Capital Chaos TV sat down with composer and vocalist Rylan Gleave—best known for his work with Ashenspire and Paraorchestra—to discuss his latest project, “Requiem,” a doom-laden, emotionally raw exploration of mourning, identity, and sound.
“Requiem” seems to be steeped in themes of grief, power, and queer reverence. How did you balance such heavy emotional content with the musical intensity of doom metal and noise rock?
Much of the album is imbued with visceral feeling—you can hear it in the voice, especially when it cracks or falters. I veered into doom and noise because musically, those genres gave me a body to express those emotions. There’s a fragility and brutality in the sound that mirrors the voice and lyrics. Some passages allow the instruments to say what the voice can’t, and finding those moments was crucial to conveying the album’s emotional weight.
You’ve described “Requiem” as reimagining ancient mourning in a contemporary setting. What drew you to the Missa pro Defunctis as a structural or thematic foundation?
I sang in various Requiems during my choir years, so the text was deeply familiar. I wanted to recontextualize it through personal experience—exploring ritual, forgiveness, and dignity. The Missa pro Defunctis speaks to vast mourning. While originally intended for individual funerals, it also resonates with our collective grief, trauma, and the complexities of processing those emotions alone. That ambiguity gave me the space to let the music remain unresolved, which felt honest.
Your late-breaking voice is central to both “In Chemical Transit” and “Requiem.” How has your relationship with your voice evolved between those works?
“In Chemical Transit” captured a fleeting moment in my vocal journey—it was never going to sound like that again. By the time I recorded “Requiem,” my voice had settled. Scott McLean, my producer, mentioned that mixing it was easier because the frequencies above the fundamental pitch had become clearer and more ‘normal.’ Between the two records, I performed a lot—with Ashenspire and Paraorchestra—which helped me understand my voice as an expressive instrument, rather than just something evolving out of control.
There’s a striking convergence of traditional Anglican soundworlds with experimental textures. What does this juxtaposition represent for you?
It reflects a reconciliation between where I came from musically and where I am now. I grew up in choral and classical traditions, but I’ve also immersed myself in metal and experimental scenes. I used to resent not fitting into a single genre or scene—but now, I embrace that. These influences aren’t restrictions anymore; they’re tools. There’s also an act of reclamation in it—pulling back ritual from Anglican purity and expanding it to reflect something broader, more inclusive.
This album saw a more collaborative dynamic for All Men Unto Me. How did working with people like Scott McLean and Amaya López-Carromero shape the final sound?
Amaya stepped in last-minute to play the organ at the end of “Agnus Dei”—I needed rhythmic precision, and she absolutely delivered.
Scott was my closest collaborator—he wore a lot of hats: guitarist, bassist, engineer, producer. We’d worked together before, but “Requiem” deepened that relationship. His tireless pursuit of the best possible sound pushed me to keep refining the music.
Alasdair Dunn, who played drums, brought a creative vision I’ve long admired from his work with Ashenspire. Spending time with Hostile Architecture definitely shaped my appetite for heavier textures.
I also leaned on longtime collaborator and cellist Simone Seales. I scored “Introit” for them, but elsewhere we used a shared shorthand. Their intuitive playing brought the string moments on “Sanctus” and “Pie Jesu” to life. Playwright Jo Clifford also gave thoughtful feedback on lyrics, which I hugely appreciated.
“Requiem” isn’t just personal—it also meditates on survivorship, Disability, and dignity. What do you hope listeners take away from it?
I hope listeners see space to insert their own stories into the music. It’s not about dictating what the themes mean, but allowing people to map their own experiences onto them. If it offers anyone solace or release—whatever that looks like for them—then it’s done its job.
Were there any unusual or standout pieces of gear that helped shape the sound of “Requiem”?
Definitely. Finding an electro-pneumatic action church organ was essential. Unlike digital or fully modern organs, this one used electromagnets to control airflow. That meant we could pull the stops out halfway, creating microtones—especially effective on tracks like “Kyrie Eleison” and “In Paradisum,” where the organ’s color is central.
If you could resurrect any composer to collaborate on a future All Men Unto Me project, who would it be—and what instrument would you hand them?
Fausto Romitelli, without question. His final work, An Index of Metals, is one of my all-time favorites. He wove psychedelic rock, noise, and opera into something extraordinary. I think he’d be brilliant on synth—but honestly, I’d let him pick whatever instrument spoke to him
“Requiem” by All Men Unto Me will be released on the 27th of June via Scottish Label The Larvarium. For fans of doom, ritual, and cathartic sonic landscapes, it’s an unmissable listen.
Categories: All Men Unto Me, Interviews, Music
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