Read more: Every Linkin Park album ranked

We asked our readers what the best nü-metal bands are of all time. From Deftones to Linkin Park, find the top fan picks ranked below.

5. System of a Down

System of a Down proved that nü metal wasn’t restricted to a particular style. Their self-titled debut album in 1998 introduced their mind-blowing style — then their follow-up, 2001’s Toxicity, fastened their approach. That record’s spastic lead single, “Chop Suey!,” earned countless covers and tons of radio play, showing that heavy music could get theatrical without going glam.

4. Slipknot

Though Slipknot released their brutal self-titled debut album in 1999, right on the cusp of the 21st century, the band heralded nü metal into the future. The genre pioneers dispensed face-spitting rippers (“People = Shit”) and radio-friendly cuts (“Wait and Bleed”) with pleasure, influencing countless bands along the way. By merging industrial influences and a love for hip-hop with neck-snapping riffs, Slipknot revealed how truly menacing the genre could be.

3. Deftones

Since their formation in 1988, Deftones didn’t give much credence to genre. They still offered a lot to nü metal, though, particularly with 1995’s Adrenaline and 1997’s Around The Fur. Both albums demonstrated technical riffs, dark vocals, and a hip-hop bent. Rather than follow that blueprint, though, Deftones transcended those roots in favor of a wider, more imaginative genre spectrum. The experimentalism paid off, as 2000’s White Pony became their landmark record, highlighting their own form of alternative metal with lush atmospherics.

2. Linkin Park

Linkin Park’s fusion of hip-hop, metal, and electronica launched them into the stratosphere. Their 2000 debut record, Hybrid Theory, would go on to become one of the biggest rock blockbusters of the 21st century, finding a balance between heavy music and hip-hop that made them global stars. Though the band never officially disbanded following the death of their beloved vocalist Chester Bennington, founding member Mike Shinoda has said that they have no plans for new music. Regardless, they’ve certainly left behind a tremendous legacy.

1. Korn

Korn’s twisted self-titled debut, which turns 30 next year, started a revolution. Jonathan Davis’ ferocious delivery, overtop industrial instrumentals with hip-hop beats, pioneered a sound like no other. Nearly three decades and 14 studio albums later, their dark vision has endured. “We’re always going to persevere,” Jonathan Davis told AP in 2022 as part of an oral history. “To be this many albums deep is a huge feat.”

The festival takes place May 13 at Las Vegas Festival Grounds, the same venue as When We Were Young. The bill includes many acts that shaped the genre throughout the ’90s and early 2000s, such as Korn, Deftones and System of a Down. Evanescence, Incubus, Turnstile, Flyleaf (with original vocalist Lacey Sturm), 100 gecs, HEALTH and plenty more are also set to play at the fest.

Read more: 11 most underrated nü-metal bands that shaped a generation

General admission tickets start at $249.99, with GA+ and VIP options available as well.

You can grab presale tickets Nov. 11 at 10 a.m. PT by signing up here. General public tickets are available Nov. 11 at 2 p.m. PT. For more information, visit the festival’s website.

Check out the incredible lineup below.

BLACKPINK announce the Born Pink North America and Europe tour

K-pop superstars BLACKPINK will release their highly anticipated sophomore album Born Pink Sept. 16. To celebrate, they’ll embark on a headlining tour of stadiums and arenas across North America and Europe. The tour comes on the heels of the success of the album’s lead single “Pink Venom,” which has reached monumental heights by breaking several records. You can purchase tickets when they go on sale Sept. 16 here. 

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Loathe to perform I Let It in and It Took Everything in its entirety

U.K.-based progressive-metal titans Loathe will return to the U.S. and Canada this November to perform their breakout album I Let It in and It Took Everything in its entirety with a stacked lineup of emerging artists. British post-hardcore revivalists Static Dress will join them, performing in North America for the first time ever. Additionally, special guests include the experimental nü-metal group Omerta and Japanese industrial-metal newcomers Paledusk. 

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Modest Mouse celebrate 25 years of The Lonesome Crowded West with anniversary tour

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 25 years since indie-rock darlings Modest Mouse released their beloved sophomore album The Lonesome Crowded West. The record was instrumental in the band’s gradual ascension to fame, which contained a more raw emo sound (“Heart Cooks Brain,” “Polar Opposites”), leaving a lasting influence on future generations of alternative artists. Twenty-five years later, the band will embark on an anniversary tour where they’ll perform the record in its entirety. Additionally, the band have announced a special-edition picture disc repress of the classic album, which can be purchased on each date of the tour. The tour kicks off Nov. 18 in Missoula, Montana, with tickets going on sale Sept. 9.

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Mercyful Fate summon their first North American tour in 20 years 

Danish black-metal legends Mercyful Fate will return to North America for their first headlining tour in 20 years. The group, formed in 1981 by the enigmatic and captivating frontman King Diamond, are set to bring their theatrical performances stateside to several different cities across the U.S. and Canada. Mercyful Fate have recently been playing several high-profile festivals across Europe, where they’ve been testing out new material from their long-awaited follow-up to 1999’s 9, so fans should expect some pleasant surprises on this run. German metal mainstays Kreator and Cleaveland-based solo thrash virtuoso Midnight will support. Tickets go on sale Sept. 9 here.

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TITUS is an artist dead set on capturing the magic of turn-of-the-millennium music. Not content to merely repackage his nostalgia, TITUS blends the addictive guitar hooks of Y2K pop punk with the indomitable swagger of late aughts hip-hop. All the while, he remains true to himself, whether that means going the extra mile to be real on his tracks or taking shots at music industry pet peeves. Either way, TITUS makes damn good music, and he’s unapologetically sincere while doing so.

How did you get into making music?

Honestly, just being a super fan of a few bands and artists really pushed me to make music when I was in high school. This is when home studios were becoming more accessible for amateurs, so I was able to just buy a microphone and start recording vocals. I still engineer my own vocal to this day. I was a really big fan of Senses Fail, blink, Lil Wayne and thousands of other bands during that time as well. Linkin Park was another big one for me.

What do you hope people’s first impressions of you are when they listen to your music? 

I hope they identify with the emotion that I put into my songs because I’m pretty honest on a lot of my songs.

What were some of your sonic and lyrical inspirations when you were making the LOST VALLEY EP?

LOST VALLEY is definitely somewhat blink-inspired. That’s before I started screaming a little bit more on records. There’s an obvious rap influence there. There’s a little bit of Juice WRLD, probably a little bit of a Nirvana, some “Miss Misery.” That’s really what I was going for. Just a darker-sounding, grunge-leaning record, but not grunge. And probably a little bit of MGK.

What inspired the pivot from hip-hop to your current sound?

Really, the bigger picture there is really just my influences growing up. I’m a product of divorce and also biracial, so I have two vastly different experiences simultaneously throughout my life, just with my particular sets of friends who didn’t really hang out together. Also, no family get-togethers and music and influences there. I always listened to rap music my entire life, and I’ve always also listened to rock music, but not necessarily in the same setting. I grew up during what I would say was the golden era of emo and pop punk with My Chemical Romance and the Starting Line and Senses Fail.

We just had so many bands on the radio, and rock seemed to be dominating the charts and then also rap, which was huge for me too. So starting with Biggie and getting into Juice WRLD and Dipset, which was a huge local influence on me. Wayne because there was a point where I was such a big fan of the carelessness and effortlessness of his freestyles and how easily it seems melodies came to him. Then he did his take on a rock album called Rebirth. That was really one of my favorite Wayne albums, if not the favorite, because it was something I had always wanted to do. So although I started rapping, I eventually would go on to experiment with other genres and then eventually come back to rock music.

What was it like working with Billy Martin?

It was honestly really cool because I’ve just been chasing my nostalgia the last couple of years. So just the chance to work with someone who I listened to growing up still doesn’t feel real. I’m even more excited that we got a record that we pretty much jelled on in the first go.

Are there any other big collabs that you want to make happen soon? 

I’m really adamant about wanting to collab with Senses Fail because From the Depths of Dreams is one of the most influential albums for me at a time when I was smoking and experiencing grief and trauma. I just really identify with that album. Plus, they’re from New Jersey, so I just really feel like that would be a big thing for me personally.

You posted a TikTok a little bit ago where someone sent you a DM about “COOL.” Does that person play any role in the inspiration of the song, or is it someone hitting you up for no reason? 

That’s just the dynamic of the song. The decision to make this song really came from my frustration as an artist in the industry. There’s sometimes an “I’m better than you” attitude or a pretentious attitude that other artists have for no reason. I really got so sick of it, and I was like, “I’m just going to make a diss song to every cool LA artist who wants to work with me but is just too cool to just embrace that.” I got so frustrated with people being so fake, and so I made that record. I’m not surprised that it’s also a favorite among artists, those same people. So on the random DMs and stuff like that, I’m not surprised that people think I’m talking specifically to them. Maybe it’s their own insecurities, or maybe it is about them.

Did you start to experience that more when you went out to LA, or has that always been the case?

Yeah, for sure. Actually, to be specific, I had resisted being on TikTok for a long time when I decided that I really had nothing to lose at that point. I was going to promote LOST VALLEY, and I started to get a lot of attention on there pretty quickly. I met a lot of artists on TikTok, and I would have relationships with them. Of course, they’re all in LA, and a bunch of them wanted to work on songs. I went out there, and all these people who were hitting me up to do sessions just ghosted me, and then I would see those people at the same places I would be at after.

The energy was so different and frustrating at first. I tried to ignore it, and it just kept happening every time I would take a trip out there. So I was like, “I’m just going to stick to the kind of people that I like fuck with on a personal level.” I don’t really have this undying need to work with people over clout. I don’t do that. I just make music that is really therapeutic to me and to other people that I like, and I’m on my own island for that reason. 

Right now you’ve got two EPs under your belt. When are you looking to do a full-length release?

I haven’t really sat down and thought about a full-length album yet. I’m more focused on building my base and getting more people to hear the songs that I have put out and releasing EPs, as they all encompass a point of time in my life. So this one specifically coming up is huge for me because there is growth from LOST VALLEY, but there’s also a ton of pain and new trauma with my mom passing in the middle of it. In the future, I definitely will do a full-length, although I’m not sure when. 

I’m sorry to hear that. It seems like this project that’s coming out takes a lot of inspiration from heartbreak or bad relationships. Do you have any advice for readers on that topic?

Yes, I do, and a lot of it is from my own experience. It’s really just honesty. Fully encompassing honesty. I mean, with your activities, with your emotions, with what you’re thinking. And the more someone feels like they know you, the easier it is for them to trust you, and the easier it is to share that trust in my opinion. So, communicate and be honest, even if honesty hurts. 

FOR FANS OF: Linkin Park, LiL Lotus, Lil Wayne

SONG RECOMMENDATION: “Cool” feat. Billy Martin

As we all know, pop-punk rose to mainstream popularity in the early 2000s bringing with it a thriving genre of artists penning youthful, and emotionally transparent material that was the soundtrack to first loves, first breakups and the joys of being young. However, at the same time that this genre was exploding, there was another section of music that was experiencing a major moment in pop culture: nü-metal.

Read more: What does emo really mean? The story of the genre in 11 songs

While guitar-based music was having its day in the sun, nü metal was developing through an even darker lens that incorporated heavier elements and vastly more intense subject matter. With breakthrough artists ranging from Slipknot, Korn, Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park, mainstream music had never sounded more visceral, angry and artistically unsettling. The genre was the perfect recipe for a generation unsure of what the future would hold. The lyrics captured existential dread and darker tones in ways that mainstream music wouldn’t touch on at the time.

Eventually, nü metal became oversaturated, as many genres do once the mainstream catches on and industry players rush to sign any artist who relatively fits the criteria. In many ways, nü metal became somewhat of a caricature of itself to the industry and media tastemakers. That would lead the genre to be referred to with negative connotations. By the mid-2000s, nü metal’s legacy was unfairly tainted and largely left behind with the exception of major acts. 

Read more: “People like listening to me being horribly in pain”: the oral history of Korn

Thankfully, the history of nü metal doesn’t end here. The legions of fans who grew up adoring the music and the genre’s many acts have now grown up, taken their love for the genre and given it new life. Many of these fans have gone on to become the very media and industry tastemakers who would once denounce the genre, and have begun to restore the legacy and impact of this musical movement. Beyond that, many grew up and formed their own musical projects that are heavily inspired by the genre’s glory years. These modern bands are once again pushing the boundaries of heavy music to even more exciting places.

We can attribute this to a few things: nostalgia, technological advancements in recording and a genre-fluid world. In the 2020s alone, we have seen the rise of Spiritbox, Ocean Grove, Vein.Fm and Tetrarch wearing their love for nü metal on their sleeves proudly, and most definitely loudly, to monumental success. Even far more seasoned acts such as Bring Me The Horizon and Underoath have begun to incorporate nü-metal elements that have only increased their accessibility and reach ever since. That being said, there is still a stigma behind the genre’s name, but slowly, history is being rewritten.

Read more: 10 bands who are crushing all the stereotypes you’ve heard about nü metal

With a revival of nü metal on its way, we’re looking back at the genre’s most underrated bands. Chances are, you will discover some great music in the process.

Nothingface

Washington, D.C.’s Nothingface were truly special. The band’s early material combined the best elements of post-grunge and hardcore to form a unique blend of nü metal, but it wasn’t until their 2003 major-label debut, Skeletons, that they found their sound. The songs were chock-full of Alice in Chains-esque harmonies, pop sensibilities, politically driven messages and angular guitar riffs.

Just as the band were beginning to pick up mainstream airplay on MTV and Fuse, they disbanded and would never reunite. Guitarist Tom Maxwell would later go on to join hard-rock supergroup Hellyeah, which featured the late Vinnie Paul from Pantera and Chad Gray of nü-metal heavy hitters Mudvayne. Tragically, the band’s enigmatic frontman Matt Holt tragically passed away at the age of 39 due to a degenerative illness but has left behind an incredible collection of music that paved the way for many artists.

Kittie

Kittie are hands down the most badass group on this list. Forming in 1996 when each of the band’s members ranged from 14-17 years old, Kittie exploded onto the nü-metal circuit with their signature brand of unapologetic and brutal songs. Kittie, who have consistently remained an all-female group, took on a largely male-dominated music scene and eviscerated the competition. Just watch the band perform at Ozzfest 2000 to a sea of patrons. It’s remarkable to witness a group of strong, young musicians not only outplaying their peers but sounding heavier than those who were nearly double their age at the time.

The group experienced the most mainstream attention with their debut album, Spit. However, Kittie expanded their sound to many different genres over the years. Frontwoman/guitarist Morgan Lander, along with drummer and sister Mercedes Lander, have remained as the core original members, but have reunited as recently as 2017 with several of the band’s prominent players for select shows and an incredible retrospective documentary. The reunion shows and documentary also paid tribute to the band’s late bassist Trish Doan, who tragically passed away at the age of 31 in 2017. Now in 2022, Kittie will be playing all three dates of the When We Were Young festival, their first performances in nearly five years. 

Taproot

Taproot were certainly not underrated in the early 2000s when the band rose to prominence, largely due to the strength of their hit single “Poem.” However, the band aren’t referenced as much as they should be as of late. Taproot’s finest material combined elements of hip-hop, rock, funk and distinct vocal deliveries. Stephen Richards’ inflections and melodies are admittedly an acquired taste for some. However, there has yet to be a vocalist who can emulate his distinct style. After a series of successful albums and radio singles, the band eventually became more niche with a small-but-dedicated fanbase. Taproot are still active to this day and are working on their long-awaited seventh studio album.

TRUSTcompany

Perhaps the most underrated band on this list is none other than TRUSTcompany. In 2002, the group released their incredible debut album, The Lonely Position of Neutral. The record hit gold-selling status shortly after its release, driven by a collection of hard-hitting singles that incorporated a more alternative and shoegaze approach to nü metal. You can hear the band’s lasting influence in modern groups such as My Ticket Home and Heavenward, who have made notable contributions to the modern post-grunge revival that borrows from the roots of this era.

Cold

Cold could have easily been one of the biggest crossover acts from the nü-metal era. Propelled to mainstream stardom briefly in 2003 with their record Year of the Spider, the band saw daily airplay on MTV with the infectious single “Stupid Girl.” In case you ever wanted to see an example of a glitch in the simulation, the song was co-written by Rivers Cuomo from Weezer, and his influence and style are apparent in every note. Cold never scored another major hit after this release, but they’re now highly regarded for their diverse contributions.

Ill Niño

New Jersey rockers Ill Niño offered a breath of fresh air to the genre. At one point, the band were a six-piece that featured a bongo player. Yes, you read that right. For a band that sold over a million copies of their records, you wouldn’t think they would be underrated. Sadly, you don’t hear enough about this band, though they’re still active, albeit with a largely augmented lineup. The band’s biggest breakthrough single was “How Can I Live,” which was chosen as the lead single for the criminally underrated horror film Freddy Vs. Jason. Haven’t heard the soundtrack to this incredibly campy and over-the-top horror film? Please drop everything you’re doing because it’s chock-full of nü-metal bangers like this. 

Spineshank

What’s there left to say other than that Spineshank knew how to write killer songs? The Los Angeles-based band, who are also on the Freddy Vs. Jason soundtrack, penned urgent songs that had the industrial tinge of Static-X and the complex vocal melodies and arrangements of Deftones. The band were so good that “Smothered” was nominated for Best Metal Performance at the 2004 Grammy awards. The band have been largely inactive since 2012. But we should all pour one out for one of the greatest bands to do this genre justice.

Motograter

Did you know that Five Finger Death Punch’s frontman Ivan Moody had a prominent and genre-defining nü-metal project before becoming a platinum-selling household name? Admittedly, it was pretty amazing. Motograter were undoubtedly the strangest yet captivating band to grace nü metal.

Motograter’s name comes from a signature instrument that they created specifically for the band, made out of industrial materials, guitar and bass strings. It was then played with drum sticks to create a visceral and percussive bass tone. Moody departed the band shortly after their debut self-titled album, but the record’s impact lives on. The band have reunited several times over the last 15 years with new lineups, which included new material in 2017. Sadly, though, we’ve never seen a proper full-scale reunion of the band. 

Coal Chamber

Coal Chamber were the full package. Not only did they create a near-perfect representation of what nü metal embodied, but they had an incredible stage presence. Their artistic aesthetic carried over with every album cover, T-shirt design and music video. Led by frontman Dez Fafara, Coal Chamber possessed some of the most sinister vocals in the nü-metal circuit at the time, paired with classic down-tuned guitars and slap basslines. The band ceased operations in 2003 after releasing three records before reuniting for an album in 2015. Vocalist Fafara has gone on to front the metal band DevilDriver. He’s also found success running his own music management company with his wife, Anahstasia, called The Oracle, which represents bands such as Cradle of Filth and Jinjer.

Adema

If the city of Bakersfield, California, sounds familiar, it’s because it’s the hometown of nü-metal legends Korn. However, not only are Adema from this city just north of Los Angeles, but singer Mark Chavez is the half-brother of Korn vocalist Jonathan Davis. Fear not, Adema have their own signature sound. Their self-titled debut was certified gold and spawned several successful singles and movie placements. Adema are still active to this day with an augmented lineup that no longer features Chavez on lead vocals. Chances are, any nü-metal purist will tell you that Adema had the recipe for the genre on lock.

Sevendust

Sevendust are the creme de la creme of nü metal and pioneers in their own right. Consider frontman Lajon Witherspoon’s angelic vocal melodies, paired with his controlled yet chaotic inflections. There’s also guitarist Clint Lowery’s uncanny ability to write massive rock songs with guitar virtuosos hooks. Ultimately, Sevendust have remained a powerhouse with for nearly three decades. The band are a monumental success with three gold-selling records, a Grammy nomination and a massively dedicated fanbase. However, the band aren’t brought up in conversation nearly enough when the genre is historicized. Sevendust have created music that’s entirely their own, songs that can stand up against any of the genre’s major players.

In addition, Shinigami is announcing his forthcoming EP bioMACHiNA. The release is due April 22 in partnership with Version III.

Read more: “People like listening to me being horribly in pain”: the oral history of Korn

Shinigami is the project of Gianni Veloz. Veloz’s music has been a presence in the underground alternative movement, something shaped by his place in the emo SoundCloud movement and his status as an independent musician. Pulling freely from rock, hip hop, post-hardcore and other genres, Shinigami also inflects his music with his influences from video games and anime. (Shinigami is a term for gods or supernatural spirits in Japanese culture and folklore, and also are characters in popular anime such as Bleach and Death Note.)

Produced by Martin, bioMACHiNA closes Shinigami’s net, narrowing the themes and the music to fit a specific artistic vision. The project draws inspiration from a wide range of sources from Shinigami’s childhood: nü metal, Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance and the Halo franchise. Shinigami specifically acknowledges his love of ‘90s and 2000s bands such as System Of A Down and Mudvayne, a sentiment shared by Martin.

Read more: Rob Zombie shares a first look at legendary home from ‘The Munsters’ reboot

“Rampage” and its video are a perfect showcase for the new project. The song builds on the grinding, minimalist guitar riffs that are the hallmark of classic nü metal. Martin’s production helps the track to have the power of that genre, and also inflects the track with a cybernetic hue that captures the bio-mechanical feel of sci-fi games like Halo.

Fittingly, the song comes with an animated visual that gives off the action-packed feel of ‘90s and 2000s gaming. The story of the video is complex, following from the broader narrative of bioMACHiNA.

The record tells the story of a cybernetic soldier who is fighting for his humanity after being infected by a parasitic nanovirus. The video includes elements of the narrative, seeing the EP’s lead character battling against hordes of soldiers and “boss” type enemies who reflect the distinctive feel of Metal Gear Solid’s greatest antagonists.

Read more: Incubus announce tour featuring Sublime With Rome and the Aquadolls

Shinigami spoke about the vision behind the new project as well as the cinematic quality of the narrative behind it.

“With this project, I really wanted to focus on one theme throughout rather than dance between various styles and subject matter like I’ve done in the past,” Shinigami says. “The goal was to create something that would clearly paint an image in the listener’s head, like listening to a movie. I like the idea that everyone will see the movie a little different.”

With “Rampage,” Shinigami offers something of a trailer for the upcoming movie: a unique musical and visual world that is bioMACHiNA.

Watch the “Rampage” video below.

He holds up the seven-inch promo Korn put out in Europe and the U.S. to herald the release of their 1994 self-titled debut album, which introduced the world to their unique cocktail of tortured lyricism, downtuned riffs and clicky, low-end bass — kick-starting the nü-metal explosion in the process. The promo’s white sleeve is in mint condition and features the iconic logo the young Davis hurriedly scrawled in crayon as a visual signifier for those early shows in and around their native Bakersfield, California. 

Read more: Rob Zombie shares a first look at legendary home from ‘The Munsters’ reboot

And while that emblem, with its backward “R,” has remained the same over the years, its ubiquity has not. It’s gone from being slapped on flyers and road signs to the front of the 40-million-plus records the band have sold to date and the enormous coffee cup Davis, who’s been sober since the age of 28, is drinking from. It’s a Simple Modern tumbler, to be precise — 24 oz. and stainless steel — and the perfect receptacle from which to drink Korn Koffee, available, at the time of writing, in dark and “wired” roast varieties. There’s no denying the Korn machine is a juggernaut.

The large bottle of hand sanitizer on the singer’s desk, meanwhile, is symbolic of the elements that have tried to derail said juggernaut over the years. Most recently, it was the case of  COVID-19 with which Davis struggled from the lingering aftereffects, resulting in him performing from a throne onstage, the use of oxygen tanks and the cancellation of several shows in support of Korn’s 13th album, The Nothing. It was the continuation of an incredibly challenging period.

The Nothing was made in response to two painful losses, the deaths of Davis’ mother and his estranged wife, Deven, the mother of two of his children, and is undoubtedly the band’s darkest to date. “It was me grieving and accepting and healing from that,” he says of its relationship to its follow-up, Requiem, released this February. “After that process [on The Nothing], I’m starting out my new life and my new me.”

Read more: 20 albums that paved the way for alternative as we know it

Requiem is indeed the sound of a band three decades into their career continuing to find inventive ways to express themselves. All the hallmarks are still there, of course, but its words and bountiful melodies are steeped in a sense of hope — albeit Korn’s pessimistic version of it. They’re not standing still, either; during the course of this upbeat trawl through the band’s story, Davis reveals that he and guitarists James “Munky” Shaffer and Brian “Head” Welch, and drummer Ray Luzier, are already working on record No. 15. And while founding bassist Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu remains on hiatus, the stresses of the past few years causing him “to fall back on some of [his] bad habits,” according to his statement last June, Korn endure. 

“We’re always going to persevere,” Davis says. “To be this many albums deep is a huge feat.”

Requiem is a powerful word. What does it refer to in the context of this record, and how does it fit in with its overall concept?

For me, it was about [saying] goodbye to the old and hello to the new. A “Requiem” is a thing for the dead, which is why I liked it so much. It’s out of respect for all of the people we lost throughout the pandemic — there was so much death going on. There were so many different meanings going on, and I just liked the way it sounded. The vibe just seemed right.

On the whole, Requiem finds Korn in a more positive place. It’s dark and heavy, but unlike previous outings, it seems to suggest things can get better. Did you ever imagine you’d arrive at the collective headspace to make a record like this?

No, I never thought in a million years I’d be able to. I thought I’d be stuck in that hole forever. But a lot of things changed for me… all of these opportunities opened up for me… a lot of bad shit went away and out of my life. That put me in a different place — other than the fact the world likes to fuck with me. The moment I finally get happy and get to tour and do the things I like, I get slapped across the face with a fucking virus that takes the world out.

But, with that, you just make the best you can out of the situation, and with us, we took time to write. Then we got the record done and finally get to go on tour, and nine days later, I get fucking sick. I had to do a whole tour where I could barely walk from the bus to the chair. I got through it, and it was amazing, but the whole thing was fucked up.

So, too, were Korn’s early records, made with producer Ross Robinson. Do you think the confrontational way he worked with you to obtain the rawest performances possible would wash with young bands starting out today? 

I hope that young bands would get Ross because you’ve got to go through the Ross Robinson thing as an initiation into rock ’n’ roll. I don’t care about cancel culture or any of that shit. This guy is real and a sadist and likes to see people hurt to get those performances out of them. And you know what? More power to him. Let’s be honest: A lot of people like listening to me being fucking horribly in pain. At that point in time, I was in a very dark spot, but by doing that and putting it out, a lot of people got some kind of relief out of it, so it’s a good thing.

How does it feel 30 years on to see the band’s logo, which you created, on everything from T-shirts to posters to bags of coffee?

It trips me out that something I did has blown up so big. It’s the same thing with lyrics — there wasn’t a lot of thought put into it; it was just like magic that came from someplace else. I did it, boom, there you go! There’s not a lot of overthinking going on. Ross taught me early in our career that overthinking things can really ruin songs. You’ve got to go with your gut and trust your gut. I think on [Requiem], that’s what I did.

Actors talk about having their most famous lines shouted at them in the street. When was the last time someone shouted “Are you ready?” to you? Did you feel at the time that those words, the first from the first track on your first record, were the gateway to something very special?

I had no clue. Whenever I walk down the street, if someone notices me, they’ll shout [adopts iconic JD growl], “Arrrrrre you ready?” And I’m like, “Oh god, here we go!” But I had no idea [what would happen back then]. That’s the magic — how it blows up. It comes from this place of making art, and then all of a sudden, the whole world knows, and then you’re known for that fucking line. It blows my mind.

Which bands you toured with back in the day taught you the most?

My favorite bands to tour with were Ozzy and Metallica. Metallica treated us so nicely. There was no bullshit, and they treated us with the utmost respect. When we were coming up on our first tours, bands treated us like shit. They’d take our fucking catering and our dressing room, telling us to get the fuck out. There were a lot of bands, and I’m not going to name names, who were really shady to us. When I got my first gold record [while on tour], Sharon and Ozzy wheeled in a cooler of champagne and presented me with the record, which was the classiest shit.

When Korn’s success exploded, did you feel you were in a difficult position? Your painful experiences fueled the lyrics, and people wanted more and more music from the band. Did you feel any pressure for emotional bloodletting to keep up with demand? 

Maybe after the first record [1994’s Korn], when we went into [1996’s] Life Is Peachy and it was rushed, I started thinking that, but I can’t make up the emotions I have. I can’t make up that angst — you can tell — so I didn’t ever really think about it. When I go into the studio, I shut myself off and try not to beat myself up. That’s one of the beautiful things about writing [the lyrics] and walking away. I’ve seen people beat themselves up — “we’ve got to do this, we’ve got to do that” — but you’ve got to trust in yourself and your ability and just go.

What’s the one thing you miss most about Korn being a young, hungry band that you can’t get back now?

My old fucking body! Can’t I have my 23-year-old fucking body, where I don’t hurt like I do now when I play? And I wouldn’t drink. I could just go hard and not be hurt. I miss that — and that’s the only thing because the rest of it was all bullshit. It was fun, don’t get me wrong. I had the time of my fucking life being a crazy, drunk rock star and all that. That shit was amazing, but it’s good that I got it out of my system early, and I got [sober] at 28 because I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

The band quickly embraced new developments. For instance, you had a website two years before The New York Times had one. Were you well advised or listening to your fans about the ways in which they wanted to interact with you?

I’m a nerd and was into technology — and we listened to our managers. We took advantage of the internet really early. On Life Is Peachy, we did “Korn Mangling The Web,” where we partnered with this new company called QuickTime, and you could take your mouse and look around Indigo Ranch, the [now defunct Malibu] studio where we made [the record]. We were in TIME Magazine because of that.

Then after that, on [third album] Follow The Leader, we did the “Korn After School Specials” once a week, which was like a TV show. We had this chatroom, that was like the metaverse, where everyone had their own avatar and chat. Fans would wait for hours to see if a band member would come in — if you had a little asterisk by your name, it meant you were a band member and a god in that realm. As things went on, we got away from that and lost our way, but that has to do with managers and all this other shit. But we’re going to start embracing the new technology and doing things within that realm again soon.

Returning to your past once more, 2022 marks 20 years since the release of Korn’s fifth album, Untouchables. What do you see the record’s legacy for the band as?

It is the dopest record, sonically. It is my favorite Korn record because of the amount of work we put into it, what I learned and getting to work with my favorite producer, Michael Beinhorn. Everything that went into that record was magic, and if you listen to it today, I’ve always said it, it’s the fucking heavy-metal version of Steely Dan’s [sixth album, 1977’s] Aja. If you put Untouchables on, it’s just massive. It was the first 96kHz recording at the time. It was way ahead of its time.

Retrospectives of the album suggest there were tensions within the ranks of the band. Was that purely personal stuff, or was anyone opposed to its direction?

We were in Arizona and in four houses. Me and David [Silveria, former Korn drummer] were in one house. Then there was a studio house where we would write. Then there was Munky and Head, and Fieldy had a house. There was all kinds of craziness going on, parties and other nutty shit, so I would lock myself in my bedroom with Beinhorn, and every night when everyone was partying, me, the sober guy, would sit writing. I wrote “Hollow Life” and a bunch of songs on that record, working while those motherfuckers got fucked up.

It was fun. Then we’d all get together and sit down in this basement of this other house and write music. It took a year to write and another year to record it. And then another four months for me to do vocals because I went to Canada for a little bit, where I rented this house and turned it into a studio, and I did a couple of songs there, but the vibe wasn’t right, so I left and I went back to L.A. There was so much money spent on it. It was the pinnacle of our career — we were riding high.

You mentioned the amount spent on Untouchables. The recording costs were astronomical…

That was Fieldy just opening his fucking mouth, not knowing what the fuck he was talking about! Yes, it cost $4 million, but do you know why? Maybe the record cost $1 million, which was normal at that time, but the other $3 million was spent because our fucking band insisted that we keep our entire road crew on retainer for fucking two years! And there you go — that’s where the money went. So our crew got to kick back for two years and not do shit and got full pay. That was us not being good businessmen.

On your sixth album, 2003’s Take A Look In The Mirror, you famously featured the single “Y’All Want A Single,” which rallied against the request you were getting for more obvious, ready-made hits. It must have been difficult, a decade into your career, to have your creative judgment questioned like that.

It wasn’t really the label; it was our management. They’d say, “You guys, we’ve got to do the single — I’m not hearing the single.” We were working on that song, and I just said, “Y’all want a single, say fuck that.” It was a joke, and we were going to record just to give to our managers because we’d always fuck with them like that… and they loved it! It became a fucking single. It was this super punk-rock thing. It’s a great song — everybody loves that song.

Seventh album See You On The Other Side was the first record you made following the departure of Head. Did you feel lost creatively, or did you quickly close ranks to give the impression that everything was fine?

We quickly closed ranks, and we were lost with him leaving. But at the time when he was around [in the band], he wasn’t really helpful because he was so fucked up. He was lost, and it was hard to get him to concentrate and do things. I’m glad that he left… I was pissed because I wanted him to be healthy and alive. But yeah, we were scared. It all fell on Munky, and he had to bear the pressure of writing all the riffs. That’s when we got together with [writing and production team] The Matrix and Atticus Ross. And it all worked out.

Every Korn fan will have their preferred and less preferred moments, as will you. What do you consider to be Korn’s lowest moment, creatively?

Probably [ninth album, 2010’s] Korn III. That’s when we had Ross [Robinson] come back, and we were trying to capture something that shouldn’t have been captured because those were our young years. Ross has even told me [since] that he had another project going on, and he shouldn’t have pushed me so hard. Don’t get me wrong, I like the record — I love the song “Oildale” — but it just didn’t feel right. I think that was the lowest point for us. That’s why we did The Path Of Totality right after that because we needed to do something completely different.

At the time of The Path Of Totality’s release, you described it as “possibly the most well-proportioned Korn album of all time.” What did you mean by that?

I have no idea — sometimes I say shit, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying! I just think it was really Korn-style. When we write, we try to innovate and do things differently. But doing that record was the biggest risk we ever took. And hey man, it paid off. It’s dated itself because that was when dubstep was at a certain point, early on, but the genre’s still doing great. My son Nathan has got a huge fucking band called Hi I’m Ghost, and right now, he’s on tour doing it. [That record] spawned him getting into electronic music, and now he’s killing it.

Fieldy is on hiatus from the band, and David left many years ago. There is always an appetite with popular bands to regroup with their classic or original lineup, but is that something you have any appetite for?

Not really. I love David and wish the best for him, but he left. And Ray [Luzier] has been in the band longer than David ever was. He’s a joy to play with. I’m not going to say never — who knows? — but right now, everything’s good.

You’re already working on your 15th album. At this stage in your career and relationships, what conversations do you have going into a new record? 

We think, “How are we going to beat the last one?” I’m not going to beat The Nothing for intensity or darkness. There’s no fucking way, so how are we going to beat it? We have to come at it from a different way. That’s the fun — that’s the puzzle.

Ahead of the band’s new album, guitarist Brian “Head” Welch spoke to Metal Hammer about the band’s relationship to nü metal. While they are widely considered to be founders of the genre, Welch expressed a mixture of pride and bemusement about their place in rock history.

“We’re proud to be seen as scene elders,” Welch says. “It’s funny, every band that would be associated with nü metal never liked that title, because we never gave that tag to ourselves, it was whoever made it up, you know? When you’re in a band, you want to call the shots, you want to be In charge of your branding, and it was someone else who branded us that. And so we were like, No, that’s not cool. So we didn’t like it.”

Read more: Korn release “Forgotten” after dropping a series of hidden clues

Welch did speak positively about their experiences coming up in that period of rock.

“And, you know, the nü-metal era was a fun time,” Welch continues. “I’ll tell you what, you know, these type of shows, there were no boring shows. People can say all they want about nü metal, or whatever, but you come to a Korn show, you’re going to see energy, you’re going to see a party, and it’s going to be a fun time. Even as we’re getting older, it’s still just a rush, every show. We love our fans, we love the energy, and we’re grateful for what we created.”

Korn also announced a Requiem Mass to celebrate their new album and honor the people we have lost. The event is scheduled for 8 p.m. PST on Feb. 3 at the Hollywood United Methodist Church, but it will also be streamed live on YouTube.

Listen to Korn‘s “Lost In The Grandeur” below.

Today’s most important meal consists of Potato Smiles, eaten in the comfort of the West Hollywood Airbnb the band have been in for the past week, while the rest of the quintet — keyboardist Jordan Fish, guitarist Lee Malia, bassist Matt Kean and drummer Matt Nicholls — go about their business. In a corner of a kitchen decorated by the kind of broadly appealing block color artwork you expect from a property with a revolving door of guests, Sykes sits, the youngest-looking 35-year-old you’re likely to meet, an impish grin passing his lips. 

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He’s got every reason to feel happy. During their time in La La Land, Bring Me The Horizon have played an intimate show at the legendary Whisky A Go Go venue, prior to stepping out as main support to Slipknot at the Californian installment of Knotfest. “If someone would have told me, ‘You’ll be supporting Slipknot in America one day, and [Slipknot frontman] Corey [Taylor] is going to tell you how much he likes your band,’ I’d never have believed it,” Sykes admits, his teenage self having marveled at the metal titans from the mosh pit at England’s Leeds Festival back in 2002, beginning the kind of story arc movies would be made of, if it didn’t all seem so outlandish.

Other bands have been central to the life of Bring Me The Horizon, of course. Sykes had no interest in music until he heard the sounds of Linkin Park. He would later weep when he once picked up a British music magazine and saw that he’d been (partially) photographed at one of their concerts. In 2017, of course, Sykes would have the “bittersweet” honor of performing at the memorial concert for singer Chester Bennington, three months after his death, alongside members of Avenged Sevenfold, blink-182, Korn and System Of A Down. 

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But it is Slipknot that today provide the closest point of comparison with Bring Me The Horizon. Both bands are wholly unlikely success stories, purveyors of seemingly uncommercial heavy music possessing an undeniable kernel of accessibility. Both have made era-defining records and resultantly transcended the scenes in which they started out. And both have empires that encompass various other business interests; Sykes owns both his clothing line Drop Dead, represented by the gnarly T-shirt adorned with a death-metal font that he wears today, and an 100% vegan bar and street food kitchen in the band’s native Sheffield, where a “Syko” burger with a charcoal bun will set you back 15 bucks.

And while Slipknot have their traveling extravaganza Knotfest, in the days following this interview, BMTH will announce details of their own festival in Malta for 2022, a four-day event with a lineup curated by the band, featuring live performances, pool parties and club nights. 

“You wouldn’t be surprised if it had been someone’s genius plan,” Sykes says of Slipknot, who went from sniffing dead crows in jars in their native Iowa to the sweet smell of success. “But they’re really just a bunch of dudes who got together and did stuff they thought was cool — wearing masks and boiler suits, making insanely heavy music. I know they weren’t overthinking it when they did it; it all came together automatically.” 

Bring Me The Horizon certainly didn’t have any kind of grand plan when they started out in Sheffield in 2004. In fact, Sykes only started thinking longer term about what they were doing to have an answer to the question, “Where do you see the band in five years?” that interviewers would incessantly ask him. 

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“Maybe a couple of years ago, I would have taken something like this in my stride, whereas now, I can see how trippy it is,” Sykes reflects of sharing a giant stage with heroes who have become contemporaries. It’s capped off a year beset by challenges and replete with accomplishments, coalescing to give Sykes a renewed appreciation of what his band have achieved. That includes their most recent music, POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR, which though released at the tail end of last year, has changed its creators and the world in 2021 — cementing BMTH’s place as a once-in-a-generation success story.

If you want to make Oli Sykes tongue-tied, ask him to appraise the new Limp Bizkit album, STILL SUCKS, their first since Gold Cobra a decade earlier. Back when the long-gestating record was still going by the name Stampede Of The Disco Elephants, Sykes and keyboardist Jordan Fish, having earned themselves wunderkind status in the industry, had been invited to provide young ears and a fresh perspective to the proceedings. It had been believed that pairing of the nü-metal stalwarts and the plucky lifelong fans could be fruitful. Unfortunately, that belief was misplaced. 

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BMTH certainly practiced what they preached with POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR, which, according to Fish, had a clear brief from the get-go. “We wanted to make a nü-metal-inspired album with a modern twist,” he explains of a mission that he believes took the band full circle.

“We’ve been through ups and downs in every sense. [We’ve] played shows that were really big, and we’ve been back and played shows that were not so big. We’ve had albums that were really well received [critically] and didn’t do so well [commercially], and we’ve had albums that weren’t so [well] received [critically] and did really well [commercially]. It’s just the right time now. We’ve been through lots of phases.”

“We’ve almost been ashamed of what we really are [musically], by picking awkward support acts for [touring] bills or choosing artwork that you wouldn’t expect to see from rock bands. [We’ve] always tried to do everything differently, from production styles to song names to lyric choices. It’s all been to separate ourselves from the world that we’ve come from, and it’s helped us become an entirely different prospect, but now we’re comfortable with doing a dumb breakdown if we want to.”

From a young age, Sykes sought inspiration wherever he could find it and endeavored to put a new spin on the familiar, a trait that’s grown exponentially over the years. In his first band, the members would continuously swap instruments, despite no one being able to play any of them particularly well, to ensure each composition sounded completely different, a trait compounded by genre-hopping from ska to nü metal and so on.

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Just the other day, the vocalist saw Dune, and while he enjoyed director Denis Villeneuve’s sci-fi spectacular, his overwhelming desire as he emerged from the cinema was to incorporate the type of tribal drumming in Hans Zimmer’s score into his own work. “It’s best to find inspiration from sources different from what you do,” he admits. “If you’re getting inspiration from other bands in your scene, you’re never going to progress. Whereas if you’re pulling [inspiration] from movies and video games, you might find a sound that feels fresh. That’s what we’re always craving.”

Sykes had been seized by the work of Mick Gordon. A devoted gamer, the singer became particularly enamored with DOOM Eternal, the latest installment in the beloved first-person shooter franchise. Over time, its “fucking crazy” soundtrack had begun to work on him, with its swooping, bowel-shaking synths and industrial atmospherics possessing a heaviness that was dark but different. “We were trying to rip off what he was doing for the longest time,” Sykes admits. “Until I finally said, ‘We should hit this guy up and see what he says.’” 

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Thankfully, the Australian composer was flattered and keen to collaborate, with the first of their combined efforts being “Parasite Eve,” released last summer to announce the arrival of the POST HUMAN project. Its title borrowed from a biological horror video game of the same name, writing for “Parasite Eve” began as early as 2019, after Sykes read an article about a Japanese superbug. The band had their doubts about releasing the track once the coronavirus pandemic took hold, worried they’d be viewed as “glorifying” the horrors engulfing the planet. Eventually, they decided to proceed. “People needed to hear a song like that,” Sykes reasons, “as it helped them through a time in which they needed to realize that the world’s fucked up.” 

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As well as acting as a catalyst for what came next — “it set the tone for the record,” Sykes says — “Parasite Eve” heralded a new ambition and drive in Bring Me The Horizon. Emboldened and vindicated by their past successes, they became musically less obvious and thematically more curious in a drive to be something far greater than the sum of their parts — to become more than a band, as if the label were too reductive when it came to discussing their plans.

“It’s about creating something that when you listen to it, it doesn’t feel like, ‘Oh, this is just a band,’” Sykes explains. “I’ve always wanted it to feel like more of an experience. When you see it all live, coupled with the visuals, then it feels like…” He trails off, trying to think of the most intoxicating example he can. Seconds later, he’s got one. “My favorite place in the world is Universal Studios, so the more we can do to make our music feel like a ride at Universal Studios, the better.”

During this time, Sykes had been on a roller coaster ride of an altogether different kind. With the pandemic and England’s strict lockdown protocols robbing him of the rigorous, reliable structure of touring life, he had what he calls “a meltdown” that had been rather a long time coming. “I think I was always in this weird little half-state of OK-ness where I didn’t feel great, and sometimes I didn’t even feel good,” he reflects. “And I didn’t fully realize I felt like that before because I was so busy.” 

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Sykes’ suffering had also been anesthetized by a growing dependency on his smartphone and social media. “We’re all half online now and half in the real world. Sometimes the line is blurred between what’s important in both of those worlds — who you are, your identity,” he says, likening the often hostile environment of the internet to fronting BMTH in their divisive early days.

“When I was 23, the band was getting bigger and was quite controversial, with some people loving us and some people hating us. I was always worried about the way I looked, the way I was and the status I had. I didn’t feel like anyone understood that, even in my own band. They got to sit back a little bit while I was in that intense spotlight. I feel like every fucking kid goes through what I went through. Everyone feels like they’re not good enough compared to the picture-perfect lives everyone else seems to be living.”

While the creation of POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR would ultimately help Sykes regain his footing and a sense of perspective, he stored those powerful thoughts away to be used later, for a greater good.

On Sept. 20 of this year, Bring Me The Horizon played at the Bonus Arena in the English port city of Hull. Despite the venue’s name, with a capacity of 3,500 people, it was the smallest space visited during the six-date run by some margin, particularly when compared to their final appointment, at London’s O2 Arena, watched by some 20,000 ardent fans. Regardless of the numbers, however, the Hull show was auspicious for another reason — it was the first the band had played since the previous February.

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Given the 19-month absence and the lingering presence of COVID-19, precautionary methods to ensure the U.K. tour went ahead as planned were unforgivably fastidious. The headliners, support acts and crew all had bubbles and were tested exhaustively, with social distancing often seeing bandmates housed on different floors of each venue.

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“It was definitely strange,” Sykes recalls of the restrictions. He waited until the final show of the tour to join opening act You Me At Six to perform their 2011 collaboration “Bite My Tongue,” lest an onstage infection occur. “We were always wondering if the shows were really going to happen and couldn’t bear the thought that they wouldn’t, so that’s the thought we held on to, and it got us through.”

But while coronavirus cowed the band backstage, once showtime arrived, it was a different story. POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR, which had eight months prior arrived atop the U.K. Album Charts, was brought to life in vivid, violent detail. With some of the most extraordinary production ever utilized by a rock act, the onstage world was rendered akin to a zombie apocalypse, a landscape where those who haven’t died are irrevocably changed, fighting for survival, chased by mysterious figures in hazmat suits spraying them with a mysterious foam (but did it contain the disease or the cure?).

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And then there was Sykes, dressed in the band’s uniform cream-colored tailoring, marshaling proceedings with gut-punch gusto, wringing every last drop of energy at a time when gigs were not at a premium and, some feared, might not be again. “Imagine this is the last show you’ll ever see,” he’d scream each night — part rallying cry, part threat. It was attention-grabbing, to be sure, but also uncomfortably on the nose. 

Do the band agree? Given that some fans at the shows would have experienced loss at the hands of COVID and displayed evidence of a vaccine or a recent negative test to attend, did they have any doubts about creating a hyper-version of a world onstage that was already hard for people to handle?

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According to Sykes, there was a method in the madness. “As time went on, I thought, ‘There’s nothing that we can do that’s going to be any more offensive than what’s going on in the everyday media,’ whether that was Donald Trump or the way England handled the pandemic. People seem to forget that this is the way things are going to be from now on. England’s going to be a subtropical country in the not-too-distant future. The unbearable heat is going to mean we all need air conditioning units, which will only contribute to the problem. There are going to be flash floods every year. If we didn’t laugh, we’d cry, you know?”

Sykes is well aware how this is coming across. He realizes that a rock star who’s no stranger to jetting between shows waxing lyrical about climate change is the definition of unpalatable hypocrisy, particularly when he does so while ensconced in the Hollywood Hills. But his relatively newness to this discourse, as an interviewee and a songwriter, is all part of his journey.

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Sykes didn’t used to write about sociopolitical issues — not explicitly, anyway — but then again, he didn’t chronicle broken relationships before either, until it came time to make amo, when the frontman realized he’d have to use the breakup of his first marriage as a prism through which to examine love’s many forms. “If I didn’t, I would have ended up writing about a big bunch of nothing,” he says now, wincing at the memory of probing wounds that hadn’t healed. 

Developing POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR, on the other hand, while not necessarily enjoyable given the bleak subject matter — disease! destruction! despots! — afforded Sykes the chance to turn his gaze outward, at long last providing him with a canvas to match the scale of his ambitions. “It finally felt like I had something bigger to write about. It wasn’t about me as much as it was about the planet, the world and society. But at the same time,” he adds, eager for his work to be anchored in accessible emotions, “how it’s affected us on a personal level.”

Why was 2021 the year that BMTH emerged as the band that want to save the world as well as take it over, then? Ask a blunt question, receive a blunt answer. “Because no one gives a fuck,” Sykes exclaims, criticizing his own complacency as well as everyone else’s. “None of us care. Everyone just says, ‘How can I make everything go back to normal so I can get on with my life?’ It’s people like us that can convince others that something has to be done. We’re trying to spread a message and influence people.” 

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So what’s been the most galvanizing element in this graduation to the league of one they now occupy? Is it grabbing onto their band with both hands during a pandemic that threatened to derail their enterprise or realizing that as the stakes get higher, they can be a force for enlightenment as well as entertainment? “Both,” Sykes decides after a pause for thought. “Sometimes I’m on the side of just thinking, ‘Thank fuck I get to do what I love doing.’ But then again, you remember how serious things are, that until the people in charge take notice, then things aren’t going to change. And you worry it’s too late for some things to change. There’s a cost to inaction. How many people are we going to have to lose?”

Jordan Fish has been a member of Bring Me The Horizon for almost a decade now. A markedly different interviewee to Sykes, his responses are largely more functional than emotional; he is a man who would rather make music about how he feels than discuss how he feels about music. It may also be because while the many lockdowns led Sykes to an existential crisis in which he questioned his purpose. Fish, who’s married and has two young children, contentedly focused on fatherhood. He never doubted the band’s future, either, because of the speed with which work began on POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR.

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Something of a perfectionist, he’s self-conscious about “not being very good” as an interviewee to the point that he’ll later apologize for his efforts. He’s doing himself a disservice, though; ask Fish the right question — such as his thoughts on the involvement of BloodPop in the band’s current writing sessions, the first external producer employed on a BMTH release since 2013’s defining Sempiternal — and he’s more unguarded than his bandmate, pouring forth a cocktail of mixed emotions.

“Since I’ve been in the band, I’ve acted as one-half of the production team [with Sykes], which is the half that handles the ‘sounds’ more,” he explains. “Part of me is excited, but the part of me that’s insecure is apprehensive. The apprehension comes from wondering how I’ll fit in, how it’s going to work and what the workflow is going to be. I want to make sure I can be at my best in that situation. It’s one of those things that’s either going to turn out really sick, or it isn’t. I don’t think our relationship with [BloodPop] is going to be one where he comes in and says, ‘I like this,’ or ‘I don’t like this.’ That’s just not how we work.”

Despite Fish’s reservations, he concedes that working with a producer speaks volumes about where BMTH are right now. “I think [BloodPop] will be more of a collaborator, and we’ve done so many collaborations in the past few years. We’re very receptive to working with other people. And to do so feels different to how it would have, say, five years ago, when we were really cementing ourselves as Bring Me The Horizon and grinding away to get out of the box we were in.”

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Sykes, meanwhile, is more philosophical about the appointment. Far from being a move that means they relinquish creative control, he sees it as indicative of being so comfortable in their creative skin, however chameleonic it is, that they’re attracting famous fans like BloodPop to get in on the action.

Plus, he says, while their autonomy was born from youthful bullishness that meant their successes were entirely their own. Too much insularity for too long isn’t a good thing. “Every time we’ve been in [the studio] with a producer, it’s not worked,” Sykes reflects. “So we really adapted to the mentality of, ‘If you want something done, you’ve got to do it yourself.’ That’s why we’d self-produce and I’d direct the videos. But at the same time, we don’t want to close ourselves in. So it’s nice to get in a room with someone and have different perspectives.”

The fruits of the band’s initial, remotely orchestrated labors with BloodPop were revealed with the release of “DiE4u,” the ebullient single released at the middle of September. It perfectly represented the symbiosis of producer and performer, taking a chiseled pop melody and bulking it up with rockier components that, Sykes says, “allowed us to do what we do best.” While “DiE4u” will do little to knock the band off course in their mission to produce “the heaviest pop music you’ve ever heard,” it’s what they’re doing with that music, as much as what it sounds like, that’s taken them into a new stratosphere.

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Younger fans occasionally ask Sykes, “Does it get easier as you get older?” No stranger to being poked in the eye by the fickle finger of fate, he’ll generally respond in the negative. “It gets less confusing but way more real.” He doesn’t think this answer cuts it, though. It does nothing to prepare that person for what comes next. That’s where the first of the three follow-ups to POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR will come in.

If the first part was, in the singer’s words, “a call-to-arms record,” then Post Human: Part Two — name TBC — is about how you act upon those good intentions. “This one’s going to be more about, ‘All right, we’re in a mess. What do we do?’ The theme of the record’s going to be about recovery. I’m using my own recovery, the journey I went through in lockdown, as a launching point. I understand why people don’t have compassion for the planet, why they don’t give a fuck. Because a lot of people haven’t even found compassion for themselves yet. It’s considered weird to say we love ourselves or are proud of ourselves.”

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So is Sykes viewing these problems in the rearview mirror? Has he recovered at this point?

“Recovery is an ongoing thing,” he whispers, having been treated for drug misuse eight years ago. “If there’s something you’re affected by, then you’re probably always going to be affected by it. You have to work to get better at living with it. That’s what I’ve learned about myself more recently. I thought I was healed. [I] thought I’d sorted out my problems, but it turns out I was more distracted than healed. I was doing the band and other things to keep myself distracted. A couple of months after I’d had the meltdown, I realized there was a lot to unpack here. It’s worth doing that because I imagine a lot of people have had similar journeys, suddenly not knowing who they are, what they do or what they want. We’re so busy that we don’t really ask ourselves these questions.”

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There’s one question the band will never stop asking themselves, no matter how rarified their position is. “It’s always: ‘How the fuck are we going to switch it up again?’” Sykes says. While Fish will readily admit to considering SURVIVAL HORROR their best release to date, exemplifying the most complete version of the band, Sykes won’t commit to such a statement. Perhaps he considers fulfillment tantamount to being finished. His concluding thought would certainly suggest that’s the case. “It’ll never stop being important to us to ask ourselves that because I don’t think we’ll ever feel complete.” It’s an interesting sentiment from a guy in a band called Bring Me The Horizon, a name conveying the idea of chasing something you’ll never obtain. 

While that destination remains out of reach, the journey will continue to be a fascinating one.

This interview first appeared in issue #401 (the AP Yearbook), available here.