Rooted, obviously, in real-life experience, the swerve into deeper darkness and severity seems strange from a band with so much to celebrate. Five years ago, around the release of 2020’s third album Nija, Orbit Culture were still stuck in basements. Exploding online over COVID, 2023’s Descent saw them slingshotted onto another level, welcoming legions of new fans and sharing stages with Slipknot and Meshuggah, Trivium and Bullet For My Valentine. So what’s with the statements and songs about ‘choosing death’ and ‘walking away from what’s holding us back’?
“When you get to a certain level, people expect you to be happy,” Niklas reasons. “They don’t want you to complain. They just want you to shut up. But at the same time, when your band is growing, there is so much more work, so much more pressure, so much more responsibility. You switch around team members behind the scenes. You perform so much that it can be difficult to keep yourself and others organised. There is an expectation that you will be available 24/7 even while playing shows and taking care of everything else.
“On top of it all, there are people trying to get into your pocket. That’s fine. It’s part of the process. It’s how the world works. But with us it happened so fast in the background it was hard to deal with. Death Above Life became a therapeutic outlet to help us not dwell in the past, to cut ties with old ghosts. Sometimes it’s easy to think, ‘Fuck this, it’s too hard to be a band!’ Then we remember just how lucky we are.”
That’s quite a positive message. Wouldn’t the album be better called Life Above Death?
“Maybe…” Niklas cracks a grin. “But it would be weird for Obit Culture to name an album like that!”
True to that, keeping control of their singular artistic vision was a big part of Orbit Culture were fighting for. Hard lessons learned over years as an effectively DIY outfit had made the collective – completed by guitarist Richard Hansson, bassist Fredrik Lennartsson and drummer Christopher Wallerstedt – protective of their input on everything from composition and production to even the most seemingly insignificant posts on social media. Even the unselfconsciousness to process real feelings through violent music was a skill perfected over more than the lifetime of the band.
“As a teenager, I thought that getting feelings out on paper was bogus, just so fucking lame,” Niklas half-laughs. “But when I started to get stuff out of my head and off my chest it was so freeing.”