With the release of "In Somnolent Ruin", the Swedish masters of gothic/doom metal Draconian begin a new chapter in a career built upon melancholy, existential reflection, and emotional intensity. Released on May 8, 2026, via Napalm Records, the album arrives six years after "Under a Godless Veil" (2020), widely regarded as the band's most successful and acclaimed work to date — and Brazil will be the first country to witness this new era live.

The sextet returns to São Paulo this Saturday (May 16) for a special performance at Carioca Club, promoted by Mirror/AM and Sellout Tours. The event will also feature a rare Brazilian appearance by Emma Ruth Rundle, whose dark folk atmosphere makes her a fitting companion for Draconian's emotionally dense universe.

More than simply a new album cycle, "In Somnolent Ruin" also marks the return of vocalist Lisa Johansson, an original member closely associated with the band's classic era. Her comeback restores one of Draconian's defining characteristics: the haunting interplay between ethereal female clean vocals and the cavernous growls of founding vocalist Anders Jacobsson.

Since emerging in the mid-1990s, Draconian have established themselves as one of the most respected names in gothic/doom metal, crafting a discography centered on sorrowful atmospheres, crushingly slow riffs, and poetic meditations on alienation, spirituality, loss, and the human condition. From their 2003 debut "Where Lovers Mourn" onward, the band has cultivated a sound that balances oppressive darkness with fragile beauty — a duality that remains at the heart of In Somnolent Ruin.

Critical reception has reflected that impact. Blabbermouth.net described the record as one of the strongest releases of Draconian's career, highlighting Lisa Johansson's return as the element that reignites the band's "romantic electricity." Meanwhile, Metal Hammer praised the album's fusion of doom, death, and gothic metal, emphasizing its balance between "absolute darkness" and "glimmers of light," as well as standout moments such as "Anima" and Johansson's performance on "Cold Heavens."

In the interview below, Anders Jacobsson reflects on the philosophical and emotional foundations of "In Somnolent Ruin", the organic creative process behind the album, Lisa Johansson's return, the influence of Gnosticism and existential thought on Draconian's art, and why, after more than three decades immersed in darkness, he still feels unable to stop creating.

Marcelo Vieira (@marcelovieiramusic)

Your return to São Paulo comes after a sold-out show in 2023. From your perspective, what explains this consistent connection between Draconian and Brazilian audiences?

Well, I think that connection has always existed. For maybe 20 years before we finally came to Brazil, there was this constant demand on our social media — even back in the early 2000s, when there was something called MP3.com. Even then, people were constantly commenting: "Come to Brazil!" It took decades, but I must say that when we finally arrived, I'll never forget the feeling.

When we got to the venue in São Paulo for that first show, the reception from the fans was incredible. After so many years of anticipation, finally being there felt like an instant connection. So yes, we absolutely can't wait to see you all again next week. We've really been looking forward to it.

In such a fragmented global landscape, is it still surprising that a doom/gothic band can build such strong bonds with specific tropical regions?

I wouldn't really know, since I'm not from a tropical region myself. (laughs) But I think music like this deals with very heavy and deeply human subjects — the kinds of things that keep us awake at night. Questions about life and death, mythology, religion, philosophy, and what any of it actually means.

I think that's what connects us, regardless of whether we live in the tropics or not. Scandinavia obviously has a strong tradition of black metal and death metal, and I think part of that is connected to our nature and to old folklore. But ultimately, what binds people together through this music are those universal themes and this sort of stream of consciousness that transcends borders.

We've had fans in Syria, Iraq, Israel — all over the world. That proves to me that music can cross barriers because, at the end of the day, we're all human beings. We all think, we all feel, we all believe we have souls. And music becomes a way of connecting through that.

In Somnolent Ruin has been described as one of the most personal albums in the band's career. At what point did you realize this record would become something more intimate than just another chapter in Draconian's discography?

I think it started sometime during the COVID period. Our tours for the previous album kept being postponed, and the whole atmosphere of those years affected everything. It felt like the next album needed to become some kind of culmination of everything we had experienced — or at least everything I had experienced emotionally.

But it wasn't until early last year that I really began organizing the lyrical direction I wanted for the songs. Then, when Johan and I sat down to choose the material for the album, we had around 20 songs to pick from. We started realizing that certain tracks naturally belonged together thematically and conceptually, so we selected the ones that pushed the album in that direction.

Even during the recording process, things were constantly changing. I kept editing and rewriting lyrics almost until the very last second. So even though the album had been developing for years, the creative process remained alive all the way through the final stages.

The concept associated with Plato's theory of the soul wasn't originally planned from the start. What does that reveal about the way you organize — or perhaps don't organize — your creative ideas?

Actually, there's a bit of a misconception there. Some press materials suggested that the album was directly about Plato's philosophy, but that's not really accurate. The album isn't centered around one specific philosophical doctrine or worldview.

When we spoke with the label during the press campaign, they kind of framed it that way, but I never consciously sat down thinking: "Now I'm going to write an album about Platonism." It's more about this recurring feeling of alienation — the sense that maybe we are strangers in this world, that this reality somehow doesn't fully belong to us.

That's something Draconian has always explored. The difference is that over the last ten or twelve years, I've started expressing those ideas through more philosophical and mythological language. I use references to Gnosticism or Platonism, but if you remove those labels, the themes themselves have always been there.

I suppose the difference now is that the writing has become more poetic and more sophisticated because I've evolved as a person. I read more, I've learned more, and I don't want to repeat myself endlessly. I want the material to feel deeper and more impactful.

Do you see these themes as reflections of a broader collective moment or of a more personal process?

I think it's both. It depends on how you view life and humanity itself. On one hand, I can be quite misanthropic when I look at certain aspects of the world. But at the same time, I also feel a strong connection between people, because many of us share the same suffering, the same dreams, and the same feelings of alienation.

I realize this especially when I travel and meet fans around the world — or even through interviews like this one, reading reviews and hearing people's interpretations. There are clearly experiences and emotions we all recognize in one another, even if we don't openly discuss them in everyday life.

Of course, I can't claim everyone shares that awareness. Maybe some people really do go through life on autopilot. (laughs) Just look at the world around us. But I think much of the darkness we see today comes from the fact that humanity remains trapped in what I would call a "somnolent ruin." We haven't fully awakened to our potential yet. Instead, we focus too much on our differences.

While composing the new material, did you feel the need to respond to Under a Godless Veil or to move away from it?

I'm not moving away from it at all. I've read some reviews suggesting that I distanced myself from Gnosticism after Heike left the band, but that's simply not true. Those themes are still there. The difference is that this album is more personal in the sense that I'm approaching different subjects through a more philosophical lens.

The lyrics are also written in a more poetic way. Some songs are more direct — like "Lethe", for example — where I wanted to explore the idea of the "disincarnation matrix" and the fact that there's actually an ancient philosophical and spiritual tradition behind those concepts.

So I never felt any obligation to continue exactly where the previous album ended. But I've learned things since then that will always remain part of me. Gnosticism was a major influence on Under a Godless Veil, and now I can't "unsee" that perspective anymore. It became part of who I am. In one way or another, it will always inspire me because it shaped my worldview and my life.

That doesn't necessarily mean I'll keep writing directly about Gnosticism itself. It's more about the way I perceive existence now.

What has Lisa Johansson's return changed in the creative dynamic of the band?

Well, we had already started writing the songs before Lisa officially came back. 2022 was a very transformative year for the band because we were trying to figure out what Draconian was going to become. There was a lot of back-and-forth, a lot of discussions, trying to balance what the band wanted with what Heike wanted. Eventually, she decided to leave.

Lisa initially returned only as a touring/session member, but very quickly it started feeling natural for her to become a full member again. After having so many session musicians over the past fifteen years, we really wanted a stable lineup where everyone could focus fully on the band together.

Honestly, I think this is the best lineup we've ever had. Not because we're all Swedish, but because there's something familiar about Lisa's presence while, at the same time, everything feels renewed and updated. We also realized — especially through touring and live performances after COVID — that the band is stronger than ever now.

I don't know if that comes specifically from the lineup changes, but I do know that once the world reopened after the pandemic, Draconian finally felt ready again. We were finally able to properly promote the previous album, and everything simply clicked. Lisa genuinely wanted to be part of the band again, which was something we didn't even know when we first contacted her about touring.

In the end, I think Heike also realized it would become difficult to keep everything working long-term if we wanted to rehearse and tour regularly while she had other plans, other bands, and wanted to live elsewhere in the world. So, ultimately, everyone got what they wanted.

And for the fans who miss Heike — I completely understand that. But she has four other bands now, and they're all great, so I hope people can still find something positive and inspiring in that as well.

There's a recurring idea in your answers that the album "emerged" almost involuntarily, as an organic process. To what extent do you feel in control of the work — and to what extent does it impose itself on you?

Those are really good questions. I think that when you begin working on an album — maybe three or four years before it's finished — you always have an initial idea of what you want it to become. But this is a very long and slow process. You could even call it "doom-like" in that sense. (laughs)

You start with a vision, but as the songs evolve, the material gradually transforms into something else. At a certain point, it almost feels like the process has a life of its own, something you don't fully control anymore. The album becomes different from what you originally imagined.

That's just the nature of creative work in a band, I think. It wasn't until very late in the process that we truly understood what the album should focus on thematically and emotionally.

So I think it's both things at once: we allow ourselves to be open to whatever the universe channels into the music, but at the same time we still shape and sculpt those ideas consciously. In the end, it's really just a stream of consciousness taking form.

In an era of fast consumption, how do you see the reception of long, dense, and emotionally demanding music?

I only allow myself to read reviews and comments occasionally, but fortunately the reactions have generally been very positive. Our fans are incredibly humble and beautiful people. Even when they dislike something, they usually express it respectfully.

At this point, Draconian has become something of a veteran band, and over the years we've built a very solid foundation. We've always remained true to our identity as a gothic doom band. Of course, our influences sometimes make certain songs more varied or progressive — like you can hear in the three singles from the new album — but the core has never changed. And it never will.

I think our listeners know what to expect from us, but at the same time they still allow themselves to be surprised with each release. Maybe that's partly because there are usually many years between albums, so people become deeply immersed in the atmosphere of each one.

For casual listeners, this type of music can probably feel very dense and emotionally heavy. We're not a funeral doom band — that would honestly be too extreme even for me if we only operated in that territory — but the essence of Draconian will always be doom and gothic metal, with progressive elements surrounding it. That's the foundation people can always count on.

Of course, every fan has their favorite albums. Some may prefer older records, while others may connect more strongly with this one. But I think listeners know they can always rely on us to remain faithful to the emotional core of our music.

What still drives you to create — the need to say something new, or simply the impossibility of stopping?

Honestly, at this point, making music is so deeply ingrained in who we are that I don't think we really have a choice anymore. Even if I left Draconian tomorrow, I would still keep writing music. Even if I never joined another band again, I would still write. And I think Johan would do the same.

It's simply part of who we are as people. We are artists whether we have an outlet for it or not. That's why, when many big bands retire, the musicians often branch out into other creative projects — because they still need that artistic expression in their lives.

For us, it's the same thing. Creativity isn't optional anymore; it's a necessity. Without it, I'd probably be even more miserable than I already am. (laughs)

Fresh off a surge of momentum and armed with one of the most uncompromising sounds in modern death metal, Castrator continues to carve out their place in the underground with sheer intensity and conviction. Following the release of their latest album, "Coronation Of The Grotesque", just last year, the band has only sharpened their edge. At the core of that sonic assault is bassist Robin Mazen, whose experience runs deep—spanning not only her work in Castrator but also stints with acts like Derkéta, Gruesome, Demonomacy, Impure, Slag-9, Precipice, Thrash Attack, and Acrimonium. Coupled with years spent on the road working merch, her perspective offers a rare, full-spectrum view of the scene, making this conversation as much about passion and perseverance as it is about brutality and sound.

Tomek

For people just discovering Castrator, how would you sum up the band—preferably without getting us banned anywhere?

I'd describe us as five metalheads who love OSDM and love playing OSDM—coming for your balls… and non-balls.

You and I go back a bit—be honest, did you always see yourself here, or were there some "what am I doing?" moments along the way?

When I think back, I went to college, had a regular job, and played locally. I always wanted to play, but back then, I never saw the big picture. I just thought it was fun to jam and play live. I never really had a "what am I doing?" moment—I just love music, and I love to play.

You've not only been a musician but also worked merch on numerous tours—how has seeing the scene from both sides shaped your perspective?

When I first started touring, there were no other merch girls. It was just my friend and me. There also weren't many women attending shows—maybe a handful, usually with their boyfriends. That's definitely changed. As for playing versus working merch, I just do my job, or I just play. I don't see it as that different. I enjoy both.

What originally pulled you into playing bass—and when did you realize, "yeah, this is it"?

Like most kids, I started with piano. Then I always wanted to play guitar. I played guitar in high school, and I was actually still playing guitar when I first joined Derketa. During that time, I really didn't like using a pick, so someone suggested I try bass. I thought, "Hmm?" and bought a $50 bass at my local music store. That was it. I still have it.

Your bass actually cuts through (which is rare in death metal)—was that always the goal or a happy accident?

A bit of both, but mostly a happy accident. I always say I'm a frequency—no one notices the bass unless it's not there. Live, you need that bottom end, and I try to keep the sound clear and separate from the kick drums.

When writing, are you the glue holding things down or the secret agent sneaking in extra flavor?

With Derketa, Sharon writes most of it. She'll bounce ideas around—she's even called me her muse—but she has a vision. With Gruesome, it's "original covers," and the guys handle the writing. I'm more the business person there. With Castrator, it's Carolina and me. Writing riffs on bass is like building the skeleton of the song, and we just bounce ideas back and forth. We've tried other approaches, but it works best when it's just the two of us.

How does songwriting usually work in Castrator—organized chaos or just pure chaos?

As I said, it's Carolina and me, and I don't think there's much chaos. I'll send tabs and videos, she'll send stuff back. Sometimes we end up with dozens of riffs, though—putting those together is probably the chaotic part.

There's a killer balance between brutality and groove—how do you avoid going full caveman 100% of the time?

I do love some caveman riffs, but we like to keep it old school. We also pull a lot of influence from thrash, which helps keep us from going 100% caveman.

Who are some of your biggest influences—and who would surprise people the most?

When writing, you mostly write what you like, so the influences come through naturally. If I like how a riff feels to play, it's good. The drums can change that for better or worse. As for bands, it's the usual OSDM suspects.

Any non-metal influences that would make diehard fans raise an eyebrow?

I listen to everything. I don't know if it's always an influence, but you might hear some Metallica sneak in, which most people already know. I also love Slayer, Van Halen, The Guess Who, and oldies, but I don't think that really shows up in the music.

Castrator has a very clear identity—did that come naturally, or did it take some trial and error?

When we first started, we didn't use our names or photos. We wanted people to hear the music, not see us. We'd had issues in the past, and people hear the name Castrator and suddenly assume we're a feminist band. Not that there's anything wrong with that—but overall, we're just a death metal band. We play OSDM and write about history, world issues, and religious atrocities. I don't think there were questionable riffs, but the band has definitely matured. I wouldn't mind re-recording some older songs.

The "all-female band" label still pops up—meaningful, annoying, or just background noise?

All of the above. That's why we didn't show our faces or names in the beginning. It's not just men—women do it too. People can't help it. No other genre does this. In country, pop, or rap, you're just an artist. The metal scene is saturated with women in bands—why is it still treated like a separate category? We should all just be musicians.

What's been your experience navigating the death metal scene—welcoming or more "prove yourself first"?

I never felt like I had to prove myself. Maybe you had to prove what vinyl you owned or what shirt you were wearing. But mostly everyone was just enjoying themselves, living in the moment, and finding kindred spirits. It's a lifestyle, not really a hobby. I had a blast—and I still am.

What's your mindset before hitting the stage—locked in, hyped up, or trying not to trip over cables?

I'm usually at the merch booth thinking, "I need to get out of here." Lately I've been more excited, though. Once I'm on stage, it's normal—some jokes with the bandmates, hit the intro, then go time… and try not to fall off the stage.

Any live moment that really sticks out—for the right or wrong reasons?

Most shows have the right reasons, and what fun is talking about that? For the weird ones: in Chicago, I was focused on someone in the front row eating fries. I couldn't tell if she was bored or what. Another show, a girl had maps open on her phone the entire time—like she was planning an escape route. With Gruesome, the first show of a summer tour in Europe, hot as hell, no AC—Matt passed out on stage, still strumming as he went down.

Looking ahead, what can fans expect next—and how hard are you planning to hit them?

With Derketa, hopefully a new record this year or next—I keep pushing for it. Gruesome is touring Europe, heading to South America, and hopefully more shows. Castrator has some fests coming up, plans to tour this year and next, and we've already started working on the next record.

Quick Ones

Favorite bass player of all time?

The usual: Cliff, Steve, Geezer, Geddy.

One album you could survive on forever?

Anything Metallica, Van Halen, Slayer… and Consuming Impulse.

Fingers or a pick?

Fingers.

Pre-show ritual?

I'm usually at the merch table, so it's very PG.

Dream tour?

Metallica and Slayer.

Most underrated death metal band right now?

Castrator, haha.

Go-to non-metal artist?

Van Halen, The Guess Who, oldies radio.

Worst gear fail?

Not too many, knock on wood - In Colorado, my tuning peg broke, and the string just fell off the bass. Luckily, it was the last song. Another time, a transformer died at a fest. Mostly normal stuff.

If you weren't playing music?

My "real" job is in pharmacy, so probably that.

Pineapple on pizza?

No pineapple. I'd have to leave the band—or get rid of them (laughs).

To avoid any misunderstanding, before diving into the questions, I started the chat with Dolk (stage name of vocalist Per-Joar Spydevold) with something seemingly simple: what is the correct pronunciation of "Kampfar"? With that question answered, I was able to move on to more substantial topics, such as expectations surrounding the band's first visit to Brazil — for a single show on May 31st at Manifesto Bar in São Paulo —, plans for the successor to Til Klovers Takt (2022), already in an advanced stage of production, and even having him choose, under the Norwegian spring sun, the five most important albums of his life. Enjoy the read!

Marcelo Vieira (@marcelovieiramusic)

What, for you, distinguishes a standard black metal show from a Kampfar performance?

That's a good question, because there isn't really such a thing as a "standard" in this context. What we do in Kampfar has never been standard compared to the rest of the black metal community. Even though we come from the early '90s and are strongly connected to that era, what we do has always been something different—perhaps not aligned with the traditional way of thinking within black metal.

For me, it's about something more personal. It's about individual feeling. Of course, the black metal attitude and emotional core are still deeply connected to the band and to me personally. But ultimately, Kampfar is best experienced live. That's where we truly belong.

We've never really been a typical studio band—although we've improved in that regard over time. For us, it's about being out there, performing live. That's where we bring out the best in ourselves as individuals. It has to feel honest and real—that's the most important thing.

This tour celebrates different phases of your discography. How do you build a setlist that works as a narrative rather than just a sequence of songs?

That's definitely a challenge. When you've been active for nearly three and a half decades and released nine albums, putting together a cohesive setlist is no small task.

Some fans are deeply connected to the early material, while others relate more to the newer work. I've met people at Kampfar shows who grew up with the band because their parents introduced them to it, and I've also met very young fans—14 years old or even younger—who discovered us more recently.

That, to me, is the essence of Kampfar: the ability to connect generations. To bring together people who could be father and son through the same music.

When we did our 30th-anniversary shows in Europe, we made a conscious effort to weave our entire history into a single performance. It was a difficult task, but I think we managed to create a kind of flow—a journey through time. That's how we approach it now as well: we don't focus only on the old or the new; we connect everything into one continuous narrative. It's not easy, but I believe we've succeeded.

In a one-off show in a more intimate venue like Manifesto Bar, the experience tends to be more direct and visceral. Does that change the way you perform?

In a way, it does—but not by changing what we are. The core idea remains the same: to connect everything we've done into a cohesive experience.

Whether it's a large festival or a small, intimate venue, the challenge is still to present that full narrative—to reach both longtime fans and newer listeners in the same space. The intimacy of a smaller venue might make the experience feel more immediate and intense, but the philosophy behind the performance doesn't really change.

Is there any song that takes on a completely different meaning when performed live compared to its studio version?

Yes. A good example is "Det Sorte," from Ofidians Manifest. It's the final track on that album, and it's extremely personal to me.

The song deals with very dark thoughts—I was reflecting on my own existence, even questioning whether I wanted to continue living. At the same time, during the recording process, our guitarist lost his father. So the song became this kind of shared emotional space—a dark bubble we had to work through together.

Even today, performing it live gives me chills. It's deeply personal, and that essence remains very strong every time we play it.

Did you face depression?

Yes, absolutely. That's exactly where the song came from. It's a very direct answer—I was at rock bottom, to be honest. That's the origin of it.

There's a common idea that Latin audiences are more emotional and intense. Does that perception match your real experience on stage?

We haven't had the chance to properly tour South America yet, which is a shame after more than three decades as a band. However, we have played several shows there, especially in Mexico, including major festivals.

So I don't have a full basis for comparison, but I've met many South American fans over the years. Recently, for example, I performed a tribute to Darkthrone at the Inferno Festival, and I met fans from South America there as well.

You can feel how much it means to them—and that means a lot to me too. Finally getting the chance to play in South America after all these years will be very special for us. I hope it will be just as meaningful for the audience.

Is there any cultural contrast between the band's Nordic origins and its South American reception that you find particularly interesting?

Yes, definitely. I grew up in the 1970s, and back then, Latin America felt very distant—almost unreachable. But the world has changed a lot since then.

In the early '90s, when we started with black metal, we used to communicate through handwritten letters, including with people from South America. I always felt a strong connection there.

People often think of Norway as a wealthy country—and it is—but in the '70s, things were different. There was struggle, and society was very rigid, influenced heavily by Christian values. Life felt very structured, very "black and white," even literally—television was still largely black and white.

Through those early exchanges with people from Latin America, I found unexpected similarities in culture, history, and ways of thinking. Even though the contexts were different, there was a connection. It's hard to explain, but it's there.

Til Klovers Takt was released in 2022. Was this period without new material more focused on reflection, life outside music, or developing new ideas?

It's a mix of all that, but the pandemic played a huge role. When we started working on Til Klovers Takt, everything shut down. We couldn't perform live, and suddenly we had no external pressures.

The four of us went to a cabin in Hemsedal, deep in the mountains, and stayed there for an extended period. We just lived together and created music.

That isolation brought us closer to our roots. There were no distractions, no outside influences—just us, nature, and the music. It became something very personal, very real.

Looking back, it was almost liberating. The world was in chaos, but where we were felt like a free space.

Did you become more selective or more open to experimentation?

More open, definitely. It wasn't a conscious decision—we didn't set out to experiment—but the circumstances naturally pushed us in that direction.

Are there already compositions in progress for a new album?

Yes, but I have to be a bit careful—there are labels involved, and some things need to remain confidential. But yes, we are working on new material.

At what stage are they—sketches, demos, or something more structured?

They're more structured than demos. We could probably go into the studio tomorrow if we wanted to, but we'd like to refine things a bit more first. So we're well beyond the demo stage.

Thirty years in black metal is proof of endurance. What has allowed Kampfar to remain relevant without diluting its identity?

That's a difficult question. I've been involved in black metal for four decades now—Kampfar was my first band—so I've seen a lot.

The people who are still here from the early '90s are here for a reason, and it's not fame or money. It's a way of life. That's what this is for us.

We don't do Kampfar because we have to make a living—we do it because it's a fundamental part of who we are. That's true for many from that era.

It becomes something bigger than success or recognition. It becomes your life. And that's not something you can easily explain—it just is.

Black metal was born as an anti-industry movement. How do you see its place today in a digital, fast-consumption landscape?

It's challenging. Staying true to yourself in this environment is not easy.

I feel that a lot of modern metal sounds very similar—bands using the same producers, following similar formulas. But black metal still has a space where authenticity matters.

Many bands have moved toward more commercial directions, but many others remain rooted in their original vision. That's what matters to me.

I don't focus on what others do. I focus on what Kampfar does. The most important thing is being able to look in the mirror and feel proud—that the music reflects what I truly wanted to create, not what someone else expected.

What are your five favorite albums?

That's a very difficult question. But some albums have been especially important to me.

A Blaze in the Northern Sky was hugely significant—it changed the way I thought about music.

The first album by Morbid Angel was also very important. Seeing them live in the late '80s or early '90s had a major impact on me.

Don't Break the Oath is another key one—I've always been a big fan of Mercyful Fate and King Diamond.

I'd also mention Master's Hammer's The Jilemnice Occultist. That album influenced a lot of Norwegian black metal, even if people don't always admit it.

And finally, Master of Puppets—especially for its musicality and bass work. It's a masterpiece.

When did Metallica "die" for you?

With Metallica—the Black Album, for sure.

When the topic of Technical Death Metal comes up in conversation, naturally, one would be so-inclined as to discuss Chuck Schuldiner and Death, but he'd be remiss to overlook Monstrosity and what's been a stellar contribution to the sub-genre on their part. "Millennium", "The Passage of Existence" and now "Screams from Beneath the Surface" - three career-defining records with the latter having just been released via Metal Blade Records. It stands as a beacon for genre trueness, as it simultaneously pushes the limits of said genre. Not to the max, but just enough to keep the music fresh. Just the way it was meant to be.

Percussionist, Lee Harrison - co-founding member of Monstrosity and drumming phenom has been a a scene-player for decades and has seen them come and go, all the while as Monstrosity has maintained their reputation as a prolific force; having navigated their way through their own perils and industry woes; resulting in one of the most favorably reviewed discographies in the business. During my latest interview for MetalBite, Lee discusses some of the band's defining features, his outlook on the current scene and a look into their latest LP, "Screams from Beneath the Surface", released this month via Metal Blade Records.

Jeger

Greetings, Lee, and welcome to MetalBite. It's been eight years since "Passage", which was a monumental album in my opinion. Now, the "Screams from Beneath the Surface" era has begun. How do you feel about the band in its current form with such a long-awaited new LP being released?

Lee: Things are moving right along! Won't be long until the tour starts and we can get back out to playing again!

A lot has changed in the Tech-Death world since the early '90's. Some of this stuff is hardly discernible as Death Metal anymore. I feel like Technical Death Metal should still be fundamentally grounded in traditional Death Metal mechanics. You guys nailed it with "Millennium". What's your outlook on the genre as it stands today when you compare today's Tech to, say, "Individual Thought Patterns" (Death) or "Millennium"?

Lee: Well, we always try to have a balance between technicality and brutality. Some bands can go too far, and you end up confusing the listener more than entertaining them. So, we've always tried to find that balance. I think with Millennium we got a little crazy with the odd time signatures, so with the release of "In Dark Purity" in 1999, we really wanted to find the perfect balance. And I think that's what we did. We've kind of been perfecting that formula ever since. For some of the younger bands playing technical music, there are some great musicians out there. But like anything, there's good and bad; it just depends on the perspective of the listener and the influences they bring into the experience.

Which era of Monstrosity do you feel has best testified to the band's overall vision for Technical Death Metal?

Lee: Well, if we're strictly talking about technical metal then Millennium is definitely the album that people are going to consider the best. That being said, I think all of our songs have a certain degree of technicality. We just want to retain the essence of strong songwriting and the art of arrangement. Technicality for its own sake can sometimes come across as showing off, and that's not really our thing. We do like to incorporate odd time signatures when it serves the song, though.

How would you say the last eight years has shaped Monstrosity? The world is a different place than it was when "Passage" was released.

Lee: I mean, we learn a little something from every album. There wasn't really anything in particular that happened in the last eight years that changed me. I was basically quarantining before quarantine was even a thing, so the pandemic didn't really affect me that much, to be honest. Obviously, life events do inspire us and influence us in certain ways, but I'll leave it up to the listener to decide whether it's for the better or for the worse.

What was your biggest challenge in recording "Screams from Beneath the Surface"?

Lee: Nothing too crazy, of course. It was mainly just the usual scheduling difficulties. We put in the time and work to make sure the material was as good as it could be. During the mixing session, we got a little critical about the guitar sound and ended up going back to change a few things. Of course, with every album there are things you'd change, and this one is no different. So really, everything's pretty much as expected. LOL

Exile, paralyzation and bewilderment appear to be some of the abstract concepts pertaining to the new material. Does "SFBTS" follow a concrete theme?

Lee: I don't know about those three words in particular, but we've always drawn on similar apocalyptic themes and end of the world scenarios as subject matter for our song lyrics. Death, destruction, war, all those kinds of things have been central to the inspiration behind our lyrics. This album is no different in that respect. I purposely try to retain a certain level of familiarity.

What does your touring schedule look like in support of the new album?

Lee: Well, at this point we're starting the tour on April 18th in Lucerne, Switzerland with Napalm Death. From there, we continue headlining for another three and a half weeks. Then we come back and play Maryland Deathfest again; this time with Napalm Death and Sinister. That should be a good one. After that, we're playing the Milwaukee Metal Fest. In August, we head to the Czech Republic for the Brutal Assault Festival. Following that, we're hoping to confirm a US tour for the fall, and possibly a South American tour after that. We'll see what happens. It's possible some of that may spill into 2027. But hopefully we can just keep the ball rolling and keep moving forward.

When you look back at Monstrosity, what about your career would you say has stood out most?

Lee: I'd just say we've stuck to our guns and persevered for as long as we have. We haven't given in to the usual business garbage that tends to bring bands down. We've been fortunate to keep it rolling this long, and hopefully it won't stop anytime soon. We'll see what happens. Thanks for the interview. Hope to see everyone out on the road. For merch and everything else, check: out www.conquestmusic.com and www.monstrosity.us.

Epic, solemn, and deeply human, doom metal has always demanded more than casual listening—it asks for immersion. Few voices embody that ethos as completely as Robert Lowe. From his defining work with Solitude Aeturnus to his celebrated tenure in Candlemass, Lowe helped shape the emotional and sonic identity of epic doom, forging a style that balances power with vulnerability and grandeur with raw feeling. Now preparing to connect with Brazilian audiences, Lowe reflects on a career built not on trends, but on conviction. In this conversation, he opens up about artistic identity, the evolving nature of heavy music, the realities behind band dynamics, and the enduring importance of emotion in an increasingly digital world. Unfiltered and grounded, his perspective reveals an artist who remains driven not by legacy, but by the simple, relentless urge to create.

Marcelo Vieira (@marcelovieiramusic)

Over the decades fronting Solitude Aeturnus and later singing for Candlemass, your voice became one of the most recognizable signatures in epic doom metal. How do you define your artistic identity today beyond the bands' names?

How do I define that? Okay, I'll keep it quick and simple. I just do what I do. I know that might sound a bit egotistical, but that's not the case at all. It has to be a journey for people—music should feel like something, represent a moment in time. When you listen to something, you want it to capture that feeling.

Doom metal often balances near-liturgical grandeur with stark human vulnerability. How do you personally navigate that tension between monumentality and fragility in your performances?

Navigating that becomes a very personal thing. What I try to do is reflect what I'm feeling. Most of my songs are collaborations with the band members and everything else we do together, but when it comes down to it—when I'm in the booth, so to speak—I just do what needs to be done to make sure the music comes across to everyone else.

If I can't make it connect, then I haven't done my job. My job is to allow people to listen and feel like they're part of it.

You have witnessed the genre evolve from the analog underground of the late '80s and '90s to today's digital, streaming-driven landscape. How has the way audiences consume—and emotionally process—doom metal changed?

You hit a major point right there—the digital side of things. I think what a lot of people might be missing is that you can't just press a button and make a guitar sound good. You can't just hit auto-tune and call it a day.

What really matters is what comes from inside—something natural. That's what we have to do. Sure, anyone can hit a button and say, "I want my guitar to sound like this," and I'm not dismissing those tools—they can be useful—but it all depends on how you use them. You have to shape them into what you want them to be.

Your vocal approach has always carried controlled theatricality without slipping into operatic excess. Was that an intentional aesthetic choice, or something that developed organically from your background?

Honestly, it wasn't something I sat down and planned—like, "I'm going to do this." It goes back to what I said before: it's personal. Everything I do is very personal.

When you hear me sing, or the lyrics, or the music I've written, it means something to me before it's ever, let's say, broadcast. How it's done matters to me—the approach matters. So no, there was never a conscious decision like that. It just comes from within.

From a technical standpoint, how have you preserved power and range over the years? Have you changed your preparation or your mindset toward recording and touring?

Give me a beer and a smoke.

I mean, when you're on the road for four, five, six weeks—playing six or seven nights a week—you just keep doing it. You're on the bus, you're performing every night, and that keeps everything in shape, so to speak. Other than that, there's not a whole lot of preparation involved.

In the studio, do you see your voice primarily as a melodic instrument woven into the sonic mass, or as a narrator standing above the band's foundation?

That's easy. As far as I'm concerned, vocals are just as important as the guitar, bass, or drums. It's all part of the same picture.

Nobody stands above anyone else. The whole point is to create the complete sound together. There's no "turn me up, turn me up." If anything, I'm usually the one saying, "Can you turn me down a bit? I don't want to hear myself that much."

No, not at all. It always comes back to emotion. Whatever your favorite band is, what you're really looking for is emotion—from the guitarist, the singer, whoever is involved.

That never changes. My emotions don't change.

Your entry into Candlemass marked a historic moment, uniting a seminal band with an already established voice. How do you assess that period artistically today?

Yeah, I mean, come on—we both know Candlemass has always been something special, right up there with bands like Sabbath. What Leif, Messiah, Johan, and the others built is something you can always go back to when you listen to that music.

Does it change? I hope not. That's what you want.

Your departure from Candlemass generated speculation and differing narratives. Without delving into personal details, what do you believe ultimately shaped that decision—creative differences, practical circumstances, or diverging visions for the future?

You mean leaving Candlemass? Yeah.

It was just a process—things happen. You see it in documentaries about bands like ZZ Top or ABBA—stuff just unfolds, and you let it be and move forward.

There were no creative differences. Not at all. Leif always had it, and those guys always delivered—Lars, Lasse, Mappe, Janne… I still talk to them, everything's good.

It was just a moment in time when things went in a different direction. Would I play with them again tomorrow? Fuck yeah. Would they have me? I hope so—maybe.

What did that experience teach you about leadership, collaboration, and boundaries within a band that carries such a strong legacy?

It comes down to respect. You respect each other and give everyone their space.

When you do that, collaboration works. That's what it's all about—respecting your brothers and appreciating what each person brings. You take care of each other.

When you reflect on your career, do you feel a sense of completion, or is there still something essential you need to express artistically?

Completion? No—there's no such thing.

I'll be doing this until I'm six feet under. There's always something—every day you hear something new, think of something new, something else you want to try.

When it's part of you, there's no finish line. That's just the way it is.

When your career is examined in the future, would you rather be remembered as "the voice of an era" or as an artist in constant evolution?

That's a great question.

But honestly, that's not how I think. I just want to create something meaningful—like Sabbath, or Dio, or whoever. You hear someone like Bruce Dickinson and you recognize him instantly.

But I'm not focused on being remembered. If people remember me, great. If not, that's not the point.

The point is making good music.

If you could leave one message to the next generation of vocalists who see you as a reference point, what would it be?

Just do your thing.

Whatever that is—if it brings out emotion in you, then do it. That's all that matters.

What can Brazilian audiences expect from these upcoming shows: a celebration of the past, reinterpretations of different phases, or a reaffirmation of a still-restless present?

We're going to crush—it's going to be heavy, it's going to be doomy, and it's going to hit hard.

Celebrate the past? Sure—but I don't live in the past. For me, tomorrow is a new day. It's about what we're doing now.

It's not about singing songs from 40 years ago. It's about what we do today—right here, right now.