Interviews: Black Reuss

On this new occasion, we have had the opportunity to interview the Dark Rock/Doom Metal/Metal artist Black Reuss from Liechtenstein. Check out the interview and follow the artist on his FACEBOOK PAGE.

1. Death is your fourth album and part of a clear conceptual journey that started with Metamorphosis. Did you always envision this as a multi-album narrative, or did the story reveal itself over time?

The tetralogy itself was clearly defined from the beginning. When I started working on Metamorphosis, I already knew that this would be a four-part journey — with Metamorphosis, Journey, Arrival, and Death representing distinct chapters within one continuous concept. Even the visual language and the artwork for all four albums were created together early on as part of that vision.

Black Reuss as a project is broader than that, but this specific four-album cycle was always intentional. What evolved over time was not the structure, but the emotional depth of each chapter. Living through the process gave the music more gravity, but the narrative arc itself was never accidental — it was planned as a complete cycle from the start.

2. The river Reuss is a core symbol in the project. How does that metaphor continue to evolve on Death compared to your previous releases?

The river has always symbolized movement and inevitability. You can’t stop it or control it — you can only exist within its flow. In the earlier chapters, the river is more present and defined. It moves through change, struggle, and confrontation, with tension against its current still being felt.

On Death, the metaphor reaches its final transformation. The river widens, slows down, and eventually disappears into the wide sea. At that point, it no longer has a clear form or direction. It becomes part of something much larger, something undefined. There is no resistance left, no boundary anymore — just absorption. That’s where Death exists conceptually: not as an abrupt end, but as the moment where the individual flow dissolves into something vast and unknown.

3. You describe Death not as an ending, but as a passage. What does that idea mean to you personally at this stage of your life and career?

Death is the end of the tetralogy, but it is not the end of Black Reuss. Seeing it as a passage means closing a defined conceptual cycle while remaining open to what comes next. The four chapters were designed to reach this point, and Death completes that journey exactly as intended.

Personally and artistically, this feels less like a conclusion and more like a release. Finishing the tetralogy allows me to move forward without carrying the weight of a long-form concept anymore.

Black Reuss will continue with new music, but without being bound to a multi-album narrative. Death marks the end of one current — not silence, but freedom to explore new directions beyond it.

4. This album explores themes like dissolution, judgment, rebirth, and quiet hope. Which of those themes was the hardest for you to confront while writing?

Dissolution was the most difficult theme to face. Letting go of identity is uncomfortable, especially when you’ve spent years shaping something very personal. It’s not just about losing control artistically, but about questioning which parts of yourself still matter once familiar structures fall away. Judgment and rebirth are easier to frame because they imply direction — something happens, something follows. Dissolution doesn’t offer that comfort. It’s about accepting the absence of form, the fading of definitions, and the idea that not everything needs to transform into something new. Confronting that honestly required restraint and trust, both musically and personally.

5. How did the writing process for Death differ emotionally or creatively from Arrival? Did you approach this record from a darker headspace?

The process was different mainly because Death deals with a subject I have far less personal experience with. Arrival was rooted in confrontation and self-observation — things I could draw from directly. With Death, I had to approach the topic more carefully and abstractly, because death itself is something you can only interpret, not truly know.

Emotionally, it wasn’t darker, but more challenging. I worked from a quieter, more reflective place, relying on imagination, symbolism, and observation rather than lived experience. That uncertainty influenced the music and the lyrics. I used restraint, repetition, and atmosphere to express something that can’t be fully defined. In that sense, Death required more trust — in intuition, in silence, and in letting questions remain unanswered.

6. As a one-man project, you handle nearly everything yourself. What are the pros and cons of carrying that weight alone when making an album like this?

The biggest advantage is honesty. There is no compromise in the early stages, no filtering of ideas, and no need to explain emotional decisions to anyone else. Everything comes directly from one place, which is essential for a project like Black Reuss, where atmosphere and inner states matter more than technical display.

The downside is responsibility. Doubt doesn’t get shared, and there’s no immediate feedback when something feels uncertain. You have to trust your instincts and live with the decisions you make. But for this kind of music, that solitude is not a weakness — it’s part of the process. The weight you carry alone becomes part of the sound itself.

7. Diego Rapacchietti from Coroner handled the drums. What did his playing bring to the record that you feel would not have been possible otherwise?

Diego brought a sense of authority and restraint that was essential for Death. His playing doesn’t try to dominate the songs — it gives them weight and inevitability. That balance is very hard to achieve. The drums needed to feel grounded and deliberate, not expressive in an obvious way.

Because Black Reuss relies heavily on atmosphere and pacing, the drums had to support space rather than fill it. Diego understands that instinctively. His performance adds physical presence without breaking the emotional tension of the album. It allowed the songs to breathe while still feeling solid and unavoidable.

8. Sonically, Death is described as heavier and more atmospheric. What were you chasing in terms of mood and texture this time around?

I was chasing density without overload. I wanted the album to feel heavy even in moments where not much is happening. That kind of weight comes from texture, space, and repetition rather than aggression or speed. The atmosphere was more important than complexity.

I focused a lot on how sounds decay, how long notes are allowed to breathe, and how tension can exist without constant movement. The goal was to create a sense of presence — something that surrounds the listener rather than confronts them head-on. That approach allowed the music to feel immersive and inevitable, instead of dramatic.

9. The first single, “Oblivion” sets a pretty bleak tone. Why did you choose that track to introduce the album to the world?

Because Oblivion is honest and uncompromising, and it represents the album as a whole very clearly. It reflects the emotional language, the atmosphere, and the restraint that define Death. One of the central ideas of the record is that death doesn’t have to offer meaning or comfort — and Oblivion expresses that in a very direct way.

I also felt that this song carries the core mood of the album. If someone understands Oblivion, they will understand what Death is about. That’s why it felt right to introduce the record with this track. It sets the tone without explanation and makes clear that the album is about observation, not reassurance.

10. With “Endgame” following as the second single, how do those two tracks together frame the emotional arc of the album?

Together, Oblivion and Endgame define the emotional boundaries of Death. Oblivion represents emptiness and erasure — the absence of meaning. Endgame follows with awareness and acceptance. It’s not about fighting what comes next, but about standing inside it with clarity.

Placed next to each other, the two songs show that the album isn’t linear in an emotional sense. It moves between states rather than telling a story. Oblivion removes context, while Endgame brings focus. Together, they establish the core tension of the record: silence on one side, inevitability on the other.

11. You have worked with several collaborators on mixing, mastering, and recording. How important is that outside perspective when the core vision is so personal?

It’s very important, but in a specific way. I don’t look for collaborators to reinterpret the music or add their own vision to it. I look for people who understand how to translate emotion into sound without reshaping it. The core idea always stays untouched.

An outside perspective helps me make sure that what I feel internally actually comes across sonically. When you work alone for a long time, you can lose objectivity. Trusted collaborators help refine clarity and balance, not direction. In that sense, they don’t dilute the intimacy of the album — they protect it.

12. For fans of Type O Negative, Katatonia, and Black Sabbath, what do you think connects those influences to the Black Reuss sound beyond just heaviness?

What connects them is atmosphere and patience. Those bands understood that heaviness is not only about distortion or volume, but about mood, space, and emotional weight. They allowed songs to unfold slowly and trusted repetition and restraint to carry meaning.

That approach resonates strongly with how I work with Black Reuss. It’s less about impact and more about immersion. The connection lies in the willingness to let darkness breathe, to allow silence and tension to exist, and to create music that invites reflection rather than demanding attention.

13. When listeners sit down with Death from start to finish, what kind of emotional journey do you hope they experience?

I don’t expect a specific emotion, and I don’t want to guide the listener toward a conclusion. What I hope is that people allow themselves to slow down. Death works best when it’s experienced as a whole, without distraction, as a space rather than a narrative.

If the album creates a moment of stillness — where thoughts quiet down, and emotions are allowed to exist without judgment — then it has done what it was meant to do. It’s not about feeling sad or comforted. It’s about presence, reflection, and letting the music carry you through different inner states without forcing meaning onto them.

14. Do you see Black Reuss primarily as a studio project, or is bringing this material to the stage becoming more central to your vision?

Black Reuss started as a studio project, and the studio will always be the place where the core ideas are formed. That controlled environment is essential for shaping atmosphere and inner states without compromise.

That said, bringing the material to the stage is becoming more important to me. I’m actively working on making Black Reuss ready for live performances. It’s still in development, but the idea is not to reproduce the studio sound one-to-one, but to translate its mood and presence into a physical space. Live shows should add an additional layer to transporting that mood and presence, combining immersion with a sense of entertainment.

15. How do you translate such intimate, introspective material into a live setting without losing the emotional weight?

By expanding the experience rather than reducing it. The music of Black Reuss already carries a strong sense of atmosphere, and that creates a lot of potential for live translation. Adding a visual layer can actually help transport the mood and deepen the immersion instead of distracting from it. Sound, light, and visuals can work together to create an environment where the audience is fully drawn into the music. The material lends itself naturally to that kind of setting — slow dynamics, space, repetition, and texture all support an immersive experience. That’s why I believe Black Reuss has a lot of potential live. It’s not about spectacle, but about creating a focused space where the sound and visuals reinforce each other.

16. Looking back at the progression from Metamorphosis to Death, what do you think has changed the most in you as an artist?

What changed the most is my relationship with restraint and confidence. With each album, I felt more comfortable in my role as an artist. I learned from record to record, not only musically, but also in trusting my own decisions. That growing experience allowed me to slow down and be more deliberate.

In the beginning, there was a stronger urge to express and push ideas outward. Over time, I learned that holding back can be just as powerful. Silence, repetition, and space became conscious tools rather than uncertainty. Today, I feel much more grounded and secure in my approach. I no longer feel the need to explain or justify artistic choices — I let them exist and speak for themselves.

17. Was there a particular moment during the making of this album when you felt the concept of Death truly “clicked”?

Yes, there was a moment when I realized that I didn’t need to define death at all. As soon as I stopped trying to explain it or give it a clear meaning, the album found its form. That was the point where everything started to feel coherent — musically, lyrically, and conceptually.

Once I accepted that Death could hold multiple interpretations at the same time, the pressure disappeared. From there on, the songs were allowed to exist as states rather than statements. That’s when the concept truly clicked for me.

18. In a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming, what role do you think dark, melancholic music plays for listeners today?

I think dark and melancholic music creates space. It allows people to slow down and process emotions without being pushed toward optimism or solutions. Not everything needs to be fixed or explained, and this kind of music acknowledges that.

For many listeners, dark music is grounding rather than depressing. It reflects inner states that are often left unspoken and gives them form. In a noisy and demanding world, honesty can be comforting. It tells people they don’t have to escape certain feelings — they’re allowed to sit with them.

19. If Death were a film, what kind of atmosphere or visual world would you imagine it living in?

It would be minimal and restrained. Long, quiet shots, very little dialogue, and a strong focus on space rather than action. Visually, I imagine desaturated colors, slow movement, and environments that feel vast but empty — places where time seems to stretch.

The atmosphere wouldn’t be dramatic or frightening. It would be calm, heavy, and contemplative. A film that trusts silence and stillness, allowing the viewer to project their own thoughts into the space rather than being guided emotionally.

20. Is there anything else you would like Breathing The Core readers to know about the deeper meaning behind Death or what the future holds for Black Reuss?

Death closes the tetralogy exactly where it was meant to end, but it does not close Black Reuss. The project will continue with new music, free from the structure of a multi-album concept. Finishing this cycle feels more like clearing space than reaching an endpoint.

What comes next will be different, but it will still be honest and rooted in atmosphere and emotion. Black Reuss remains about reflection, presence, and depth — just without being bound to one long narrative anymore.

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