After years of honing your craft, how does it feel to finally drop "2026" through Black Lion Records?
It feels very good, and also very natural. Riket was never a band built around speed or constant visibility, so the album arrived when it was actually ready to exist. We have taken our time, learned what this band really is, and “2026” feels like the first full statement where everything aligns: the music, the language, the stories, and the identity. Having Black Lion release it also feels right, because the connection has been there for years and there is trust on both sides.
The album title "2026" matches the release year, is this meant to signal a definitive starting point for the band’s legacy?
Yes, in a way it is. The title places the past next to the present. All the stories on the album happened long ago, but the patterns behind them are still here, so calling it “2026” is a way of asking how much we have really changed. It also marks this album as the point where Riket fully steps forward as its own entity. We did things before this, of course, but this is the record where the band becomes complete.
You’ve chosen to perform entirely in Swedish; do you think the harshness of the language adds a layer of violence that English just can't reach?
I would not say violence exactly, but it definitely adds weight and precision. Swedish makes it more immediate for me, especially when dealing with events that are rooted in our own history. It removes distance. English is a fantastic language for metal, obviously, but for this band it would have created a filter between the events and how we retell them. Swedish lets me be more exact, more personal, and also a bit stronger in how I phrase things. That helps the atmosphere a lot I think. It would feel weird to tell the story about starving Swedish farmers in 1867 and have them curse their misfortune in English. So Swedish it is.
"If everything is aggressive all the time, the aggression loses meaning. If everything is atmospheric, it can become too soft around the edges."
The record was produced by Sverker Widgren at Wing Studios, how did his touch help capture the specific aggression you were looking for?
Sverker understood very early that this album did not need to sound overworked or polished into submission. We wanted clarity, but also nerve. There has to be aggression in it, but not the kind that comes from making everything bigger and cleaner than life. It needed to breathe, to feel like people were actually playing it. Sverker was very important there, because he gave the material enough shape and force without stripping away the grit and instability that make it feel alive. So we are very pleased with how it all went and Sverker is a veteran in the scene and we know him well so it all fell into place quite naturally.
Your lyrics focus on historical catastrophes and blunders; which specific event on the album do you find the most disturbing?
That is a difficult question, because they are all disturbing in different ways. But “1885 – Dödsdansen (I Månskensnatten)” is probably one of the most unsettling for me, because it tells the story about how a generous gesture turned into carnage. The famous opera singer Kristina Nilsson gave some free concerts from her balcony at the Grand Hotel in Stockholm, so that ordinary people also got a chance to experience opera. But on the third evening more than 10,000 people gathered and the crowd began to move and panic ensued. And I think every concert goer can relate to the chaos and panic that these people must have felt as they fell and were tramped, resulting in 19 dead people, mainly women and children. Such a horrible aftermath to something that was meant to be a memorable experience in the summer evening.
There’s a balance between aggression and atmosphere. How do you approach that when writing?
By not forcing one at the expense of the other. If everything is aggressive all the time, the aggression loses meaning. If everything is atmospheric, it can become too soft around the edges. We try to let the story decide where the weight should sit. Some moments need violence; others need tension, dread, or even restraint. Real heaviness often comes from contrast, not just impact. So the atmosphere is not decoration, it is part of the force of the song.
With your background in death metal, thrash, and punk, how do you balance those three distinct energies during the writing process?
Mostly by instinct. We do not sit there like chemists measuring out how much thrash, how much death metal, how much punk. The foundation is definitely death metal, but if a song needs the urgency of punk or the forward movement of thrash, and then we let that happen. The important thing is that it still feels like the same band. We are not trying to show range for its own sake. We are trying to give each song the shape it needs. In the end it all boils down to what story we are telling, then we let everything else take shape around that to help both us and the listener feel the mood of the song.
You close the album with a Stefan Sundström cover; what made "Alla Ska I Jorden" the right choice to end this historical journey?
Because after all the stories of failure, death, miscalculation, and collapse, it brings a very different kind of finality. It is not triumphant, but it is honest. There is almost a kind of calm in it. No matter how people lived, what they believed, what they built, or how badly things went wrong, in the end we all return to the same place. That felt like the right closing perspective. Also, the song itself is simply strong enough to carry that weight so we felt it befitting as the final track.
Riket is described as a "volatile experience" on stage. How do you plan to translate these nine tales of calamity into a live performance?
By treating the live show as more than just a set of songs. We try to create a full atmosphere around the material. The songs are connected by spoken introductions, concepts, and a certain tension in how we present them. At the same time, we do not want it to become theatre. It still has to feel dangerous and immediate. No backing tracks, no safety net, no polished illusion. The stories are important, but so is the feeling that something real is happening in the room.
Now that the debut is unleashed, is Riket a permanent fixture of the Swedish scene, or is this a one-time warning to the world?
Riket is definitely not a one-time warning. This band has grown too deep into who we are for that. If anything, “2026” feels more like the beginning than the conclusion. So yes, I would say Riket is here to stay, and we have every intention of pushing this further, both on record and on stage.
If "2026" is a snapshot of the past, what direction do you see Riket taking in the future?
Further in, not away. There are many more stories to tell, and many more angles to explore. I think future Riket records will probably become even more confident in terms of contrast, dynamics, and identity. We are not interested in repeating ourselves just because something worked once. But the core will remain the same: Swedish language, historical darkness, raw honesty, and music that feels alive enough to still be dangerous.
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