Blut Aus Nord have cultivated a career that’s as slippery as it is prolific, evading any long-term attributes besides “black metal” and “ever-shifting.” Their 30-year tenure, which includes 16 full-length albums, explores beyond the lens of black metal’s constrictions and aesthetic occupations that hold dear the genre’s frosted origins. The self dissolves with Blut Aus Nord, in that the only important operator is the one listening, and conclusions can only be drawn by listening. The outfit is a deliberate practice in the impersonal–Vindsval is at the center of Blut Aus Nord as chief writer, vocalist, and guitarist, but he’s in no way the center. In his own words, “I now understand that an artist is merely a channel whose purpose is to share the worlds they are allowed to visit.”
So while Blut Aus Nord is definitely Vindsval’s project, who he is is inconsequential in the context of the group. And that’s by design. He’s notoriously reclusive, rarely giving interviews and sharing little to no personal information to keep the focus on the music because he is simply a musician. What’s of interest is what he does, not who he is.
This is where Blut Aus Nord’s slippery nature pops in as they’ve followed a spectre of inspiration, a wraith that floats through walls, time, and dimensions. Though some of their albums have direct inspirations (the Disharmonium series and its Lovecraftian themes), others are connected only through their narrow scope (the Memoria Vestusa series and riff composition), whereas others are conjoined seemingly by their efforts to destabilize black metal. Since there’s no personal narrative in Blut Aus Nord’s discography, their career scans less as a development from youth to maturity (Vindsval started the project when he was in his teens) and more as a stream-of-consciousness that slides through portals.
Fortunately, this means that any Blut Aus Nord album makes for an ideal starting point, depending on one’s tastes. Even the sickos who wear harsh noise merch in public can hop into them with MoRT. That being said, last year’s Ethereal Horizons is as good a jumping-off point as any (in addition to being one of 2025’s best albums) for its cosmic atmosphere. It’s a spatial vagabond that drops breadcrumbs as it progresses. It also imposes the meditative aspects of Vindsval’s craft, the drone of chipping away at art, of placing faith in a route without a destination, of escaping with no ulterior motives than to explore. Ethereal Horizons does not judge nor prod; it moves with the mindset of an ambient album despite playing like a (genre-descriptor-vomit incoming) progressive kosmiche-meets-black-metal record. It doesn’t sound that tryhard, fortunately, because it doesn’t try that hard. It simply is.
While he seldom provides interviews, Vindsval kindly responded to our questions about Ethereal Horizons, his growth with Blut Aus Nord, and his philosophy regarding art and practice.
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Now that Blut Aus Nord has been around for over 30 years, has it developed in the way you would’ve predicted when you started it? Or, has it grown outside of what you originally intended to achieve?
I was obviously very far from imagining the path Blut Aus Nord would take when I recorded the first Vlad demos on a small 4-track tape recorder in my teenage bedroom. There was absolutely no ambition beyond expressing myself through art, and music in particular, and everything that has happened over these past 30 years was neither planned nor premeditated.
Blut Aus Nord is now known and respected all over the world, it has become my main activity, but in the end nothing has really changed. My motivations are exactly the same as they were back then, and my working method hasn’t evolved much despite the comfort provided by the equipment available to us today. I have kept that very DIY aspect from the early days of Black Metal. BaN is simply much more well-known now, but fundamentally nothing has changed.
You’ve spoken about how you have to do music every day, saying, “It is a daily need which requires me to deliver what I have in a more intimate way.” How do you think about music and Blut Aus Nord in order to develop new ideas?
To be honest, I don’t ask myself many questions. I compose music every day, searching for the moment when I’ll be receptive enough to capture whatever is being inspired within me. Composing daily is indeed a real necessity for my balance and personal fulfillment. The society in which we “try” to live completely escapes me, and I clearly do not feel that I belong in it. Music is simply a vital escape — it’s where I find my own peace.
By composing every day, ideas flow. It may take more or less time, but something always happens. I am convinced that creativity is something that must be nurtured very regularly.
What were some of the cosmic themes you wanted to explore with Ethereal Horizons?
Ethereal Horizons is an allegory—that of a path of evolution and progression leading toward a form of illumination. In my view, this spiritual journey necessarily involves a real and profound connection with the celestial vault and the Universe in which we live without truly understanding either how, or, above all, why.
Ethereal Horizons raises the questions that have haunted and tormented humanity since the dawn of time: the meaning of life, its purpose, our role as individuals, the quest for spirituality. To ask these questions is to allow the mind to connect with the cosmos and its infinity, which completely eludes us.
Ethereal Horizons is the soundtrack to that journey. It is an album meant to allow the listener—if they are receptive to it—to leave the world behind for the duration of the experience. That is what I ask of music, and of Art in general: to allow me to step outside the world.
In the press release for Ethereal Horizons, you said, “I’ve learned over the years that, when it comes to my own musical creativity, the truth of today is rarely the truth of tomorrow.” What are some practices or ideas you used to hold to (in terms of music) that you no longer do?
Freeing oneself from the illusion of being a creator and letting go of the need to control everything. I now understand that an artist is merely a channel whose purpose is to share the worlds they are allowed to visit. You have to stop thinking of yourself as a genius or anything of that sort—you are only giving back what is entrusted to you.
Over time, I have learned to silence my ego, to stop struggling to push a composition forward when it leads nowhere, for example. A working session closely resembles a prayer or a long meditation; you must know how to create the necessary silence in order to listen to what we call inspiration. Artistic creation must be fluid—if you begin to struggle to find a solution or a resolution, it means your ego has interfered and you are on the wrong path.
When I was younger, I threw away hundreds of hours of music because I couldn’t find the continuation of a riff, an arrangement, or the right melody, for instance. It was only because I wanted to maintain control over something that, by its very nature, cannot be controlled. It was very chaotic—my mind was making far too much noise to hear anything at all.
Your Disharmonium albums focused on Lovecraftian horror and a specific feeling of helplessness. Ethereal Horizons immediately feels more comforting (or, less claustrophobic). Was that an intentional change, or am I just projecting?
The initial idea was to create an album that would be very melodic and very open. I felt a desire— a need—for grandeur and beauty. The two Disharmonium chapters went very far into dissonance and Lovecraftian madness; they are highly experimental albums. For instance, few people noticed that there are, strictly speaking, no guitar riffs on Undreamable Abysses. There are no rhythm guitars—the sonic mass is primarily created by two massive fretless basses, which make the music feel extremely fluid and unstable, evoking the tentacular and horrific entities described by Lovecraft throughout much of his work.
It is a very singular approach, and after working on albums that extreme, I needed to rediscover the pleasure of playing more aerial melodies and those riffs so characteristic of Blut Aus Nord’s sound on its more melodic records. The entire BaN discography functions through this balance—shadow and light feeding off one another. Without contrast, nothing exists.
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In another interview, you wrote something that fascinates me: “Art is not entertainment, and without including an ounce of elitism, on the contrary, its function is much deeper, sacred even.” What is art’s function to you, and how does Ethereal Horizons meet this function?
People very often confuse Art and entertainment, yet they are two things that have nothing to do with one another—I would even say they are antinomic. Art is not meant to entertain. In my view, it is a means of connecting to the spiritual realm, to the Sacred, to the Divine, call it whatever you wish. It is not a human affair; it is a bridge between this world and others, between our dimension and another. Art is a matter of deep emotions; it is a dialogue with everything that still eludes us.
As I said earlier, an artist is not a creator, much less a genius; they are a channel, a medium who transcribes what is shown to them.
Therefore, I cannot conceive of militant, activist, or political Art. It makes no sense to me. You cannot defile what is sacred with basely human considerations. I have nothing against bands who use music, for example, to convey social messages or political ideas—I fully respect that—but Art has nothing to do with any of that. It operates on an entirely different level… far beyond the noise of the world.
On a similar note, escapism is popular in entertainment, especially cosmic-themed entertainment. But Ethereal Horizons doesn’t seem like it’s about escape but connecting with the cosmos, space, etc. Was that a core idea of the album?
Yes, absolutely. We remain within the idea of a Dialogue with the Stars, that connection with the cosmos, the universe, and those questions that both torment us and free us from our strange human condition. Ethereal Horizons is both an exploration of the infinity in which we evolve and of our own intimacy, our relationship with the essence and meaning of life.
Observing the cosmos renders most of our earthly and material concerns completely futile and obsolete. It is a majestic path toward spirituality, and Ethereal Horizons humbly presents itself as one of the gateways that opens onto that infinity. If listening to it allows the listener to step outside the world for a brief hour, then the objective has been achieved.
Where did your fascination with space come from?
I don’t know—I have always been drawn to, fascinated by, the celestial vault. I have always been tormented by these questions: why are we here? What is our role? What is the meaning of all this? There is very little room for chance in the creation of the universe—truly very little—which means that our lives are, by their very nature, filled with a meaning that completely escapes us.
From a very young age, I was confronted with these questions, with the awareness of my own certain death, and that of my loved ones. It is a torment for human beings to be both alive—almost miraculous, in the end—and conscious of their own death, of their obsolescence. If there is no greater meaning to all of this, then we might as well die now.
I love how much kosmiche was on this album. Were you listening to much of the genre while writing Ethereal Horizons? If so, how did it influence you?
No, not particularly. When I was younger, I was heavily influenced by everything I listened to, but for a very long time now, what I listen to no longer (directly) impacts the sound of BaN. Today, Blut Aus Nord is an entity powerful enough to feed off itself.
Since I know you read quite a bit, what is the book that you think is the most thematically similar to Ethereal Horizons?
The book of a quest—that extraordinarily complex one which is the understanding of the most extreme simplicity… probably The Holy Bible.
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Ethereal Horizons is available now via Debemur Morti Productions.
