Today, I would like to discuss a topic that has been controversial for a long time and has gained even more significance in recent years: music and society/politics. I am aware that the topic can be much more multifaceted and complex than I will address in the following. Nevertheless, I would like to at least attempt to explore it.
Society and politics in music: two poles
The debate usually resolves into two clear positions that appear across genres.
On one side, music is a sanctuary. People come to a record or a show to step out of the daily grind, to feel something physical and immediate. Politics is seen as an intrusion that can break immersion and fragment a shared space. This view prizes craft, atmosphere, and collective release. It argues that a stage or a playlist should unite strangers who do not need to agree on anything but the beat and the feeling. In this frame, keeping songs free of politics is a way to protect the open door. It respects the fact that audiences are diverse in experience and belief, and it treats music as a rare place where difference can rest.
On the other side, music is a witness. Art does not exist outside its moment. From folk traditions to punk, from hip hop to black metal, songs have carried stories of injustice, fear, hope, and resistance. This view says silence is never neutral. If the world is burning, refusing to speak becomes a form of consent. The stage is not only entertainment but a platform with reach and responsibility. Lyrics can give language to people whose realities are ignored, and volume can turn private pain into public pressure. In this frame, to avoid politics is to strip music of one of its oldest functions: naming what is wrong and what should change.
Each side worries about a different loss. The sanctuary camp fears sermons that flatten songs into slogans and turn a shared moment into a lecture. The witness camp fears comfort that launders reality and leaves power unchallenged. Most listeners move between these poles depending on mood, context, and what they seek from a piece of music.
A personal look back
I came of age with thrash metal in the late 1980s. Metallica were the gateway. Master of Puppets and …And Justice for All showed me that heavy music could be both introspective and outward-looking at the same time. Those records spoke about control, corruption, religion, and responsibility without losing force. They were not textbooks. They were songs that carried weight and left marks.
Specific tracks became anchors. “Disposable Heroes” put the human cost of war into sharp focus. “Leper Messiah” took aim at manipulation and false prophets. The title track “…And Justice for All” turned a broken system into sound and rhythm. These songs taught me that intensity and meaning can live in the same place. They also showed me that critique can be part of the craft, not something added on top.
There was also punk and hardcore. The energy, the directness, the sense that a band could name what others were afraid to name—all of that resonated. It was not about party lines. It was about agency. The message was simple: you are allowed to look at the world and say what you see.
From the start, my influences were international. I never experienced music as a narrow local scene. Records, magazines, and later the early web opened many doors. The mix shaped a mindset rather than a single doctrine.
There were also hard limits. Wherever songs promoted racism, sexism, or contempt for human dignity, the music lost me. It did not matter how strong the riff was. If the message attacked people for who they are, it failed. That line has only become clearer with time.
Over the years my view changed from curiosity to conviction. I began to feel that social themes belong in my work when they serve the song. Not every track needs to carry that weight. Sometimes we all need escape, and there is value in that. But when the moment calls for it, the door should be open.
That path is visible in BLOODRED. “Collateral Murder” on Nemesis addressed a difficult topic head-on. “Neon Gods” on Ad Astra also takes a clear position. The new material goes further along that line in artwork and lyrics. But it keeps the focus on the music while refusing to look away.
Why these themes belong in my music
I include social themes in my music for three reasons. First, to defend human dignity. Second, because I carry responsibility as an artist. Third, because music can find language for what often feels unsayable.
Human dignity is not an abstract idea to me. It is the line that cannot be crossed. Whenever songs or scenes celebrate racism, sexism, fascism, or violence against people for who they are, something essential breaks. I want my work to pull in the other direction. Not to preach, but to name what harms and to protect what makes us human. If a lyric does not respect that baseline, it does not belong in my catalog.
Responsibility grows out of the simple fact that a musician has attention for a few minutes. What I do with that time matters. I do not endorse parties or tell anyone how to vote. That is not my role. My role is to surface questions that outlast an election cycle and to point at patterns that shape how we live together. Justice, freedom, fear, power, solidarity. These are not campaign points. They are shared conditions. If I can help put them back on the agenda, even for one listener on one hard day, then the song has done meaningful work.
Music is also a tool for language. Some experiences do not fit into plain statements. Images, scenes, and symbols can carry weight that everyday speech cannot. I move between direct lines and coded ones. Sometimes clarity serves best. Sometimes a metaphor opens space that a blunt sentence would close. I do not aim to be clever for its own sake. The point is to be understood. When the content needs to land, I try to make sure it does.
My goals are simple. Give a voice to people who are not being heard. Bring topics back into focus. Invite reflection. Show my own stance and stand by it. I am not here to convert anyone. I am here to make you think and to make you feel. If you disagree with me, you are still welcome. We can discuss it, as long as it stays respectful.
The balance with the music is not a problem to be solved. It is the source of the energy. These themes drive my creative process. They shape riffs, structures, and textures. Sometimes the separation between message and sound is not even visible, because both grow from the same impulse. Still, the craft comes first. A song needs tension, movement, and atmosphere. If it does not move you on a physical level, it misses the mark, no matter how right the words are.
This is the path I choose. I will get things right and I will make mistakes. I will keep learning. If you want to share your view, I would like to hear it. Let me know how you see the place of society in music, and where you draw your own lines.
Whichever side you are on, I respect that. But it was important to make my stance clear. I think the times we live in will require this of all of us sooner or later!