By Dig Dirkler
In an era where extreme music often leans on aggression alone, Doodswens is reframing black metal as something far more intimate—an unflinching confrontation with vulnerability itself. We sat down to explore the philosophy behind the “black flame,” the ritualistic energy of performance, and how darkness can become a source of strength rather than escape.
The concept behind the black flame centers on vulnerability as a gateway to inner strength. How do you interpret that ritual, and how does it manifest in your songwriting or performance?
Inge van der Zon: To be able to express yourself fully, you need to show a vulnerable side of yourself. Whether it’s songwriting or performing on stage, you can’t be afraid to reveal the most exposed parts of who you are. Otherwise, in my eyes, you’re not making true art or true music.
The new video depicts a passive observer becoming part of the ritual. Is that a metaphor for the listener’s role?
That wasn’t the main intention, but it does reflect something real. You might think you’re just listening to an album, but you’re being pulled into darker energies. It becomes something you’re part of.
Vulnerability isn’t usually associated with black metal. How do you reconcile that with its confrontational roots?
I think they’re connected. To be that confrontational or express something misanthropic, you’re putting yourself in a vulnerable position. You’re exposing emotions that are often seen as weak. Even when I was younger and saw these aggressive, intimidating figures in the scene, I often saw vulnerability underneath it all.
Your live shows are described as both uplifting and devastating. What shapes that experience?
It depends on what you bring with you. If you come in feeling good, you might connect with the uplifting parts. If you’re carrying something heavy, that will come out too—but hopefully in a way that allows you to confront it.
The album reframes the idea of a death wish into something transformative. What inspired that?
If you’re living with a death wish but you’re still here, then every second is bonus time. That perspective can make fear—fear of failure, fear of judgment—feel smaller. It also changes how you see others. Everyone is going to die at some point, so worrying about what they think loses its weight. It doesn’t make things easy, but it can push you to take steps you might otherwise avoid.
Touring with bands like Marduk and Gorgoroth—did you feel pressure to align with established black metal traditions?
Not at all. We’ve always just done our own thing. If anything, trying to copy others would feel worse. The only pressure I ever felt was personal—like sharing a drum kit with someone I really respect. But even then, it turned into a reminder that you don’t need to apologize for being different.
Are the rituals in your work symbolic or literal?
They’re very symbolic and personal. Nothing is really planned—it grows organically. Sometimes something just feels right in the moment, and later it all makes sense. On stage, it becomes an exchange of energy with the audience. Even without direct interaction, you feel what’s happening in the room.
Your music confronts rather than comforts. Do you feel responsibility toward listeners in vulnerable states?
I hope people feel understood and less alone. That’s what music did for me when I was younger. If someone hears this and thinks, “That’s what I feel,” then that matters. And I think it’s important to express those feelings—through art, through music—because keeping them inside only makes them heavier.
Does the album resolve these emotions or simply give them form?
It gives them form. It’s like a cycle—intensity, collapse, confrontation, and then back again. It’s not about a clean resolution. Maybe over time it becomes a little lighter, but it never fully disappears.
How does performing as both drummer and vocalist affect your intensity?
It changes everything. Once it clicks, the drums push the vocals and the vocals push the drums. It becomes one continuous flow of energy. After a show, I’m completely drained—physically and mentally—but during it, everything is at maximum intensity.
What does your drum setup look like? Any essential gear?
The setup itself is pretty basic. But I have a ride cymbal that’s crucial. I found it by coincidence in a strange shop, and it immediately felt like it was meant to be mine. It has this very distinct, heavy tone that really defines part of the sound.
How much does environment shape Dutch black metal?
A lot. Weather, atmosphere, daily life—it all influences people and the art they make. In the Netherlands, things are more unpredictable—gray skies, rain, sudden changes. I think that shows up in the music too. There’s also room to experiment, so a lot of it becomes a more modern interpretation of black metal rather than something traditional.
Any final thoughts for readers?
Stay true to yourself. Never do anything else.
Inge van der Zon’s perspective cuts through the expected tropes of black metal, revealing something more nuanced beneath the surface. The “black flame” isn’t just destruction—it’s exposure, transformation, and the courage to face what’s already there. In that sense, the music doesn’t offer escape. It offers recognition—and sometimes, that’s even more powerful.
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Categories: Doodswens, Interviews
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