 and only came back in 2019. What was the moment or conversation that made the reunion feel real rather than just a possibility?

The seed for a reunion was planted when “Lost Realm Records” released the first album + the 4 tracks from the mini-cd on the “The Secrets Of Faith In Rebirth” reissue-cd in 2016 and a new interest for Ramses was born. Still it lasted until 2019 before Ramses 2.0 was born, original guitar player Stefaan Lambrecht and the singer from the “Faith In Rebirth” CD Kurt Verschelden reunited and soon a new line-up was formed.

Guitarplayer Frank Deroubaix (ex-Axel / ex-Runaway), bass player Michel Hautier (ex-Hands Of Mercy) and drummer Kris Poelman joined the band. Later on Kris was replaced by Quinten Van Den Abbeele on drums and Kurt Verschelden left the band in April 2024. The new high priest as frontman returned with Marc De Veirman.

• The new lineup has seen a few changes since the reunion, with Marc De Veirman stepping in as frontman in 2024. How has the band’s sound or dynamic shifted with him at the helm?

Marc is our new high priest, and his return has given the group an extra boost with his powerful voice. He also believes in the Egypt concept and has become more interested in mythology and songwriting.

The new album features a track, ‘Our King is a Warrior’, which is about the Battle of Kadesh (1274 BC), a major battle between Egypt under Ramses II and the Hittites under Muwatalli II, which ended without a clear winner but led to the first known peace treaty.

• The new album was recorded at Rockstar Recording Studios and features a choir, which is not something you hear about every day. How did such elements end up on a heavy metal record?

Ramses is a concept band that incorporates Eastern melodies and features a choir and an instrument such as the xaphoon. The album contains 12 tracks, and every effort has been made to make it sound as colourful as possible, even featuring a choir and a xaphoon.We wanted to make it sound as colorful as possible.

• “Desert Storm” is the first single. What made that the right song to lead with, and how representative is it of the full album?

The track ‘Desert Storm’ was deliberately chosen as a single because it is the title track of the album and is intended to stand out amongst the many albums being released these days. What’s more, it’s a catchy track around which we were also able to create an engaging music video. The video was viewed more than 5,300 times in just a few weeks

• The album is set for 2026. Are there plans for live shows to support it, or is the focus right now on getting the record out?

The album has now been released on CD and will also be available on vinyl by the end of this month. We are, of course, promoting the album ‘Desert Storm’ with live performances in Belgium and neighbouring countries, but our dream is, naturally, to play a live show in Cairo, preferably in front of the pyramids. We are, by the way, very honoured that an Egyptian rock magazine such as yours is giving our band and the album ‘Desert Storm’ the attention they deserve.

Thank you for taking the time to speak with us. It’s a good moment for Ramses, and “Desert Storm” is a solid first look at what’s coming. Keep an eye on their socials and check out the music video on YouTube. The full album lands in 2026.

• For readers just discovering Primordial Black through Heterotopia, how would you describe what this project is and where it’s headed?

Hello, thank you very much for your interest in Primordial Black 🙂
For people discovering us through Heterotopia, I’d first be tempted to say: WELCOME.
Primordial Black is a musical project that explores many different subgenres of extreme metal (with a very strong Blackened Death Metal identity), but we also draw from more eclectic territories such as avant-garde music and post-black metal.
One of our main strengths is that we’ve committed ourselves to releasing one major project each year since 2024.
As of now, we have released one EP and two full-length albums.
I would describe the project as a constant exploration of contrast and transformation. We started from a darker, more direct and cosmic approach with Dark Matter Manifesto, but with Heterotopia we expanded the world into something more cinematic, introspective and unsettling.

• Heterotopia feels like a significant step further into avant-garde territory compared to Dark Matter Manifesto. What pushed you to expand the sound this time around?

I think, Dark Matter Manifesto already contained the seeds of that evolution, but with Heterotopia we consciously stopped asking ourselves “does this still sound like black metal?” and started asking “does this serve the world we’re trying to build?”
The album’s concept naturally pushed us further into avant-garde territory. Heterotopia is built around spaces of contradiction, transformation and displacement, so staying inside a strict stylistic framework would have felt limiting.
That led us to be much more open in the writing process,  introducing more textures, samples, cinematic passages, unconventional structures and moments where atmosphere became just as important as riffs.
At the same time, we never wanted experimentation for its own sake. Our roots are still deeply anchored in extreme metal, especially Blackened Death Metal. The goal wasn’t to abandon that identity but to stretch it and see how far it could go while still feeling unmistakably like Primordial Black.
In a way, Dark Matter Manifesto was about defining our language. Heterotopia was about discovering what happens once we stop speaking it conventionally.

• The title track opens almost like a horror film score, with a stripped-back piano line before the full weight of the band comes in. How did that structure come together, and was the contrast always part of the plan?

That contrast was actually there very early in the writing process.
The title track Heterotopia was conceived almost as an act of crossing a threshold. We wanted the listener to feel like they were entering a space rather than simply hearing a song begin.
That’s why the opening is so exposed and fragile, the piano isn’t there as an intro for the sake of dynamics, it’s there to create uncertainty.
There’s something cinematic about giving silence and space room to exist before introducing impact. Horror scores do this incredibly well: they let tension build psychologically before anything violent or overwhelming happens.
We were definitely inspired by that language of restraint. Think Akira Yamaoka or the work of Takefumi Haketa
When the full band enters, the idea wasn’t “here comes the heavy part”, it was more like reality collapsing into the piece. The distortion, density and weight feel larger because they’re invading something intimate and minimal.
Structurally, we also wanted to avoid the traditional extreme metal approach of exploding immediately into riffs. Heterotopia as a concept deals with layered spaces and unstable identities, so the song mirrors that: it begins almost deceptively human and vulnerable before opening into something much larger and stranger.
So yes, I would say that the contrast was absolutely intentional. In many ways, that opening piano line became the thesis statement for the entire album.

• That same song has an intermission of drones and breathing sounds that splits it in two. What was the thinking behind interrupting the track that way rather than letting it run straight through?

That interruption was intentional from the moment the song started taking shape.
We never saw Heterotopia as a linear composition that continuously escalates, we wanted it to behave more like an experience of entering, losing orientation, and emerging altered.
The intermission of drones and breathing acts almost like a rupture in perception.
If the track had simply kept building from section to section, it would have remained a “song.”
By interrupting it, the listener is forced out of passive listening for a moment. There’s a suspension of rhythm and expectation where you’re no longer following riffs or melody, you’re de facto occupying space.
The breathing was especially important because it introduces something intimate and physical into an otherwise abstract sonic environment.
Breathing is reassuring and unsettling at the same time, it can suggest life, presence, anxiety, exhaustion, even observation depending on context.
Combined with the drones, it creates this sensation that the track itself is alive.
That break also serves a narrative purpose: the second half isn’t meant to feel like a continuation, but like returning to the same place after something inside it has shifted.
In hindsight, that intermission became one of the clearest statements of what Heterotopia is as an album: not just transitions between songs, but transitions between states.

• The song “Immaculate” features Steve DiGiorgio on bass, and the breakdowns really have a different vibe to the breakdowns I think. So how did that collaboration come about, and what do you think he brought to the song that wasn’t there before?

Steve DiGiorgio is someone whose work has shaped the language of progressive and extreme metal for decades, and when Immaculate started taking form, it already had a structural openness that felt like it could benefit from a bassist who doesn’t just “support” the music, but actively converses with it.
Steve was initially meant to appear on the title track Heterotopia (that was the first demo I sent him)
However after introducing the instrumental bridge in the middle of the song, it became clear to us that his role would have ended up being quite limited, or even somewhat lost within the overall arrangement.
That’s when I decided to write Immaculate from scratch. There wasn’t even a demo to begin with, it started as an experiment where I intentionally stepped outside my usual writing habits. I worked with diminished harmonies, jazz-influenced phrasing, reversed guitar textures, and a more avant-garde structural approach.
He brought to the song what was needed: motion inside stability.
The breakdowns you’re referring to gained a completely different gravity because he doesn’t treat them as static moments. Instead of simply anchoring the guitars, his bass lines move underneath them like a second narrative layer (almost contrapuntal at times)
There’s this fluidity and tension that wouldn’t exist if the bass were purely rhythmic or textural.
I would like to thank Darkside Records for making this feature possible and for believing in what was, from the start, a rather unconventional idea. They did an outstanding job in supporting it.

• “Begotten” is one of the most unpredictable tracks on the record, moving through what sounds like throat singing, a relentless blastbeat section, and then a jazz-noir-style saxophone passage. Where did that arrangement come from, and how do you decide when a song should break from the album’s heavier instincts like that?

With Heterotopia (as an album), the guiding idea was always that heaviness is not just distortion or speed. Sometimes the most extreme moment is the one where the language of the genre stops making sense for a few seconds.
Therefore Begotten came from this very starting point.
It wasn’t built around riffs in the traditional sense, but around contrasts, almost like assembling incompatible fragments and forcing them to coexist until a new logic emerged. The throat-singing idea was one of the first sonic images I had for the track. I wanted something ancient and human at the same time, something that feels like it belongs outside of genre entirely. From there, the blastbeat section wasn’t meant as a “release” or climax in the usual extreme metal sense, but more like a violent interruption, almost as if the piece is being pulled into a different gravitational field.
The jazz-noir saxophone passage came later in the process, and that’s where the track really started to define its identity. It introduced a completely different emotional register: less aggression, more decay, ambiguity, and atmosphere.
That contrast was important because it prevents the song from locking into a single emotional direction.

• Karim Bouazra and Gianluca Morelli also appear on the record. How did those collaborations shape the writing process, and did either of them push the songs in a direction you hadn’t anticipated?

Both Karim Bouazra and Gianluca Morelli are amazingly gifted guitarists, and their contributions were specifically focused on solo work across two tracks.
Karim’s approach brought a very instinctive, expressive dimension to his solo. It feels less like something constructed and more like something performed in real time, almost vocal in its phrasing. He tends to prioritize emotion and gesture over technical display, which ended up pushing the track into a more fluid and unpredictable direction than what was originally written.
Gianluca, on the other hand, has a more architectural way of playing. His solo work introduced a sense of structure within the chaos, even when things get intense, there’s a clear narrative logic to his phrasing. He often found melodic angles we hadn’t fully explored in the arrangement, which subtly shifted how certain sections resolve or transition.
What’s interesting is that both solos ended up influencing how we listened to the surrounding parts.
After recording them, we actually went back and adjusted small details in the rhythm guitars and dynamics to better support what they had brought.
So even though they appear as “guest solos,” they effectively reshaped the surrounding musical context in a very organic way.

• Heterotopia explores decay, transcendence, and psychological fragmentation. Were those themes something you set out to explore from the beginning, or did they emerge as the album took shape?

The themes of Heterotopia didn’t really appear as a predefined concept from day one, they grew out of the same creative and emotional period that followed Dark Matter Manifesto.
If anything, the shift happened very naturally because the two albums come from different directions internally. Dark Matter Manifesto was more about external pressure, the forces that surround and overwhelm us in everyday life. With Heterotopia, the focus gradually turned inward, toward solitude, emotional rigidity, inner questioning, and a deeper sense of disconnection.
So when we started writing, it wasn’t “let’s explore decay or fragmentation.” It was more like working through a state of mind where those things were already present. The music became a way of organizing that internal chaos rather than illustrating a concept.

• What’s the extreme metal scene like in Tunisia right now? Is there a community around what you’re doing locally, or does Primordial Black exist mostly in dialogue with the international scene?

The short answer is: there is a scene in Tunisia, but it’s relatively small, fragmented, and very DIY and most extreme metal projects end up operating in parallel with it while also looking outward. Tunisia has her fair share of metalheads and bands, but they tend to operate in small circles rather than one unified infrastructure.
Shows often happen in bars or occasional underground events rather than a stable circuit, and communities form around tight social groups rather than a national “scene machine.”
There’s also a long-standing issue of infrastructure and internal fragmentation: organization, support structures, and gatekeeping dynamics have historically made it harder for bands to sustain momentum locally, which pushes many projects either into semi-isolation or toward international collaboration.
And to answer your last point, for Primordial Black, the identity naturally ends up being built at the intersection between that local foundation and a much wider global extreme metal conversation.

• Dark Matter Manifesto picked up close to 60 international reviews and an Album of the Year award. Has that recognition changed how you approach writing, or do you try to keep that noise out of the process?

It definitely registers, but it doesn’t really enter the writing room in a direct way.
With Dark Matter Manifesto, the reception, the reviews, the award, the international attention was meaningful in the sense that it confirmed there was an audience outside of our immediate circle. But if that starts influencing the actual writing process, it becomes dangerous very quickly. You start optimizing for perception instead of necessity.
It’s one of the main reasons that pushed us to make a stylistic “U-turn” on Heterotopia. It would have been easier to just do Dark Matter Manifesto Part 2 and rest on our laurels. But that’s not how we work, and the guys in the band share this desire to always push the machine further and explore new ground.
So the approach has been to keep a clear separation between creation and reception. When we’re writing, the only reference point is whether a section feels truthful to the idea we’re working with at that moment. Not whether it will be understood, reviewed, or ranked a certain way.

• What’s next for Primordial Black after Heterotopia? Any plans to bring this material to the stage?

Right now, the focus is still on letting Heterotopia fully exist in people’s perception. We don’t see it as something that’s “done and moved on from” yet. It still has a lot of space to unfold, especially in how listeners interpret it over time.
That said, there is already a sense internally that the next step won’t be a repetition of this cycle.
Regarding the stage, we already presented the album during our release party last May. It was our first live performance with our new lineup, and next October we will share the stage at the Mena Rock Festival with Sakis Tolis, Harakiri for the Sky, and Mass Hysteria.

Thank you for taking the time to speak with us. Heterotopia is a genuinely ambitious record, and it’s clear Primordial Black are still pushing their sound forward rather than settling into a formula. Stream Heterotopia now and keep an eye on the band’s socials for upcoming news.

• How did GUIDES first start or form, and what brought the three of you together around this particular sound?

Jonathan: GUIDES actually started in 2014 with a completely different lineup. Funny enough, nu-metal wasn’t particularly cool at the time. Bands like Thrice were dominating the alternative rock conversation, and we wrote most of what would eventually become our EP When Everything Reverses during that era.

The original lineup fell apart before we ever got the chance to record those songs, but I decided to reform the band in 2019. The pandemic slowed things down, but we continued writing and recording throughout that period.

Interestingly, we really started gaining momentum around 2022, just as nu-metal and adjacent genres began experiencing a resurgence. A new Limp Bizkit record, the rise of bands like Ice Nine Kills, and the announcement of Sick New World all signaled renewed interest in the music that inspired us. In a lot of ways, it felt like the perfect time for GUIDES to exist.

• “FAILURE/DEFINES” was written during a period marked by uncertainty, pressure, and constant transition. Jonathan, how much of yourself did you have to put on the line lyrically to write something this personal — and was it difficult to revisit that headspace once the song was finished?
  • Jonathan: The story unfolding in the verses of this song was drawn directly from events happening in my life as it was being written. It was a period of upheaval, conflict, and personal transformation. I felt judged, abandoned, and let down by people I cared about at a time when I needed support the most.

Because of that, the song is deeply personal. It contains all of the anger, frustration, and determination I was carrying at the time. The first time we played it live, I dedicated it to the people who walked away when I needed them most. That should tell you everything you need to know about where I was emotionally when these lyrics were written.

That said, revisiting the song has never been difficult. If anything, it’s been cathartic. Finishing and releasing it helped me process that chapter of my life and ultimately move forward.

• The title itself, “FAILURE/DEFINES,” suggests a tension between being broken down by failure and being shaped by it. Where do you land on that tension personally, and how did you want the music to embody that push and pull?

Jonathan: That’s the interesting thing—this song is ultimately about triumph. It’s about winning.

The tension comes from the fact that we all suffer and we all have reasons to hurt. In my life, the periods of greatest growth have always begun with heartbreak, disappointment, or failure. Those experiences force you to learn, adapt, and become something stronger than you were before.

Failure is often where motivation and inspiration are born. You never want to relive those moments, so they push you to evolve. That’s really what the song is about: the idea that failure inspires the change that ultimately defines who you become and the legacy you leave behind.

• This is your continued collaboration with producer Zac Diebels, who Jonathan has called a defining creative milestone. What has working with him sharpened or unlocked in GUIDES’ sound that you hadn’t fully accessed before?

Jonathan: Working with Zac “ZROKK” Diebels was a dream come true. His band Simon Says was one of the first bands I ever saw live when I was twelve years old.

Zac essentially made us start over. We scrapped our existing demos and rebuilt everything from the ground up. The challenge was  to rethink our chemistry, our songwriting process, and what we wanted this band’s identity to be.

After experimenting with a few approaches, I ended up taking the lead on the writing for these sessions. I locked myself in my home studio for nearly a month and immersed myself completely in the work. Through that process, I learned a lot about myself as a songwriter and what I’m capable of when it comes to composition and execution.

The biggest lesson Zac reinforced was simple: a song isn’t going anywhere unless it makes you feel something. That mindset has influenced every decision we’ve made creatively since.

• You’re drawing heavily from the late 90s and early 2000s Sacramento heavy music scene, alongside influences like Deftones, Taproot, Staind, Finch, Thursday, and AFI. What is it about that specific era and sound that still feels so vital and worth building on today?

Jonathan: I don’t know if it’s that it feels vital so much as it’s simply the music we genuinely love. It’s what we grew up with, and it’s what we naturally gravitate toward as songwriters.

That said, we’ve been fortunate to see a resurgence in these styles over the last few years. It started with the legacy acts and festivals like Sick New World, but now there’s an entirely new generation of artists carrying those influences forward and putting their own spin on them.

That’s been incredibly exciting to watch. I’m proud of what these younger bands are doing, and we’re grateful to be part of a scene where this music is finding a new audience. We just hope to continue carving out our place within it.

• You’ve shared stages with Sevendust, Taproot, Cold, Orgy, and Attack Attack! — heavy hitters with serious history in this genre. What have those experiences taught you about your own live show, and how has it evolved since your 2023 debut EP “When Everything Reverses”?

Jonathan: Every one of those opportunities has been special to us. When you stop and think about how few people actually get the chance to open for their favorite bands, it’s something you never take for granted. I used to jump around in my bedroom pretending to be in those bands. Getting to share a stage with them is literally the dream come true.

We’ve always approached those opportunities with the mindset that we have to prove we belong there. Every show is a chance to earn our place. I think we learned that early on with Taproot, especially when we ended up covering Limp Bizkit with Stephen Richards during our set without any rehearsal beforehand. Moments like that build confidence and reinforce your belief in what you’re doing.

The ultimate test was opening for Sevendust in a sold-out 1,000-capacity room. It was the biggest crowd we’d ever played for. You never really know how you’ll respond until you’re standing in front of that many people. Once you do it, though, you just want to do it more.

• “FAILURE/DEFINES” follows “DRAIN” as part of a clear creative evolution. With new material continuing to roll out through 2026, what does the bigger picture look like — is there a larger body of work or a specific direction you’re building toward?

Jonathan: Absolutely. There’s always a bigger picture. The material we’re releasing now is building toward a larger body of work that will ultimately function as an EP. From a logistical standpoint, working with ZROKK made it more practical to split the project into two separate releases rather than tackle everything at once.

We’re currently finishing the writing for the second half and plan to record it this fall. Because all of these songs originated from the same creative period and writing sessions, they share a common DNA and naturally build upon one another. I think when people eventually hear the complete collection, it’ll feel cohesive, intentional.

• In such an AI-driven era, how do you see the future of indie artists in particular — and the music industry in general?

Jonathan: First of all, let me get this out of the way: no, I don’t support people using AI to create music and pass it off as their own art.

That said, I’m a technologist professionally, so my perspective on AI is probably different from what I hear from a lot of people in my music circles. I see a lot of value in AI as a tool for solving problems, and I think the conversation around it is often oversimplified.

Frankly, if you’re a musician or creative who feels seriously threatened by AI, I think you’re probably focused on the wrong things. There are so many layers to this discussion, but at the end of the day, a computer can’t build a local scene, load into a venue, play a great show, or create a genuine connection with an audience.

Honestly, I’m more concerned about the advantages enjoyed by artists with unlimited resources than I am about a computer generating streams on the internet. Independent bands have always had obstacles to overcome. AI is just the latest thing people are arguing about.

• “The Devil You Know” is described as a direct transmission of pure, uncut rock and roll — brazen, scrappy, dangerous, and morbidly fun. When you were making it, was there a conscious decision to strip everything back to that raw honesty, or did the album just arrive that way?

Croxton: As a songwriter, performer, engineer, and producer, I suppose I’ve got more fingerprints on this than anyone. I can’t say I’m displeased that the record’s being thought of in those terms, but it’s not a conscious decision. I think it speaks to how we approach the songs. The five of us always work in the favor of making the song work. So, I suppose, the answer to your question is that it reflects who we are as musicians and as a band.

• The title track is one of the most personally significant songs on the record — Judy Ann, you wrote it as a meditation on your husband David’s death by suicide and your attempt to understand the experience of his aural hallucinations. What did it take to turn something that devastating into a song — and what do you hope listeners who’ve experienced similar loss take from it?

<Nock> There is a huge stigma surrounding mental health and suicide in particular. There are many musicians who use madness as an inspiration and as sort of an abstract concept, while for some of us, it’s not poetic. It’s our lived experience. The stigma can be extremely isolating so the song has a lot to do with my attempt to shatter the silence and break through, and hopefully connect through music with other people who have endured something similar so that we can realize we are not as alone as we feel. The end of the song was a deliberate attempt for me to understand what his experience might have been like, having to deal with auditory hallucinations and not knowing where the voices were coming from, or if they were real. Exploring that through art and creativity was illuminating. When Will played the first rough mix for me, it sounded about as crazy as I thought it was going to be.

• The chorus of “The Devil You Know” wails about the guilt that suicide survivors often carry. Suicide loss is something millions of people live with in silence. Did you feel any weight of responsibility in putting that experience into a rock and roll song — and has the response from listeners confirmed that the decision was the right one?

<Nock> It’s really new and I’ve vacillated between owning my choice and regretting sharing something so deeply personal and frankly, disturbing. So right now, it’s impossible to know if it has done its job or not. One thing I can say is that the song is loaded with deliberate artistic choices from the opening riff that was meant to feel like a sharp descent into insanity  and even the way I use my voice, letting all the breaks show. In vocal training, you spend a lot of time making the separation between your chest voice and your head voice seamless so that listeners can’t tell the difference between the two. In Devil, I absolutely leaned in to where my voice cracks because I just feel so broken most of the time. I understand the need for silence, but that time for me is over. There is enough silence when someone you love is gone.

• The “his, hers, and ours” songwriting dynamic between Will and Judy Ann is central to what St. Divine is. How does that collaboration actually work in practice — and what does each of you bring to the table that the other couldn’t arrive at alone?

Croxton: Songwriting isn’t a science– and in our case, especially, there are no rules. In most cases, it can start with an idea that’s bandied around– or, ‘hey, here’s some lyrics’ or ‘here’s a progression I really like.’ Those kinds of things are where things bloom. More often than not, I’m backed in a corner lyrically or musically, and Judy Ann digs me out.

• You’ve been compared to PJ Harvey & Nick Cave, the Kills, and Lee Hazelwood & Nancy Sinatra — all partnerships or creative dialogues with a particular tension and chemistry between two distinct voices. Do those comparisons feel accurate to you, and which of them resonates most?

Croxton: I respect all those artists a great deal, but I didn’t write any of those comparisons. I get influenced by everything I encounter– both good and bad.

<Nock> The comparisons have been really flattering and also humbling. I feel that they are aspirational but there is a definite resonance. I actually share a birthday with PJ Harvey and I found her early releases to be really inspiring.

• Which tracks on “The Devil You Know” are the closest to your hearts — and why?

Croxton: All of ‘em! In the digital age, it’s borderline criminal to release an album. It automatically means certain tunes are dispensable. It’s just not the way people listen anymore.

• The album conjures fast cars, dive bars, heartbreak, New York subculture, and a hint of hope for tangled times. How much of this record is autobiographical — and is there a version of St. Divine that exists separately from the lives that made it?

Croxton: Don’t know about fast cars! But, it sounds like the New York City that I know. An old friend warned me when I moved here, “the city likes to remind you it’s here at least once a day.”

<Nock> Will and I both had important cars that inspired us. His was a Mustang and mine was a classic 1957 Chevy Belair. As a writer, I am pretty direct and I am coming from an authentic place. That being said, once a song is out in the world, people will get from it what they need. There are songs that Will wrote that I fought to have on the album because they got me through some tough times, so I figured they were meant to connect with a wider audience than just me

• You’ve racked up hundreds of independent and college radio spins since 2024, landed on Sound Opinions, WFMU, and Little Steven’s Underground Garage, and built genuine momentum in a remarkably short time — all without major label backing. What has driven that traction, and what does it tell you about where the audience for this kind of music actually lives?

Croxton: It was pretty amazing how quickly people either got what we were doing– or seemed like they were hungry for it. That said, we’re a damn good band, and we work really hard to achieve everything we’ve gotten. There’s a high bar we set for ourselves. No one gives anything less than 100%.

<Nock>I wanted to celebrate when we hit 100 radio spins and now that we’re over 500, I think it really speaks to our listeners and how they also move with intention just like we do. Think about it. You tune in to the radio because you are actively seeking that music rather than just mindlessly scrolling and passively accepting what’s being shown to you. The driving force, I think, is the band itself. We have five people pulling in the same direction so it makes sense that we picked up speed.

• You’ve shared stages with bands on Pravda, Rum Bar, and Jem Records, and your debut EP landed to wide acclaim in May 2025. How has the live experience shaped the sound and attitude of this full-length — and what does St. Divine look and feel like on stage?

Croxton: While I’m the producer, and help shape the sound of the band in the studio, nothing replaces what we do when we play live. It informs every step I take behind the board. I’m eternally blessed by the talent I have 5-10 feet on every side of me onstage. I trust every member of our band inherently. That’s a rare thing.

<Nock> On stage, we are an elevated musical and visual catharsis. At least that is what I strive for. There are hallmarks where you know you are at a St. Divine show and it looks and feels different than any other live act. We pay attention to details and give the audience a unique experience. Often we record songs before performing them so the albums have absolutely shaped and built the live experience.

• The punk and garage rock world has always prided itself on authenticity and community over commercialism. How do you navigate that ethos while also trying to reach the widest possible audience for music this personal and this important?

Croxton: In this day and age, those lines are so fucking blurred its not funny. At this point in the game, I don’t care. I know our stuff. If you don’t get it, that’s all good, too.

<Nock> I try to spend as much time as I can supporting my local music community and being a part of it. If I’m going to spend five hours hyping my shit on the socials then my ass had better be in the clubs or in the studio for double that time or more.

• In such an AI-driven era, how do you see the future of indie artists in particular — and the music industry in general?

Croxton: Funny you ask. I was approached recently by a college professor friend who was dealing with a student who didn’t see a problem replacing musicians with AI substitutes– mostly as a cost cutting tool. They asked how I would respond. I posed this question …. if you could go back in time and give someone a pill to make them dance as well as Michael Jackson, which one would you hire as a dance teacher? It’s kind of like using a fake pic at a dating site. In the latter, you get short term gain and gratification, but there’s nothing underneath you to sustain it. In the former, you get a model, but without the blood and sweat and technique. Ultimately, AI, when effective, is the sum of current collective knowledge— but art doesn’t work like that. You’re establishing a lowest common denominator ceiling that you’re living under. You’re replacing spark with familiar tropes. You’re gonna get that easy dopamine hit, but you ain’t an artist, you’re a curator of common knowledge at best– and mostly a shopper at walmart.com.

To really answer your question, pop music is about pleasing masses. AI, in the short term, can probably please the hell out of them.

<Nock> There is right now a growing backlash against AI where even the major streaming platforms are proceeding with caution and imposing disclosure requirements and limits. Music is, and for me will always be, about community. In the future, we are going to return to touch instead of tech because this hyper tech direction is clearly unsustainable. It hasn’t even scaled to potential yet and it’s already destroying the environment, dampening creative expression, and dividing communities. I don’t see that as a net good. Rather, it’s the opposite.

• “The Devil You Know” is your debut full-length — but it already feels like a band operating with complete confidence in who they are. What comes after this record, and where does St. Divine go from here?

Croxton: With complete confidence comes utmost silence. Stay tuned!

<Nock> I want to take it as far as we possibly can.

• Psychological Collapse is a heavy, evocative title. What does this album represent for you, and how does it capture your headspace over the last year?

Psychological Collapse is the most honest snapshot of my mind I’ve ever put into music. The last year felt like I was constantly falling through myself — emotionally, physically, spiritually. I wasn’t just struggling; I was unraveling. Every day felt like I was trying to hold together pieces that didn’t want to stay connected anymore.The album became the only place where I could put that chaos and actually make sense of it. It represents the moment where everything I’d been suppressing finally broke the surface. The fear, the numbness, the anger, the exhaustion — it all came out at once. Instead of trying to hide it or polish it, I let the record be as raw and unstable as I felt. It captures my headspace because it is my headspace. Every track is a moment where I felt like I was losing control, and the album became the map of how I survived it. It’s not a concept album — it’s a confession.

• “Hollow” is the emotional anchor of the record. You’ve described it as capturing the feeling of being physically present but emotionally absent. How do you go about translating that specific feeling of emptiness into a massive, layered musical production?

“Hollow” came from a place where I felt like I was drifting through my own life without actually being in it. That kind of emptiness isn’t quiet — it’s loud in a very internal way. So when I started building the track, I wasn’t trying to make something big for the sake of being big. I was trying to recreate the sound of a mind echoing inside itself.  I built the production like a void. The guitars are heavy, but they’re spaced out so they feel like they’re collapsing inward. The drums hit hard, but they leave room for the silence between them to feel uncomfortable. The vocals are layered because one voice didn’t feel like enough to represent the disconnect — it felt like I was hearing myself from a distance, so I stacked those layers to create that emotional distortion.  The goal wasn’t to fill the emptiness. It was to show it.  To make the listener feel that strange, numb pressure where everything is happening around you, but none of it reaches you. That’s why the song swells the way it does — not to sound epic, but to sound overwhelming in the same way dissociation is overwhelming. “Hollow” is massive because emptiness can be massive. It’s not a small feeling. It’s a whole world you get trapped inside.

• The sonic identity of “Hollow” balances alternative metal intensity with sweeping cinematic build-ups. When you are writing and producing entirely on your own, how do you know when a track has hit that perfect balance between raw aggression and atmospheric vulnerability?

For me, that balance isn’t technical it’s emotional. I’m not sitting there thinking, “Okay, this needs 20 percent more aggression and 30 percent more atmosphere.” I’m chasing a feeling. When I’m producing alone, I’m constantly asking myself one thing: Does this sound like the truth?  “Hollow” was built in layers because that’s how the emotion felt. There’s the anger, the heaviness, the fight‑or‑flight energy — but underneath that, there’s this fragile, almost ghost‑like vulnerability that never fully goes away. I keep building the track until both sides feel like they’re breathing at the same time. I know a song is balanced when it stops sounding like a performance and starts sounding like a memory I’m reliving. If the aggression hits but doesn’t drown out the pain, and the atmosphere expands without softening the impact, that’s when I know I’ve found the center of the emotion. That’s when the track is done.  Producing alone forces me to be brutally honest with myself. There’s no one else in the room to tell me when something feels real — I have to feel it in my chest. When the music mirrors the exact emotional contradiction I’m living through, that’s when I know I’ve hit the balance.

• Your music is highly theatrical and delivers a massive emotional punch. Who or what are some of your biggest cinematic influences outside of traditional rock music that helped shape the sound of this album?

Cinematic influence is honestly the backbone of everything I create. Before I ever think about riffs or drums, I’m thinking in terms of atmosphere, tension, and emotional architecture — the same way a film score builds a world before a single line of dialogue is spoken. Hans Zimmer is a huge influence, not just for his power but for the way he uses silence. He knows how to make a single note feel like a tidal wave.And then there’s Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross, who taught me that darkness can be beautiful if you let it breathe. But it’s not just composers. Psychological thrillers and horror films shaped this album in a massive way. I love how those genres use sound to manipulate your heartbeat — the low rumbles, the distant echoes, the tension that never fully resolves. That’s the energy I wanted on Psychological Collapse. Not just music you hear, but music you feel creeping up your spine. Those cinematic influences gave me permission to go bigger, darker, and more emotionally unfiltered than I ever have. They helped me build a world where the listener isn’t just hearing my story — they’re living inside it.

• Last year, you suffered a major heart attack, a moment that completely reshaped your perspective on life. How did confronting your mortality change your day-to-day relationship with songwriting and your creative urgency?

The heart attack shattered the illusion that I had unlimited time. One moment I was living my life, and the next I was lying in a hospital bed wondering if I’d ever get another chance to say anything at all. That kind of moment rewires you. It strips away everything that doesn’t matter and leaves you face‑to‑face with the truth you’ve been avoiding.

Before it happened, I used to overthink everything — the production, the mixes, the direction, the perfectionism. After the heart attack, all of that felt meaningless. I didn’t want to make “perfect” music anymore. I wanted to make honest music. Music that said something real, even if it was messy or uncomfortable.

My day‑to‑day relationship with songwriting changed because I stopped treating it like a task and started treating it like a lifeline. Every idea felt urgent. Every lyric felt like it needed to exist now, not later. I wasn’t writing for streams or algorithms or expectations — I was writing because I survived, and surviving comes with a responsibility to speak.

The heart attack didn’t just change my urgency. It changed my purpose.

It reminded me that every song could be the last thing I ever say — so I make sure it’s something worth leaving behind.

• You have noted that “Hollow” represents a turning point where vulnerability became a strength. Was it terrifying to lay your guard down that completely on a track, or did it feel entirely necessary for your own healing?

It was absolutely terrifyingnot because I wanted to, but because I had to. Vulnerability never felt safe for me. It felt like exposure, like handing someone a weapon and hoping they wouldn’t use it. So when I started writing “Hollow,” I could feel that old instinct kicking in, telling me to pull back, to hide the parts that hurt the most.

But the truth is, hiding was killing me.

After everything I went through — the trauma, the emotional collapse, the heart attack — pretending I was invincible wasn’t an option anymore. I was already broken open. The only choice I had left was to be honest about it.

So yes, it was terrifying. But it was also necessary.

“Hollow” became the moment where I stopped running from myself. I let the cracks show. I let the emptiness speak. And in doing that, I realized vulnerability isn’t weakness — it’s the only way to actually heal. It’s the only way to connect with people who feel the same kind of invisible pain.

That track changed me.

It taught me that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is admit you’re not strong at all.

• The name Senses of Fear was originally chosen by your girlfriend, Michelle Ogborn, because she recognized that your music perfectly captured the psychological tension you carried. Looking back, how has living under that specific banner for so long helped you process your early life trauma?

When Michelle chose the name Senses of fear, I didn’t fully understand How accutrate it was. At the time, it felt like a cool, dark name for a metal band, but she saw something deeper in me that I wasn’t ready to face. She recognized the tension, the anxiety, the emotional weight I carried long before I ever admitted it to myself.

Living under that name for so many years forced me to confront the parts of my past I tried to bury. Every time I released music under Senses of Fear, it was like holding up a mirror to the trauma I grew up with — the chaos, the instability, the emotional scars that shaped me. The name became a reminder that the fear wasn’t something to hide from; it was something to understand, express, and eventually transform.

It gave me a language for emotions I didn’t know how to articulate.

It gave me a place to put the darkness so it didn’t consume me.

It gave me an identity that wasn’t built on pretending I was fine.

Over time, Senses of Fear stopped being a name and became a process — a way of turning pain into something meaningful. It helped me reclaim the parts of myself that trauma tried to erase. And the fact that Michelle saw that in me from the beginning… it means the name isn’t just a title. It’s a truth I’ve grown into.

• You live and create in Grand Gorge, NY, right in the heart of the Catskills. How much does that specific, quiet, and sometimes stark geographic isolation creep into the actual DNA of your music?

The Catskills are beautiful, but they’re also brutally honest. There’s a kind of silence out here that forces you to sit with yourself — no distractions, no noise, no escape. That isolation gets into your bloodstream. It changes the way you think, the way you feel, and eventually the way you create.

Grand Gorge is small, quiet, and surrounded by miles of open space. When you’re alone with your thoughts long enough, you start hearing things differently — the tension, the emptiness, the echoes of your own mind. That atmosphere becomes part of the music whether I intend it or not. The wide‑open landscapes turn into reverb. The stillness becomes the space between notes. The loneliness becomes the emotional weight behind every lyric.

Out here, you can’t hide from yourself.

And that honesty — sometimes harsh, sometimes healing — is in every track I make. The Catskills don’t just influence my music; they shape the emotional architecture of it. The isolation gives the songs their depth, their tension, their sense of vastness. It’s the perfect environment for creating something raw, cinematic, and unfiltered.

• With over 40 albums and singles released since 2007, your output is incredibly relentless. When you look back at your early underground metal and punk roots, what is the biggest difference in how you approach music today compared to when you started?

When I first started, everything I made came from a place of pure survival. My early underground metal and punk roots were fueled by anger, adrenaline, and the need to scream just to feel like I existed. I wasn’t thinking about craft or emotion or storytelling — I was thinking about release. The music was raw because I was raw. It was fast, loud, and unfiltered because that was the only way I knew how to cope with what I was carrying.

Today, the fire is still there, but the intention is completely different. I’m not trying to prove anything anymore. I’m not trying to outrun my past or drown out the noise in my head. Now I create because I want to express something real, not escape from it. The aggression is still part of me, but it’s balanced with vulnerability, atmosphere, and emotional depth that I didn’t have the courage to tap into back then.

Back in the early days, I wrote like I was fighting for my life.

Now I write like I’m fighting to understand it.

The biggest difference is purpose.

I’m not just making music — I’m telling the truth.

And after everything I’ve survived, that truth matters more than anything.

• The themes on this album—feeling unseen, unheard, and dealing with internal struggles—are deeply relatable. What kind of messages or feedback have you been receiving from fans who have connected with “Hollow” since its release?

The messages I’ve received about “Hollow” have honestly been overwhelming in the best way. People aren’t just saying they like the song — they’re telling me it feels like I wrote their internal monologue. I’ve had fans say it put words to emotions they’ve carried for years but never knew how to express. Others have told me it made them feel seen for the first time in a long time, like someone finally understood the kind of invisible pain they live with every day.

A lot of people have opened up about their own battles with depression, trauma, dissociation, and feeling disconnected from themselves. They tell me the song makes them feel less alone, like there’s someone out there who gets it without them having to explain it. That means more to me than anything. When you write from a place of real pain, you hope someone out there will understand it — and they do.

“Hollow” became a bridge between my experience and theirs.

It showed me that vulnerability doesn’t just heal the artist — it heals the listener too. And hearing people say the song helped them through dark moments… that’s the kind of connection I never expected but will always be grateful for.

• Now that Psychological Collapse is out via Omega Records and making waves, what does the next chapter look like for Senses of Fear? Are there plans to bring these massive, cinematic soundscapes to a live stage, or are you already looking toward the next studio release?

Releasing Psychological Collapse felt like closing one chapter and immediately stepping into another. The moment it dropped, I felt this surge of creative momentum — like the story wasn’t finished, just evolving. And honestly, the next chapter is already taking shape faster than I expected.

I’ve got three new albums on the way:

Take Me Home Tonight — a record that pushes into new emotional territory and brings some unexpected twists

How a Monster Is Made — darker, heavier, and more psychological than anything I’ve done

Maniac — pure chaos, pure adrenaline, pure Senses of Fear unleashed

And here’s the part I’m most excited about:

I’m introducing new people into the band. After years of carrying everything on my own shoulders, it feels like the right time to expand the world of Senses of Fear. These new Band Members bring fresh energy, new textures, and a different kind of fire that’s pushing the music into places I couldn’t reach alone.

As for live shows — yes, that’s absolutely on the horizon. These cinematic soundscapes were built to be experienced in a physical space. But I’m not rushing it. When Senses of Fear hits the stage, it has to be immersive, theatrical, and emotionally overwhelming in the best way. I want people to walk out feeling like they lived inside the music.

So what’s next?

Bigger sound. Bigger emotion. Bigger vision.

Psychological Collapse wasn’t the end — it was the ignition point. Everything coming next is the explosion.

1. The album takes its name from the Mesoamerican feathered serpent deity — a figure representing wind, knowledge, the union of earth and sky. What drew you to Quetzalcoatl as a central image, and how does that mythology thread its way through the album’s themes?

We have been aware of the feathered serpent deity for quite a while. he was central to Aztec, Toltec and Maya cultures. The legend also has it that he appeared as an old man with a long beard, who disappeared over the sea never to return. It is a standalone song, the other songs are about other subjects, but it’s a great track and makes a good title for the album.

There was also a Cretaceous azhdarchid pterosaur called Quetzalcoatlus which was the biggest pterosaur that ever lived. Tim said “when I wrote the music for Quetzalcoatl I was expecting Dick to write about the Dinosaur.  But Dick was drawn to all of that Aztec and Mayan stuff.”  Dick said “Right I was, it makes a better song, how do you write a song about an extinct flying dinosaur?”

• Yeah! Make sense. Well, “Quetzalcoatl” has been described as your most cohesive and adventurous record yet — heavy rock sitting alongside prog folk, jazz, a vampire waltz, and Zen philosophy. How do you hold all of those wildly different influences together under one roof without the album feeling scattered?

The Tirith in some ways is a unique band, many people find us difficult to directly compare to other bands and artists. Because our influences are so wide that is hardly surprising, and we aren’t trying to be like anybody else. Many current prog bands are heavily influenced by Genesis, we aren’t.  Neither do we play what we would refer to as standard prog, lots of thrashing around, complicated time signatures, seemingly just for the sake of it, and doom-laden lyrics strung together in an ad hoc style.  We play properly constructed songs, sometimes featuring stories, often with soaring instrumental sections. We are included in the prog rock genre really because there is no other genre that fits. I could give you a list of our influences but it would take up a whole page and you don’t really want that.

• The space narrative that began on “Tales from the Tower” and continued through “Return of the Lydia” gets a new chapter here with “Back to Space” — a stranded spaceman in New York, unable to adapt to city life, deciding the only way forward is back to the stars. How did that storyline develop over three albums, and was it always planned as an ongoing saga?

There was no plan, but it is a fascination.  It all started really with a song called “The Tower” when we were very young, about a tower on a distant planet surrounded by methane snow.  Tim was inspired by Ray Bradbury to write that song.  Most of the development of the theme though has been written by Dick. Dick says “the space theme and our ongoing story is always in the back of my mind when writing songs for a new album.  Where to go with it next? The song Return of the Lydia, the title track of the last album, seemed a logical move to bring the space ship back to earth but it also afforded an opportunity to fill in more details about the adventures along the way. And so we come to Back to Space on the latest album.”  “I’ve been thinking about that angle for a while, the nightmare of city life with surreal lyrics, and then the big chorus of Back to Space.”  Has the adventure finished? Not sure, but also not sure at this point where it might go. But you know its all a bit tongue in cheek.

• “No Mind (Mushin)” originated as an improvisation and explores the Japanese Zen concept of empty, thought-free flow — total presence and effortless action. How does that philosophy of improvisation and instinct inform the way The Tirith approaches music-making more broadly?

OMG, it doesn’t, we are not a band that does a lot of improvisation, but occasionally we do and then develop a tune from there.  But in real life we are inspired by this approach.  Tim first came across these ideas when practicing martial arts, it is basically a form of meditation, which has been adopted by both of us

• Tim Cox’s history includes being part of the production team behind Rozalla’s “Everybody’s Free (to Feel Good)” — still a dancefloor anthem today — before returning to his prog rock roots. Tim, how does that commercial pop and dance world experience shape the way you approach songwriting and production for The Tirith?

Working with drums machines, sequencers and samplers in the late 80s it became possible to create an entire arrangement of a song before recording it to tape and mixing it. This was a big step from mapping out a song on say, acoustic guitar or piano, and then rehearsing and arranging a band before recording and mixing.

This has had a huge influence on the way we can work nowadays. With modern Digital Audio Workstations (DAWs) we can map out an entire song, before rehearsing and recording the individual members of the band, who can put their own style and interpretation on the song.  In dance music, most of the music remains programmed and sequenced, apart from the vocals. In our songs, pretty much everything is replaced by the musicians in the band playing in their own way.

• The band’s origins go back to Loughborough Grammar School in the 1970s — two boys sitting opposite each other with acoustic guitars, playing only original material from the very start. Over fifty years later, what is it about the Tim Cox and Dick Cory creative partnership that has kept it alive and relevant through everything?

It’s a special thing and we still like to do that, but it doesn’t really reflect the way we work together today.  We work together and separately to create the songs and we both have our own particular strengths. For Tim’s songs of which there are 3 on the Quetzalcoatl album, “Quetzalcoatl”, “Back to Space” and “Dancing With Vampires”, Tim will map out the whole arrangement of the song but without vocals, lyrics or topline.  Dick then works up a topline melody, writes the lyrics and makes it into a song sometimes suggesting changes to the arrangements along the way. Dick’s songs (of which there are 5 on Quetzalcoatl, “Rabbit Ings”, Spirit of the Volcano”, “Masters of Highways”, “Save The Oak” and “The Riddles”)  are usually presented in a rougher form as simple often chaotic complete songs with topline and lyrics, but then Tim sorts them out, changing the arrangements, adding instrumental sections and turning them into the finished article. “Moon King” is an Ant song but with extensive work on the arrangement and topline by Dick.  “The Slide” is a band collaboration, starting with a section from Tim, with a section by Ant in the middle.  Dick wrote lyrics and topline for both sections. “No Mind (Mushin)” started life as a band improvisation which grew and evolved into its final form. That’s the creative process, we love playing live and hope to translate that into live energy.

• Keyboardist Anthony Hill joined in 2022 and the band has spoken about how the lineup has genuinely gelled since then. What did Ant’s arrival unlock in the sound — and how has the dynamic between all four members shaped what “Quetzalcoatl” became?

Before I talk about Ant I would like to tell you about our drummer Paul Williams who can get overlooked.  Paul was our main drummer in the 70s before we went our separate ways.  He was the one who brought us back together after the in 2010.  Unfortunately he had to leave us again in 2012 due to heavy commitments with other bands.  But he rejoined us in 2020 and has been with us ever since. The Tirith always feels right with Paul sitting behind us on that drum stool.  He has an effortless bouncy technique which we love, having Paul on drums has made it possible for us to play our more difficult songs with relative ease. We are trying to keep him going for as long as possible (he does suffer from rheumatism now in his hands), so fingers crossed.

When Ant joined in 2022 it completed the circle. We had wanted a keyboard player for a while that fitted with us, and we had tried a few.  Keyboards up until that point were played by both Tim and Dick on record, but that was hard to replicate on stage. As a 3 piece we would bring keyboards on stage but our hands were mostly playing guitars, although Dick did also play keyboard pedals which were effective to some degree.  We had been aware of Anthony Hill for a few years and had spoken to him before, but at that time he was busy with his own band.  By 2022 he was fed up with them and contacted us asking to join The Tirith.  For Ant its been a steep learning curve, he has had to learn all our previous albums and the way we work technically, and has now started to contribute to the process, eg Moon King.

• The album closes with “The Riddles” — lyrics full of classic riddles, and at its heart M.O.A.I., Malvolio’s riddle from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, for which there is no solution. Why end the album on an unsolvable riddle — and is that a deliberate philosophical statement about the nature of prog itself?

We didn’t purposely intend to, its just when we ordered the album The Riddles ended up in that position, honest !  But seriously we like little quirks and mysteries, we did let you into the secret though.  Maybe we shouldn’t have and you would now be asking us, ”what is M.O.A.I. ?”

• The Tirith have performed at the Cambridge Rock Festival, HRH Prog, Sonic Rock Solstice, and venues across the UK and Europe. With “Quetzalcoatl” arriving in July, what does the live picture look like — and are there festival appearances or tour dates in the works to support the album?

Our next 3 gigs are all small festivals, Steel City Prog at Network Sheffield in Sept, our own festival Prog Rhino 3 at Greystones Sheffield in Oct, and Spriggan Fest in Reading in January 27.

• The band began as Minas Tirith in the 70s — named after a place in Middle-earth — and has always sat at that intersection of prog rock and dark fantasy. Looking back across fifty-plus years and forward into whatever comes after “Quetzalcoatl”, what does this band still have left to say?

Although we did originate all those years ago there were no recordings from that era. So it’s a lifetime compressed really starting in 2015 with the release of “Tales from the Tower” the songs of our youth. Followed by “A Leap into the Dark” in 2019 and “Return of the Lydia” 2022, both with newer songs.  But I think our latest Quetzalcoatl is surpasses all of them.

I think with Quetzalcoatl you have to immerse yourself in the whole album to really get it.  The tracks are all so different, they pull you this way and that, the moods change, but always with that underlying rock sensibility. The album is more keyboard based than our earlier albums, but the guitar solos are still there, just shorter than previously. We have tried to cut repetition down and there is a whole load of music in there.  Just dive in and immerse yourself in it!

And we still have a lot to say!

• “Anam Cara” is a Gaelic phrase meaning “soul friend” — a concept rooted in deep spiritual kinship and connection. Why that title for this record, and what does it mean in the context of what you were creating?

I originally had a Celtic mythology theme for this album, but drifted from that during the writing process but the phrase “Anam Cara” sounded right for the album. Music to me is like a soul friend.

• You’ve described this as your most experimental release yet — and Sun Raven’s sound already spans atmospheric prog, post-rock, sludge, jazz, and psychedelia. Where do you feel you pushed furthest into new territory on this album compared to your previous two records?

The first two records were more rooted in metal music with elements of progressive, alternative, ambient. I felt like I had gone as far as I could creatively within that style. For “Anam Cara” I wanted it to be more difficult for the listener to define a certain style and just wrote with almost total freedom but still having elements that made it sound like a Sun Raven album.

• Sun Raven is entirely your own vehicle — you write, compose, produce, and perform everything yourself. What does that total creative solitude give you that a band environment couldn’t — and is there anything it takes away?

I like having the freedom to create what I want without having to compromise for other people. Part of the reason Sun Raven is a solo project is because I haven’t been able to find like-minded musicians that live nearby to work with. Sun Raven started as a band with a vocalist and bassist but the creative process wasn’t working with those other musicians so I decided to do everything myself and make the music purely instrumental.

• The album draws comparisons to artists as varied as John Carpenter, Mogwai, Russian Circles, Tool, and Godspeed! You Black Emperor. When you’re composing instrumentally without lyrics to anchor the listener, how do you guide the emotional and narrative journey of a piece from beginning to end?

Song titles play an important role to set the mood of an instrumental song, I think they give the listener a visual starting point. Having an underlying melody is also important, even if the guitar part isn’t playing a lead guitar melody, having strong melodic notes within a chord progression creates a memorable song without a vocalist.

• “Anam Cara” is described as the perfect soundtrack for creative thinking — dense, hypnotic, and cinematic. Do you compose with a visual or narrative world in mind, and if so, what did the world of this album look and feel like to you while you were building it?

Sometimes I have a theme for a song and that will influence the type of instruments, chord progressions, time signatures I use. Other times it will just be a spark of inspiration that seems to come out of nowhere and I feel as if I am more of a vehicle for this creative process and I try and flow with it as much as possible.

• Three albums in and the project is still evolving rapidly. What does the horizon look like for Sun Raven — and is there a sound or a concept already forming that might take the project somewhere new?

I feel like I have hit a creative peak with this album and Sun Raven. There will probably be another Sun Raven album in the future but for the near future I am focusing on a new project that I hope will also become a band with other musicians, it’s called Evahfar and it will be the first public project to feature me on vocals as well as performing all the instruments for the debut EP. It’s sound is based in Alternative Rock with Jazz and Folk influences. I am really excited about it.

• The album is dedicated to Batty and to all the beloved pets and friends you’ve lost. Can you tell us a little about who Batty was to you — and how her passing became the moment that crystallized everything this record needed to say?

Batty was a little black cat who had been with me for sixteen years.  She was different somehow than my other furry friends.  I adored them all, but somehow Batty and I developed a special relationship.  Maybe it was because she was so dainty and delicate, I felt I had an elevated responsibility to protect her.  She would follow me everywhere and sleep on my arm at night.

She came down with a respiratory condition that the vets couldn’t heal.  When I made the decision to end her suffering, it hurt me deeply.  It was only then that I realized how much I depended on her.  She was my anchor to hope and optimism.  No matter how bad things were getting in my life, as long as she was with me, I could find the desire to keep going.  When she departed, it literally felt as though something had been torn out of my heart.  I felt empty and alone.  While deep in my grief, I had a powerful waking vision of being alone forever.  Everyone knows intellectually that death and loss are a part of life, but this was beyond mere awareness.  I was experiencing emotionally the unavoidable fact that everything I love, and will ever love, will one day leave.

At one point I decided to put my grief down in words.  I knew that other people were certainly going through the same experience, and I wanted to do whatever I could with the abilities that I have to try and let people know that they are not alone in their grief.  Since music had always been a powerful therapy for me, I turned my words into lyrics and tried to capture various shades of grief, which eventually turned into Acoustic Mourning.

• You describe that period as a Jenga collapse — friends, family, pets, your job, your marriage — all falling away. How did music become the place you turned to, and at what point did you realize that what you were creating was becoming an album rather than just a way of coping?

Making an album at some point in my life had been a goal for many years, but it was something I had to keep pushing into the future due to various responsibilities.  About a year after Batty passed, I was still unemployed and depressed, and I decided that it was now or never.  I began treating the album as a job, starting early in the morning and continuing on until the evening.

• You’re blind and entirely self-taught in music theory, guitar, and vocal performance — committing seriously to music only from 2012 onward. What did that journey of learning look like, and what methods and approaches did you develop that others might never have needed to find?

I knew I would have to do everything myself, so I embarked upon a journey of learning the craft of music along with recording, mixing, and mastering.  I searched for all the training materials I could find, which had to be in an audio format due to my lack of eyesight.  The practical application was the most difficult.  I had to find and obtain the right computer with the right screen reading software and the right recording and editing software that would all work together and permit me to perform all of the necessary tasks with a computer keyboard only, no mouse.

Most of the software, including virtual instruments and plugins, were totally inaccessible.  I had even contacted various gear manufacturers to encourage them to make their products more accessible, without much success.  The only company that I’m aware of at the moment that has made such an effort is Native Instruments.  A few years ago they released a music keyboard with a feature that would announce selections and parameter changes, which opened up their vast library of virtual instruments to blind persons.

When I did have a job, I spent obscene amounts of money searching for the right gear.  It was an obsession.

• The album was built by treating music like a full-time job — ten hours a day, seven days a week in early 2026. What does that kind of focused, solitary creative process feel like from the inside — and how do you know when a song is finished?

When I sit down to write, I really don’t have any starting ideas.  I begin by looking inside myself, at different memories from my life, searching for the emotional resonance.  When I find something, I start typing out lines that attempt to capture what I am feeling.  The goal at this point is to find a single idea to develop the song around.  Once I have that idea, I try to find phrases and images that add flesh to the skeleton of the idea, and then begin sorting these elements into verse and chorus sections.

I can usually feel when a song is complete.  After combing through the lyrics multiple times, I step away for a few hours and then come back to it with a more relaxed mindset for another review.

• The tracklist carries titles like Beautiful Oblivion, In the End, Going Home, No One Gets Out Alive, and Table for One — there’s a clear emotional and philosophical arc here. Did you sequence the album deliberately as a journey, and is there a track you’d point a new listener to first?

Yes, the tracklist was chosen specifically to take listeners on a journey through grief and loss.  I didn’t want to just drop a bundle of sorrow onto people and potentially leave them feeling miserable.  Tracks like Through the Night, Thinking of You, and Ride Your Wave were created to provide an emotional balance.

The one track I would point someone to as a way of capturing the essence of the album is probably the final track, Mercy.  The song is about someone who is so broken by the tragedies of life that he is yearning to be taken from this world to the next realm of existence.

• Any music videos planned to bring some of these songs to life visually?

Yes.  A video for Beautiful Oblivion is currently underway.

• In such an AI-driven era, how do you see the future of indie artists in particular — and the music industry in general?

This is such an important question right now.  I actually have a series on my YouTube channel discussing this very topic. AI is just the next step in the evolution of digital music production technology.  Songwriters in particular now have a method of expression for their lyrical creations that they may not have had access to before.  AI generated music will certainly provide a greater level of competition for listeners.  A recent article stated that nearly 100,000 new tracks are uploaded to streaming services each days.  That can be overwhelming for new artists trying to capture someone’s attention.

I believe Indie artists will eventually embrace AI as yet another production tool, the same way they embraced MIDI, electronic music, and AI driven production tools.  Songwriters can now manifest their lyrics without depending upon another group of people to interpret their vision, and traditional musicians will likely use AI to help find lyrical and melodic ideas.

• Thank you for your time and music.

Thanks Mena for the time and the excellent questions!

• The name, the cryptic intro, the atmospheric imagery — “The Whispering” feels like it was built as a world unto itself from day one. Where did the concept behind the band and its identity come from, and how long has this vision been taking shape?

Greetings Mena . it’s Lucian , lovely to talk with you 🙂

For me , music offers a ticket to freedom, a license to explore the depths of the self and a vehicle of expression.

The Whispering has been in my heart for many years now . The sound and atmosphere are reflections of the danger and excitement I felt in my youth when first discovering heavy metal . The feeling of running thru the dark , unsure of what’s ahead or the phantom that’s chasing you .

The Whispering are the unseen voices of truth and guidance in these moments of chaos. The wisdom hidden in plain sight. Our world today if drowning in noise pollution and self distraction. The answers we seek are waiting in the shadow, on the wind above and the water below .

• Thank you! It’s my pleasure. Well you’ve described yourself as someone who carries “the torch of rebellion against injustice, oppression, ignorance, and twisted hypocrisy.” How directly does that personal mission translate into the lyrics and themes across these four tracks — “The Whispering”, “Life After God”, “Evil Eye”, and “Pretty Witches”?

I do not describe myself this way. I only write the music and lyrics that resonate with my heart. I often find myself disconnected from social justice and the madness of the collective. It’s easy for people to insulate and only see what confronts us directly, yet beyond our personal spaces the world moves in ways that affect us all.

How long will woman be subjected to religious dogma that suppresses their rights, bodily autonomy and equality?

Peoples self serving ignorance and entitlement to the destruction of the environment. The indifferent torture of animals, factory farming. These are urgent issues that stir my inner rebellion.

• Before The Whispering, you were producing and performing with world-famous circus troops including Cirque du Soleil, and performing in venues and festivals across the US, Canada, Australia, China, the UK, and Europe. How did that extraordinary experience shape the artist — and the bandleader — you are today?

The circus world is a brilliant storm of tragedy and triumph, death defying climax and delicate moments. Night after night I witness performers throwing themselves into the spotlight and dancing on the edge of disaster. As a fire performer, I found myself wildly alive on stage. A visceral escape from the mind into the present moment. It’s a feeling of freedom I wish to convey thru the music of The Whispering.

• The lineup here reads like a metal dream team. Loic, Tobias, Dirk — these are names with serious history in the genre. Lucian, how did you bring these elite players together around this specific vision, and what did each of them bring to the music that you couldn’t have anticipated?

It’s a honor making music with these legendary musicians. As the vision of the The Whispering took focus, each member found their position quite naturally. It was almost as effortless as whimsical wish set upon the wind only to have it answered with a hurricane.

The synergy of musical influences and like minded vision became clear very early on and has made for a thrilling journey.

• Dirk Verbeuren stepped in to complete the album recording when Tobias was unavailable — and the two of them, Dirk and Loic, share a 20-year history across multiple bands. What was it like witnessing that reunion energy in the studio, and how did it impact the final sound of the record?

Loic and Dirk have been friends and band mates for two decades and their connection is special. It’s been a joy watching them re unite and flex their sonic telepathy on the record. They are both masterful players and open channels of collaboration. No guidance or instructions needed, they know the right thing to play before I’ve even written the songs :)!

• The EP was recorded at Besco Recording Studios in France with producer and manager Dan McConomy, mixed by Mohammad “Momo” Sadeghin, and mastered by the legendary Randy Merrill at Sterling Sound. That’s an impressive chain of talent. How did the collaboration with Dan and that team shape the sonic identity of what you were making?

The whispering is an international band, bonded by our love of music. As the record came to life , each collaborator brought a little of their own inspiration from every corner of the earth . It’s was easy to trust the instincts of the people involved.

Music is the international we all speak.

• The EP is called “Part 1” — which naturally raises the question: is there a Part 2 in the works, and what can you tell us about what that might look like?

It was a challenge separating the EP from the album.

Releasing the full length record will complete the vision. Songs still to come have some deeply personal themes, some extra heavy moments and delicate interludes.

This is our first record as a band and we are excited to be sharing it with you !!

More divinely devilish music to come.

• The full self-titled album is coming this fall with ten tracks total — four of which we’ve already heard. Without giving too much away, how does the complete album expand on what “Part 1” introduces, and are there musical or thematic directions on the full record that might surprise people?

It was particularly challenging, separating the EP from the entire album. It was written and recorded as a complete concept. There is an overall feeling of spooky immersion when sitting with the entire album. Still to come are some extra heavy moments, deeply personal lyrics and delicate interludes.

• Any music videos planned for filming soon — beyond the self-titled track that’s already out on YouTube?

Yes, we have scheduled more music videos to share. The self titled track, the whispering and proceeding music video were an introduction to a greater conceptual vision.

we are a part of a community of creators, witches and conjure, actively shaping the visual environment for the whispering

• Your live experience is clearly a massive part of who you are as a performer — immersive, theatrical, powerful. How are you designing the live show for The Whispering, and when can fans expect to see this project on stage?

We are a coven of musicians who are serious about the craft and delivering a high-level performance, we are also a band of witches, intent on creating a wild and unpredictable live experience.

• The band operates on its own imprint, LAG Records, distributed worldwide by The Orchard. In an era where so many artists are navigating the tension between creative control and industry reach, what does owning your own imprint mean to you — and how does it shape the decisions you make?

The music industry as a business is its own beast. As long as we as a band have creative control, I leave and trust the business and management team responsible for the logistics”

We are well represented and have total confidence in the team around us.

• In such an AI-driven era, how do you see the future of indie artists in particular — and the music industry in general?

With thousands of AI generated records being released every day it would seem the landscape is even more flooded. It’s going to be a challenge for listeners to discern computer generated music from the real thing. When I listen to a song, I often think of the artist who created it and the emotions being communicated. It’s a much deeper experience and offers real insight into human connectivity. As AI continues to spread , so will the recognition and unpredictable excitement of raw soul generated sounds.

• “Heat of the Night” is described as a definitive shift toward a driving, cinematic rock sound after a period of more intimate acoustic releases. What pulled you back toward rock — and what made this the right moment for that return?

Rock has always been in my DNA, but music, to me, is about seasons and storytelling. After focusing on intimate, acoustic releases like ‘If you knew what I knew’, where raw emotion and storytelling stood at the very center, I felt this intense surge of energy again. I didn’t just want to tell a story; I wanted to build a massive, cinematic landscape. ‘Heat of the Night’ required that driving, heavy rock foundation to capture the exact tension and atmosphere I had in mind. It’s powerful, it’s unapologetic, and after the quietness of the acoustic tracks, this was the absolute perfect moment to break the silence with a bang. It shows the full spectrum of who I am as an independent artist and producer—sometimes quiet and close, and sometimes explosive and cinematic.

• The song’s message centers on that moment in the dark when you finally shut out the world and find yourself again. Was there a specific personal experience that sparked this song, or is it something you’ve been carrying for a while?

This song actually brings together both: a deeply rooted feeling I’ve carried for a long time, and a very specific, quiet realization that brought it all to the surface. For a while now, my musical journey has been focused on an empowering theme—creating music that feels strong, intentional, and resonant. But true strength isn’t just about being loud or constantly pushing forward; it’s also about the resilience it takes to look inward. The spark for this specific message comes from that contrast. In the middle of managing independent music production, building a brand, and navigating all the noise that comes with putting yourself out there, you realize how easy it is to give pieces of yourself away to the world. The true turning point happens when you step into the quiet. That moment in the dark—when the screens are off, the external expectations are shut out, and it’s just you—isn’t about loneliness. It’s an empowering, sacred space where you reclaim your identity, ground yourself, and find your center again.

• Your “Vocal Kinship” project draws a deep artistic alignment with the energy and grit of rock legends like Bryan Adams. What does “vocal kinship” mean to you as a concept — and how does it shape the way you approach writing and performing?

As a musicologist, I’ve always been fascinated by voices that carry a certain raw truth, power, and vulnerability—much like rock legends such as Bryan Adams. For me, “Vocal Kinship” means recognizing that same fire in my own voice and building a bridge between the timeless spirit of 90s rock-pop and modern production. I don’t look for flawless, polite melodies. I write honest stories that give the voice room to breathe, scrape, and deliver massive but deeply personal hooks. It’s my guiding light for authenticity. It forces me to perform from the gut, leaving perfection at the door to chase the actual feeling instead. Whether it’s an up-tempo rock track or a ballad, my goal is to strike a chord directly in the listener’s heart.

• You studied music theory at the University of Heidelberg and have developed serious studio craft as both an artist and producer. How does that academic and technical foundation coexist with the raw, emotional energy that rock music demands?

It’s the classic tension between the mind and the heart, but for me, they don’t just coexist—they actively fuel each other. My time studying in Heidelberg gave me a deep structural understanding of music theory, while developing my studio craft as a producer gave me the technical tools to build those sonic worlds from scratch. However, rock music isn’t a science experiment; it’s a lightning strike that demands raw, unfiltered emotion and grit. For me, the technical foundation is the architecture, and the emotion is the performance. Knowing how to construct a powerful arrangement ensures the house is solid, which actually gives the emotional chaos of rock a safe place to explode. Because I am deeply familiar with my studio tools, the technical execution never interrupts my creative flow. Ultimately, theory gives me a map of the rules, but true rock thrives on rebellion. Having that foundation simply means I know exactly how to break those rules intentionally to catch the listener completely off guard.

• The lyrics of “Heat of the Night” paint a very vivid picture — shadows, open doors, locking gates, leaving town. Are you a visual writer, and how do you build that cinematic quality into a song from the ground up?

Yes, I absolutely write visually. For me, a song shouldn’t just be heard—it should feel like a movie playing behind your eyes. When I build a track from the ground up, I treat the music like a film score and the lyrics like a script. I swap abstract emotions for concrete, physical imagery like locking gates or open doors. These elements act like a camera lens, shifting between tight, tense close-ups and wide, panoramic shots that create real momentum. Relying on an archive of over 300 original lyrics has taught me to trust these vivid flashes. By blending this visual storytelling with a driving rock foundation, the cinematic quality comes alive naturally from the very first beat.

⇒ Read our review for “Heat of the Night” here. 

• You’re specifically targeting the Canadian, UK, and US rock scenes with this release while maintaining your European foundation. What does a truly global rock audience look like to you — and what bridges are you actively building to reach them?

A truly global rock audience is bound by a shared mindset, not geography—it’s a collective craving for raw authenticity and that timeless rock energy. By blending my musical background with a powerful, modern vocal approach, I create music that feels deeply familiar yet fresh across borders. While my roots remain firmly planted in the rich European tradition, I am actively building bridges through targeted digital campaigns and direct playlist curation tailored to the vibrant rock scenes in Canada, the UK, and the US. For me, reaching a global audience means bypassing traditional gatekeepers, connecting authentically on social media, and uniting rock purists worldwide through the universal language of a great, honest song.

• “Heat of the Night” carries a strong message about empowerment — saying no to the world in order to say yes to yourself. How much of that is autobiographical, and how much do you think it reflects something universal that listeners are hungry to hear right now?

It’s deeply autobiographical, yet I believe it taps into a universal truth. For a long time, especially as a female creator, I found myself trying to meet everyone else’s expectations. But true empowerment begins when you stop looking for external permission. Writing ‘Heat of the Night’ was my personal turning point—a conscious decision to say no to the world’s noise so I could finally say yes to my own vision. Right now, people are exhausted from constantly performing and putting on a mask for society. Listeners are hungry for authenticity. It is an anthem for anyone reclaiming their power, stepping out of the shadows, and choosing their own path.

• You’ve described this as your most prolific era yet. What does the creative pipeline look like beyond this single — are there more releases already taking shape, and is a full project on the horizon?

Absolutely! I’m currently in a very inspired flow, and the creative pipeline is moving fast. Following my recent singles like ‘Falling back in Love’ and ‘Heat of the Night’, I’m preparing a very exciting shift in gears. Next up is ‘Taormina’, a vibrant summer song that captures a warm, beautiful Italian flair—showing a completely different, non-rock side of my artistry. Right after that, I’m returning to heavy guitars with a massive rock track called ‘Tonight’. All these releases are pieces of a larger puzzle. A cohesive, conceptual body of work is absolutely on the horizon, moving toward a strong, empowering narrative.

• In such an AI-driven era, how do you see the future of indie artists in particular — and the music industry in general?

I see AI as a powerful technical tool, but it will never replace the human soul. AI can analyze structures and generate clean tracks, but it cannot duplicate a lightning strike of raw, unpolished emotion, grit, and vulnerability. The future of the industry belongs to absolute authenticity. Because the digital space is flooded with perfect, automated content, listeners are becoming hungry for the opposite: real human stories and genuine flaws. By relying on concept-driven artistry and honest vocal performances, indie creators can build deep, organic connections that algorithms can’t replicate. AI handles the data, but humans still hold the heartbeat of rock ‘n’ roll.

• For someone discovering Kat Madleine for the very first time through “Heat of the Night” — what do you want them to feel, and where would you send them next to understand who you truly are as an artist?

Through ‘Heat of the Night,’ I want new listeners to feel an immediate, electrifying surge of empowerment—the absolute freedom of reclaiming your own power. To truly understand my artistic depth, I’d then send them on a journey through my musical spectrum: first to my intimate ballad ‘If You Knew What I Knew’ to experience the raw vulnerability, and then straight to my upcoming summer track ‘Taormina’ to feel that sun-drenched, melodic warmth. Moving from the cinematic storm of rock into these different acoustic and atmospheric spaces shows the full spectrum of my world, where the grit, heart, and independent production craft always take center stage.