BLACK WINTER

December 30, 2025 George Georgiou

The Larisa-based Black Winter already count 25 years of activity. After a period of pause and silence, the band is very close to completing its new recording project. At the same time, they are finally returning to the stage, with the first show taking place on January 3 at Skyland. You can learn about all this and much more in the interview that follows.

Remind us, with a brief retrospective, of the band’s journey up to today.

Black Winter were born 25 years ago, out of necessity rather than as a plan. We began with an inner compulsion to capture darkness not as an aesthetic pose, but as a philosophical condition. From the early years until today, our path has been marked by periods of intensity, silence, reflection, and return. We were never interested in constant presence; what mattered to us was the substance of each appearance. Although our presence has been intermittent, we were fortunate to share the stage with major acts in the scene, and we have headlined venues in many cities, including Athens.

What were the reasons that led to the band’s absence from active activity during the period leading up to your return?

The absence was essentially not a breakup but a pause, and there were both personal and creative reasons behind it. Sometimes silence is more honest than a record that has nothing substantial to say. We needed time to define the why, not the how, but now we are determined to remain visible with greater consistency and longevity. Since the 2015 EP “Virtual Vortex,” there has been a discographic gap. Virtual Vortex functioned like a self-fulfilling prophecy. It already spoke of alienation, of the digital dissolution of the subject, and of the collapse of experience into simulation. The gap that followed was not inertia, but incubation. Some things need years to crystallize, and at this moment we have a lot of material that we would like to see the light of day, as we believe it carries a certain specific weight and value not only for us—and so we feel that it needs to be shared.

With a new album just around the corner, what information can you share with us at this point?

The new album is in the final stage of production, and it is our most inward-looking and extreme work to date. Musically, it is more stripped-down yet heavier, more ritualistic. Lyrically, it revolves around the concept of non-return—that point at which consciousness can no longer pretend ignorance. Nothing will be released immediately, as a short period of negotiations will intervene regarding where we will place our trust, during which we will be called upon to make decisions about how best to channel and release it.

Looking back at your starting point and your entire previous journey, how do you perceive the band’s evolution and its current identity?

We do not believe that we have “evolved” in a linear sense. Rather, we have been stripped down. The current identity of Black Winter is stricter, more honest, and less willing to compromise. We know what we are not—and that is already enough.

If you were to set parameters with specific references, which artists in the scene do you consider decisive in shaping your own style?

There are influences, but no imitation. Artists who approached extreme music as a philosophical field, as an existential outcry rather than a formula. Beyond music, however, we were influenced more by texts, ideas, and situations than by specific names.

Given your imminent return to the stage on January 3 at Skyland, what can the audience expect, and what are your next plans for live performances?

The appearance at Skyland marks our return not in a nostalgic sense, but as an aggressively present force. The set will mainly focus on new material, with an emphasis on experiential intensity, while our next plans include releases and carefully selected live appearances; not oversaturation.

If you were asked to single out one particularly special live performance to date, which would it be and why?

Every live performance we have given is important to us, each for different reasons. Nevertheless, if we had to single out one, we would mention our concert with Marduk. At that time, we had only been making music for six years, with our oldest member being just 20 years old, while they already had sixteen years of uninterrupted presence behind them. To be on stage next to a true juggernaut of the genre, and one of the most enduring acts of the second generation of black metal, coming from Scandinavia, a crucial region for the idiom, was in itself a powerful lesson.

Amid all the noise of the underground discourse around “trve black metal”, “rip-offs”, and “posers”, what impressed us most was their attitude. Pioneers of the scene, completely grounded and courteous, demonstrating in practice that behind blasphemy, provocation, and darkness there is, above all, art and conscious theatricality. It was an experience that opened our eyes and gave us perspective. It confirmed us on many levels, which is why we consider it truly pivotal.

It may be unnecessary to explain just how different things were back then, when we exchanged demos with other bands via post, when black metal ran parallel to the punk movement with Xerox fanzines and the like; and when no one would ever have expected to see black metal bands appear as guests on morning television shows.

What are the things that inspire you, and which themes do you engage with in your lyrics?

The failure of meaning, the violence of normality, the illusion of progress, the confinement of consciousness. Our lyrics do not offer solutions; they function as cracks. If something manages to seep through them, then they have achieved their purpose.

You had collaborated in the past with Tristessa (Maria Kolokouri). What kind of memories do you have from that collaboration, and what did you take with you from your contact with the prematurely lost Maria?

Maria was an authentic presence, dark in an essential way rather than an affected one. The collaboration with her left a trace of respect and silence. What we retained was the seriousness with which she approached creation, without theatrics or unnecessary statements.

Having lived through a broad span of time within the scene, what differences have you observed in the Greek scene over the years?

The scene has grown, but not always in depth. There is greater technical proficiency, more exposure, greater ease of production, and less risk. In a single day now, more music is released than in the entirety of 1983, resulting in countless amounts of meaningless noise from people who, in previous decades, would not even have bothered. Nevertheless, there continue to be nuclei of genuine expression, and those are what truly matter.

Finally, if you were to summarize the spirit and essence of Black Winter in a few lines, what would you yourselves write?

We would say that the spirit and essence of Black Winter lie in absolute honesty. In the past, our music was met with intense enthusiasm not because we “captured the spirit of the times,” or because we rode an already moving wave, but because everything we did was direct, unrefined, and deeply personal. We never tried to serve trends or align ourselves with any particular movement; we simply expressed what we felt at a given moment, without filters and without strategy. And ultimately, it was this honesty that spoke to many people and created a meaningful connection with them. We harbor the quiet hope, if not the confidence, that another generation of listeners will respond in a similar way, and we look forward to opening that conversation.