With Act I, Lömsk introduced themselves as a force of creative destruction, a violent birth steeped in ancient bile and primordial fury. Now, with Act II – Of Iron and Blood, the Swedish band deliberately walks through the ruins, exploring what remains after the impact: eroded ideals, collapsing structures, and a self confronted with the inevitability of entropy.
More than a simple successor, the new chapter presents itself as part of an unfolding body of work, where nihilism and stoic defiance coexist in permanent tension. War emerges as a symbolic landscape, Rome burns as a timeless metaphor, and the apocalypse is portrayed not merely as an end, but as a process, simultaneously horrifying and strangely lucid.
In this interview, LÖMSK discuss the decision to structure the project in acts, the necessary descent that shaped Act II, the relationship between collapse and meaning, and the way black metal continues to be a privileged vehicle for documenting decay without romanticizing it. A dense, reflective, and unrelenting dialogue, just like the music that sustains it.
M.I. - Act I was described as creative destruction, a kind of violent genesis. Act II – Of Iron and Blood feels like standing in the ruins afterward. At what point did you realize this project needed to unfold in acts rather than isolated releases?
After writing and completing Act I, we realized we weren’t finished. It left us with a strong sense that there was more to explore, more to elaborate on, more to respond to. Act I felt less like a standalone release and more like one fragment of a much larger picture. The idea of unfolding it in acts came from that realization, almost instinctively. It wasn’t a fully mapped-out plan at first, and we’ve questioned the decision along the way, but it felt honest to where the project wanted to go. In the end, time will tell if it was the right call.
M.I. - How consciously did you want Act II to contrast with Act I? Was it more about evolution, or did it feel like a necessary descent?
It wasn’t a consciously planned contrast, even if it reads that way in hindsight. Act II grew naturally out of where Act I left us, both lyrically and sonically. As we kept writing, the themes became heavier and more inward-looking, and the music followed that shift without us forcing it.
We were still very aware of holding onto the core sound and identity established in Act I, but Act II allowed us to push into darker textures, denser arrangements, and a more stripped-back emotional space. It feels less like a reinvention and more like the same voice speaking from a different place, after the impact, in the aftermath. So in that sense, it wasn’t a planned descent, but it became a necessary one.
M.I. - If Act I was the spark, what exactly is burning in Act II: ideals, civilizations, the self?
It’s a bit of all of the above. We use imagery of war as a framework rather than a subject in itself. It gives us a landscape where larger ideas can burn without being too literal or on-the-nose. Within that setting, what’s really burning are ideals, structures, and the self… the things that deteriorate slowly rather than explode.
There’s social commentary, personal reflection, trauma and a degree of satire woven into the lyrics, but we’ve intentionally left space for interpretation. We’re more interested in suggestion than explanation, and in letting listeners project their own meaning onto that landscape.
M.I. - The album is framed through nihilism and stoic defiance. Do you see those as opposing forces, or as two sides of the same worldview?
They are opposing forces, but not in a purely binary way. Nihilism rejects the idea of inherent meaning or value, while stoicism argues for a natural order and emphasizes virtue, discipline, and living in alignment with reason. On paper, those positions clash.
In the lyrics, both perspectives coexist. That tension comes from moving between despair and a need for direction, between recognizing meaninglessness and still choosing how to act within it. At times the songs function as dark mirrors, reflecting decay, corruption and disillusionment; at other times they take on the role of a devil’s advocate, questioning those conclusions and pushing back against them. We’re not trying to resolve that contradiction. Instead, we use it to offer different perspectives, and occasionally to suggest that even in the absence of certainty, there might still be a way forward.
M.I. - There’s a sense on Act II of continuing to march forward even when meaning has collapsed. Is that defiance personal, philosophical, or purely symbolic?
I don’t see it as marching forward after meaning has collapsed, but as finding meaning within the collapse itself. The movement becomes a form of defiance in its own right — not reactionary, but reflective — an insistence on paying attention to what breaks down and sitting with it rather than resisting it. In that sense, the forward motion is about learning and recalibrating, allowing understanding to replace certainty. It’s less about overcoming the rupture and more about letting it inform where you go next.
M.I. - Entropy is described as inevitable here. Does acknowledging that bring despair or a strange kind of clarity?
For us, it’s closer to clarity than despair. Acknowledging entropy as inevitable removes the illusion of permanence, and with it a lot of false expectations. Nothing is eternal: structures, ideas, identities all decay… and accepting that creates a different kind of calm.
That clarity doesn’t erase loss or suffering, but it reframes them. Instead of fighting against inevitability, the focus shifts to attention, responsibility, and presence within the time things exist. Entropy stops being purely destructive and becomes informative… it shows where systems fail, where meaning was borrowed rather than built. In that sense, recognizing entropy isn’t about giving up, but about stripping away illusion. What remains may be harsher, but it’s also more honest, and that honesty is where clarity replaces despair.
M.I. - The imagery of Rome burning is powerful and timeless. Are you using Rome as a historical reference, or as a metaphor for modern collapse?
Rome isn’t used as a literal historical reference so much as a symbolic one. It functions as a metaphor, an image that helps frame how we want the record and its themes to be viewed. Rome burning represents a moment when something believed to be permanent, rational, and invincible is suddenly revealed as fragile. That image is timeless because it repeats itself. It can point to ancient empires, modern systems, or personal structures collapsing under their own weight. We’re less interested in retelling history than in using its symbols to explore cycles of decay, denial, and transformation that keep resurfacing in different forms.
M.I. - When you write about towers falling and heavens splitting, are you drawing from real-world anxieties, or deliberately pushing toward something more mythic and abstract?
It’s primarily metaphorical, almost aphoristic. Terence McKenna said, “Rome falls nine times every hour,” suggesting that our lives are microcosms of broader cycles. Towers falling and heavens splitting evoke repeated patterns of dissolution, reflecting both personal experiences and larger societal shifts. That disintegration isn’t purely destructive, it’s also creative. Towers must fall and heavens split to make space for something new, tearing down old structures so transformation and personal growth can occur. The imagery bridges the mythic and the real, showing how endings, upheavals, and breakdowns are often the necessary precursors to renewal.
M.I. - Black metal has always thrived on apocalypse, what did you want your vision of collapse to sound like?
The apocalypse sounds both horrifying and strangely peaceful at the same time. It comes in waves, moments of total chaos, followed by slow, creeping decay. It balances harmony and dissonance, and always carries a raw, unfiltered display of power.
M.I. - You describe Act I as “black bile of yore fused with newborn ire.” What emotional or mental state fueled Act II?
Act II builds on the same emotional foundation as Act I, but with more aggression. Where Act I was a mix of ancient frustration and raw energy, Act II turns that energy outward, more confrontational, urgent, and active. It’s a mental state that embraces rupture and tension, letting them drive the music forward rather than just reflect inwardly.
M.I. - Act II suggests continuation. Do you already envision what Act III might represent, conceptually or sonically?
There has been some talk about Act III, but nothing concrete yet. We want to see where the next phase naturally takes us and how it might build on what we explored in the first two acts. Right now, our focus is on live performances and connecting with the material in that space. Eventually, when we return to writing, we’ll let the next chapter take shape organically: conceptually, sonically, and emotionally… if it is meant to be at all.
M.I. - Did working on this album feel cathartic, exhausting, or almost mechanical like documenting decay rather than fighting it? Do you feel more in control of your vision, or more consumed by it?
It’s hard to pin down. Sometimes we have a vague sense of what a piece should become, and we twist and turn it until it reaches its final form. Other times, the ideas fall into place so quickly it feels almost unstoppable. Regardless, we maintain control, by design. We do meticulous pre-production, carefully shaping and tweaking everything until it feels right before we begin the final recording. The process can be exhausting, cathartic, and exhilarating all at once, but that balance is what allows the vision to take shape fully.
M.I. - Vendetta Records has a very distinct identity within black metal. How natural was that partnership for this album?
Vendetta Records has been incredible from the very start, and continuing the partnership felt completely natural. They share our vision and provide unwavering support, making sure it comes to life exactly as we intend. We couldn’t ask for a better team to work with.
M.I. - Do you see LÖMSK as part of a specific Swedish black metal lineage, or deliberately standing apart from tradition?
We don’t really concern ourselves with tradition or lineage. We write the music we want to hear, drawing inspiration from a wide range of influences, from around the world and across genres, rather than trying to fit into a specific scene.
M.I. - Does the band have any concerts / festivals lined up for 2026?
Absolutely — we have quite a lot lined up for 2026. From March 19th to 29th, we’ll be on a European tour with Gorgoroth, Tyrmfar, and Patristic, hitting 11 dates across Germany, the Netherlands, France, and Italy to name a few.
Other confirmed shows include:
April 10th - Bambi Galore, Hamburg, Germany
April 11th — Vendetta Fest, Berlin, Germany
April 17th — Monument, Gothenburg, Sweden
May 21st — Maryland Deathfest, Baltimore, USA
August 14–16 — Barther Open Air, Barth, Germany
November 13th — Klubb Dissonans 10-year Anniversary, Jönköping, Sweden
There’s talk of even more dates to come, so it’s shaping up to be a busy and exciting year for us.
M.I. - Please share a final message with Metal Imperium’s readers.
Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read this, and thanks to all of you for your support. Don’t miss our upcoming album Act II - Of Iron and Blood the 6th of March! Brace yourselves for the upheaval to come. Salve ad legionem.
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Listen to Lömsk, on Spotify
Questions by Sónia Fonseca
