Fictional Album Art

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Spoiler: Variation

 

[Azas]

↑ This is the main cover art version used worldwide.
↓ Main cover art version for the Baltic States.


IVORY TOWER: Screaming into the Western Void
A Three-Chapter Study in Riffs, Rage, and the Melancholy of Watching Brussels Fiddle While Donbas Burns

Chapter I: MAPS, METAL, AND OTHER LIES WE TELL OURSELVES​

Once upon a time, four men from Letovia—an Eastern European country that doesn’t exist on most maps but somehow still pays EU taxes—formed a band called IVORY TOWER. This was in 2019, just after Russia annexed another piece of geography and Angela Merkel offered another well-intentioned frown.

They played heavy metal. They sang about things like justice, sovereignty, and what it feels like to scream into a NATO pillow while someone in Brussels sells another pipeline to a kleptocrat.

They didn’t just play riffs. They shook fists—at history, at geography, and at the Western world’s remarkable ability to ignore suffering as long as it occurs two time zones away and doesn’t affect cappuccino prices.

The four founding members of IVORY TOWER weren’t exactly a boy band. They were more of a geopolitical existential crisis in leather jackets.

• Matas “The Face” Šilkinis – rhythm guitar, vocals, and unofficial spokesman for the disillusioned
• Jonas “Sharper Than Your Sanctions” Vėdrynas – rhythm and solo guitar, solos so precise they could slice through diplomatic fog
• Pranas “The Boss” Blinda – bass, Letovia’s only known pacifist who believes in punching fascism and far-gone leftism, but only in 4/4 time.
• Vytas “Thunderstorm of the Baltics” Dundulis – drums, reportedly once kept perfect time during an air raid siren test

Their name, Ivory Tower, was not a tribute to academia, but rather a slow, sarcastic slap to Europe’s habit of theorizing morality from inside architecturally significant buildings while real blood is being spilled elsewhere. Think less "ivory" and more "ironic asbestos."

In interviews, they often referred to themselves not as musicians, but as auditory dissidents. Critics said they were "angry." The band corrected them: "No, we’re Eastern European."

Chapter II: LIVING BETWEEN EMPATHY AND EMPIRE​

Letovia, the band's homeland, is wedged somewhere between nostalgia and artillery. In the past millennium, it’s been invaded by:

• Teutonic Knights (too much religion)
• Swedish Kings (too much blond)
• Soviet Tanks (too much Communism)
• IKEA Catalogues (just enough shelves)

But Letovia endured. Not because of miracle, but because Letovians are professionally tired of being liberated. By the 1990s, the USSR collapsed under its own weight—mostly paranoia and bad plumbing. Letovia rushed into the arms of NATO and the EU, only to discover that while democracy might be free, deterrence is sold separately.

The members of IVORY TOWER grew up in that post-Soviet paradox: they were taught about freedom by teachers who still flinched at helicopters. They learned chords and Cold War history side by side, which explains why their riffs often sound like a Warsaw Pact rolling in reverse.

You could call them idealists. But idealism implies naivety. These were Letovian idealists—fully aware of human nature, trained in disappointment, but still somehow dumb enough to believe in values.

They looked West and saw a continent obsessed with neutrality and renewable energy. They looked East and saw fascism dressed up in medals and memory loss. Then they looked at each other and said, “Maybe we should write a song about this.”

And they did.
Not ballads.
Warnings.

And the warnings rhymed.
Sometimes.

Chapter III:​

Their debut album landed in 2020, the same year Europe collectively discovered Zoom meetings and the phrase strategic patience. Titled “Peace at Any Cost… When Inaction Becomes Violence”, it wasn’t so much a musical debut as it was a manifesto wrapped in distortion.

Tracklist:

1. Pipeline of Compromise – 4:13
2. Lukewarm Condemnation – 5:06
3. Facades of Freedom – 4:02
4. Dead Eyes in Strasbourg – 3:47
5. Appeasement Anthem – 7:01
6. Vetoed to Death – 2:34
7. In Memoriam: The Baltics (Again) – 5:22
8. Pacifist Parade – 4:08
9. Silent Flags – 6:00

The songs are brutal. Not in the “drop-C tuning” sense (though that’s there too), but in the way they force you to sit with uncomfortable truths. “Appeasement Anthem” plays like a funeral march for Europe’s spine. “Dead Eyes in Strasbourg” is basically a love song if your idea of love involves betrayal and oil contracts.

Reviewers called the album “a gut-punch,” “auditory geopolitical critique,” and “like being yelled at by someone who’s actually right.”

One critic said it best: “IVORY TOWER doesn’t ask for your guilt. They inject it directly into your bloodstream. And then they shred.”

It’s a great debut. It’s also incredibly unsettling. The riffs are tight, the fury is focused, and the aftermath of listening feels like waking up in a house you thought was secure, only to realize someone left the back door wide open.

---

In conclusion: IVORY TOWER isn’t here to entertain you. They’re here to interrupt your apathy. And in a continent where silence is often policy, that might be the loudest act of rebellion yet.

***

Not gonna claim that all of it was written entirely by me this time—but you can be sure the text carries my full direction, plotting, tone and political messaging.
Meant to be perceived as political satire. Of sorts. Or maybe just reality, cleverly disguised as a joke no one’s laughing at.

 

[Azas]

↑ This is the main cover art version used worldwide.
↓ Main cover art version for the Baltic States.

*
IVORY TOWER: Peace Through Strength or How to Scream While Everyone Else Whispers
A Review of the 2022 Album That Makes “And Justice For All” Sound Like Elevator Music

In late 2022, while Europe was busy drafting new “deeply concerned” statements and stockpiling red lines like they were collector’s items, Letovia’s loudest export did the only reasonable thing: they released a second album.

It was called Peace Through Strength—which, for the irony-impaired, is not an endorsement. The cover features Joe Biden shaking hands with a thick-necked Russian soldier straight out of central casting: the kind of man who eats turnips raw and uses satellite states as gym equipment. Biden looks like he just read the casualty report and forgot his reading glasses, while the soldier smirks like a man who knows he's winning because the other guy brought a pigeon to a missile fight. The pigeon, by the way, is very much bleeding—symbolism subtle enough to make a French diplomat sweat. Between them, a nuclear warhead lounges like an uninvited dinner guest no one dares ask to leave. This is not peace. This is the visual equivalent of clapping politely at your own funeral.

The message is clear: this isn’t peace through strength. It’s peace through hesitant bureaucracy, fragile alliances, and halfhearted embargoes that somehow always spare luxury vodka.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SATIRE AND BLAST BEATS​

IVORY TOWER is no stranger to mixing riffs with geopolitical despair, but Peace Through Strength cranks the voltage. If their debut was a Molotov cocktail thrown at diplomatic protocol, this one’s an entire fuel truck crashing into a UN meeting.

Musically, it’s tighter, faster, and angrier. Blast beats detonate like artillery, ferocious riffage claws through time signatures like NATO through internal consensus, and Matas “The Face” Šilkinis delivers vocals in a voice so grim and gravelly it could replace sanctions.

The band didn’t tone down their message either. At a release gig held in a concrete bunker outside Vilnius, Matas told the crowd:

“Maybe we are a little bit too harsh toward Mr. Biden. He gives weapons. A lot of weapons. But that’s clearly not enough. What’s the end goal here? Why is nobody talking about actually defeating Russia? Only draining it? Meanwhile, Ukraine is draining too.”

Then Jonas leaned into the mic and added:

“Yeah. Biden says, ‘We will stay with Ukraine as long as it needs.’ But what if the next U.S. president is a lunatic? I mean—a different kind of lunatic?”

Nobody laughed. Or maybe they did, but it was the kind of laughter that doesn’t reach the eyes.

---

TRACKLIST – Peace Through Strength (2022)​

1. Handshake of Shame – 4:01
2. Sanction My Ass – 2:58
3. No Objective, Just Optics – 3:37
4. Europe on Mute – 3:44
5. Weaponized Patience – 5:09
6. Drain Game – 2:40
7. Decadence Directive – 3:05
8. Peacekeeper’s Lullaby (Blood Version) – 6:29
9. Exit Strategy (There Is None) – 5:51

The songs are lean. No filler. No mercy. No 8-minute ballads about waiting for sanctions to work. Just unrelenting double-kick barrages, wrist-shattering palm mutes, and enough time signature whiplash to confuse even the most seasoned prog listener.

Handshake of Shame. Opens like a diplomatic summit, ends like a bar fight in a collapsing parliament. The chorus hits like a photo op gone wrong, complete with shredding guitars that sound like pens breaking over meaningless treaties.
Sanction My Ass. This song is the sonic equivalent of shouting “That’ll show ’em!” while your enemy invades anyway. The riff is sarcastic. The solo is basically a sanctions list with every entry crossed out in blood.
No Objective, Just Optics. Pure bureaucratic despair. It's like someone weaponized EU press briefings and gave them distortion pedals. Features a bridge that’s more confused than a Western foreign policy document.
Europe on Mute is basically a thrash sermon delivered over a tempo so blistering it might qualify as a war crime.
Weaponized Patience deserves its own thesis. It’s got the blackened-thrash venom of early Kreator but filtered through Letovian historical PTSD and a bassline that sounds like an incoming drone strike.
“Drain Game” is pure riff carnage, clocking in at 2:40 but somehow containing three tempo changes, a breakdown, and what sounds like a recorded voicemail from the ghost of Neville Chamberlain.
Decadence Directive. This one swaggers like a Versailles afterparty and ends in digital ashes. Lyrics drip irony like champagne from a state-sponsored art gala while the band thrashes through the death of seriousness.
Peacekeeper’s Lullaby (Blood Version) A slow burn dirge wrapped in lies and lacquered diplomacy. Doom riffage and ghostly choirs back lyrics that could have been lifted from a UN briefing, but sung like funeral rites for deterrence.
Exit Strategy (There Is None) Starts off with a false sense of hope, then spirals into musical entropy. Each chorus lands like the realization that the only thing standing between you and annihilation is an intern with a stapler and a “We Condemn This” statement.

Matas’ vocals ride the sonic storm like a disillusioned prophet. You don’t listen to this album for comfort. You listen because you need to feel something again, and feelings in this case include dread, defiance, and a burning desire to throw a Molotov through a trade delegation’s windshield.

---

FINAL THOUGHTS FROM THE BLAST ZONE​

Is Peace Through Strength better than their debut?

Absolutely.

It’s more focused, more furious, and somehow even funnier in that bitter, Eastern European way where you’re not sure if you’re laughing or realizing how little of the world still makes sense. The production’s sharper, the compositions tighter, and the sheer thrash vocabulary—from blistering downpicks to neck-snapping bridge riffs—has evolved into something borderline militarized.

A German reviewer described it as “like watching a peace conference collapse in real time, but with guitar solos.” An American one just said: “Why does this hurt so good?”

And yes, you can hear the DNA of Metallica’s “...And Justice For All” in the architecture of these tracks. But this record makes that classic sound like pop-metal for dads who still think neutrality is brave.

Someone—probably from Belgium—once said: “IVORY TOWER is too angry. Too sharp. Too unrelenting.”
And someone from Letovia replied:

“Yes. Thank you.”

I don’t know what kind of soil they’ve got in Letovia.
But I’m pretty sure it’s fertilized with disappointment, adrenaline, and whatever ancient nutrient grows next-level thrash prophets.

Whatever it is—these guys eat well.

***

Again, not gonna claim that all of it was written entirely by me—but the text carries my full direction, plotting, tone and political messaging.
Meant to be perceived as political satire. Bla, bla, bla.

 

[Siddharth]

Sanction My Ass

A small comma after the first word could have drastically changed its meaning.

 

[Azas]

↓ Ditched album cover​

Album Review: Ivory Tower – "Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin"​

️️️️ ️ (5/5, possibly treasonous in France)
by Nigel Understone, The Quiet Warble
There comes a point in every European empire’s decline where philosophers start mumbling about meaning, while barbarians start sharpening sticks. Ivory Tower’s third album, Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin, is essentially the musical version of that moment—except the philosophers are screaming, and the barbarians have podcasts.

Released in 2024, this 14-track operatic brick-through-a-foggy-window is what happens when you give four Baltic men too much access to ancient texts, military history, and Mesa/Boogie amplifiers.

This is the sound of Voltaire chain-smoking behind a tank.

THE THEME:​

The album is a love letter to European ideals, written in napalm. It chronicles what happens when the Enlightenment forgets to bring a shield. This is the band at its most literary, orchestral, and bitterly sarcastic.

TRACK-BY-TRACK NOTES:​

• “Ivory Requiem” (1:15): A brief, mournful instrumental that sounds like Vivaldi was left unattended in a bunker. The calm before every storm.
• “Twilight Citadel” (5:36): Soaring harmonies, lyrics about moral decay in fortresses of thought, and one of the best uses of Latin declension in a bridge since Carcass stopped being fun.
• “The Last Philosopher King” (6:02): Imagine Plato fighting Putin with a flanged guitar and you’re halfway there. It’s furious, tragic, and probably banned in Belarus.
• “The Comfort of Collapse” (4:44)
  The soundtrack to that special Western tradition: watching everything fall apart while calling for another round. Feels like someone turned cognitive dissonance into a guitar riff.
• “Ashes Beyond the Glass” (7:22): A power ballad for people who own gas masks. Features the line:
  
  

  “The mirror showed Rome, but the window showed Mariupol.”
  Subtle? No. Effective? Also no. It’s devastating.

• “Illusion of Stability” (5:32)
  Mid-tempo menace with a chorus so ironic it could headline Davos. Ends with a soft piano outro — just long enough for you to question your life choices and Google "Munich Agreement."
• “Empire in Amber” (8:16): Long, slow, tragic. Like if The Decline of the West was adapted for electric violin and battalion chants.
• “Gilded Dust” (1:20)
  A short instrumental. Equal parts eerie and elegant. Like if Chopin knew about hedge funds.
• “Blind to the Pyre” (3:37): A thrash banger. Short, punchy, and likely to get you flagged by certain algorithms.
• “Luxury of Ignorance” (5:40)
  The most danceable indictment of Western apathy you'll hear this decade. The bassline alone could fund a think tank report on why nobody acts until after the bombing.
• “Arrogance of the Enlightened” (6:21): A scathing indictment of technocratic detachment. The solo is literally in 17/8 time. Because of course it is.
• “Elegy for the Unmoved” (5:18)
  An emotional uppercut disguised as a ballad. It’s like watching someone cry into a constitution while artillery echoes in the background. Possibly illegal in Switzerland.
• “When Knowing is Not Enough” (4:25)
  A prog-thrash tirade with lyrics that read like Socrates rage-tweeting. It’s got everything: fretboard gymnastics, philosophical despair, and a final scream that sounds like democracy gasping for relevance.
• “Towers Die First” (9:59): The finale. A blistering, multi-part epic that name-drops both NATO and Dante. If democracy falls, this is what it will sound like.

LYRICS THAT SHOULD BE STAMPED ON PASSPORTS:​

“You called it peace while smoke swallowed the steeples.”
“The library burns slower than the church, but it burns all the same.”
“A gilded cage is still a strategy for prey.”
“Empires rot in symposiums.”

Somewhere in Brussels, a junior diplomat spilled his oat milk just feeling this album.

THE SOUND:​

Musically, Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin is tighter than a sanctions loophole. Guitarist Jonas Vėdrynas shreds with the passion of a man who’s read too many military treaties. Drummer Vytas Dundulis has seemingly learned to play 32nd notes using only rage. The rhythm section is so precise you’d think they measured BPM with a ballistic calculator.

Vocally, Matas Šilkinis has gone full prophet-in-a-storm mode. Less singing, more vocal exorcism of Rousseau’s ghost.

Bassist Pranas “The Boss” Blinda doesn’t play bass — he enforces it. His tone is less “low end” and more “constitutional backbone.” It’s the sound of treaties breaking, of diplomacy collapsing into groove. Every note lands like a parliamentary censure: heavy, unavoidable, and deeply uncomfortable for anyone with offshore accounts. His playing isn’t just foundational — it’s practically geopolitical.

THE MESSAGE:​

This is an album for those who still remember when European values meant something stronger than good cheese and cautious outrage. It asks hard questions like: What good is enlightenment if you forget to carry a torch? And: Is your pacifism worth the border towns it gets bombed?

Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin doesn’t whisper into the void. It kicks down the void’s door, demands accountability, and hands you a playlist while doing it.

A MATURE CATACLYSM:

Yes, the songs are longer. No, not a second is wasted. Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin doesn’t indulge in filler — it constructs cathedrals. Each track feels like it was hand-chiseled by monks with distortion pedals and a copy of The Federalist Papers. Sonically, it’s the lovechild of Piece of Mind and Master of Puppets, if that child grew up fluent in Kant and also knew how to scream in 5/4 time. The production is crystal clear — every instrument surgically sharp, like a string section with bayonets. It’s progressive heavy thrash metal at its most articulate: towering riffs, operatic melancholy, and drums that sound like someone is pounding on the gates of Vienna. The album doesn’t mourn Europe’s twilight years — it chronicles them with fury and precision, like a torchbearer who’s also the arsonist. It’s not disdain — it’s an angry love letter to a continent too cultured to punch back when it matters.

FINAL VERDICT:​

It’s angry. It’s philosophical. It’s politically explicit in a way that makes you suspicious of your electricity supplier. This isn’t background music. It’s foreground warning.

Essential listening for:

• People who own books and body armor
• Nations shaped like shields
• Anyone tired of Europe’s exquisite and articulate paralysis

***

This is political satire. I acknowledge that Europe is doing a lot to help Ukraine, and I fully support Europe—duh.

 

[Azas]

Matas Šilkinis - vocals, rhythm guitar *** / *****Jonas Vėdrynas - solo guitar *** / *********** Pranas Blinda - bass ****** / ******** Vytas Dundulis - drums


“WHEN KNOWING IS NOT ENOUGH” TOUR: IVORY TOWER GOES TO CHURCH, CLUBS, AND CONTINENTAL PSYCHODRAMA
By Greta Hammerskaft, special to The Quiet Warble

When Letovia’s loudest export IVORY TOWER announced their European tour in support of Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin, it was immediately clear this wasn’t going to be a typical circuit of polite meet-and-greets and soggy catering trays. No, this was the WHEN KNOWING IS NOT ENOUGH TOUR, a 23-date sonic blitzkrieg across the continent that promised (and delivered) riffs, reckoning, and at least one attempted assassination.

THE MISSION​

The tour kicked off in Vilnius with fog, fire, and a 14-minute version of “Towers Die First” that allegedly caused three NATO advisors in attendance to take notes and then immediately resign. From there, the band dragged their amps, banners, and increasingly unhinged merchandise booth (“MERCH THROUGH STRENGTH”) across borders, bike lanes, and bureaucracy.

“We’re not on tour,” said drummer Vytas Dundulis at one presser. “We’re doing outreach. Like missionaries. But louder and with double kick.”

THE SHOWS​

In Berlin, the venue was a refurbished Cold War fallout shelter, now used for electronic music yoga nights. The band politely turned it into a moral earthquake. Jonas Vėdrynas opened “Ashes Beyond the Glass” with a solo so sharp it reportedly interfered with German rail signals.

In Malmö, the crowd began the show with crossed arms and furrowed brows. “Very serious,” noted vocalist Matas Šilkinis. “I thought we were performing for a TEDx event.” By the end of the second song, a respectable circle pit had formed around an off-duty urban planner. The pit was later zoned for residential development.

In Prague, fans brought candles and EU flags. In Warsaw, they brought flares and military rations. In Amsterdam, someone brought a ferret. It did not survive “Blind to the Pyre.”

THE INCIDENT IN ALT-HEIDELBURG​

Ah yes. The stabbing. It happened in Alt-Heidelburg, a fictional-yet-suspiciously-familiar city somewhere in Old Europe where beer is a right and ideology is a performance art. After the show, guitarist Jonas Vėdrynas was approached by a self-identified “radical transitional harmony activist” (no, we don’t know either) who believed the band's anti-authoritarian lyrics were “crypto-fascist by implication of structure.”

The assailant lunged with a paring knife. Jonas, thanks to years of Letovian sauna training and suspicious reflexes, took the blade in the arm and immediately disarmed the attacker with a combination of sarcasm and a guitar string.

Later, Jonas released a statement:

“To the man who tried to stab me for not being ideologically pure: We are not your enemies. We just walk with a bell and try to wake you from sleep.
Hmm… maybe we rang it a bit too loud. My bad.”

The would-be assassin was later found in holding, reading Peace Through Strength album lyrics and muttering, 'Damn. They were right.'

THE CROWDS​

In Belgium, crowds were cautious. But when “The Last Philosopher King” hit its first drop-D tremolo dive, even the bureaucrats banged heads. In Paris, they started skeptical—by “Luxury of Ignorance,” they were sobbing into overpriced Merlot.

In the UK, one fan threw a treaty onstage. In Spain, a flamenco dancer joined a mosh pit and is now seeking asylum in Letovia.

Each night ended with “Towers Die First,” complete with a projected quote:

“Apathy doesn’t prevent war. It just delays your evacuation.”

Merch sold included shirts saying:

• “Decadence Directive Complied”
• “Weaponized Patience Kills”
• And the best seller: “Make Europe Brave Again” *

THE BAND, THE BANTER​

On the road, the band traveled in a converted Letovian troop transport, repainted with Renaissance frescoes and a hood ornament shaped like Cicero screaming. They called it The Rebuttal.

“We drive slow,” said bassist Pranas “The Boss” Blinda. “We’re heavy. Gravity respects us.”

They told jokes between countries:

• What’s the difference between an EU minister and our tour bus radiator?

The radiator occasionally holds pressure.

• What’s Russia’s favorite instrument?

Gas pipe organ.

THE MERKEL MYSTERY​

Around the midpoint of the tour—somewhere between the Prague show’s standing ovation and the regrettable ferret incident—former German Chancellor Angela Merkel quietly vanished from the public eye. No press statements, no book signings, not even a panel discussion on responsible centrism. Just… gone. Coincidentally, that same week, all four members of Ivory Tower were seen exiting a secure area in Brussels, looking unusually well-ironed and unsarcastic. When pressed, bassist Pranas “The Boss” Blinda simply said, “She had a lot to answer for. We merely asked the questions. Very loudly.”

Of course, there's no direct evidence linking the band to Merkel’s abrupt sabbatical. But Letovians are famously efficient with silence, and the band has neither confirmed nor denied involvement. All we know is that shortly afterward, several suspected Kremlin-connected lobbyists fled the continent, and one EU official whispered, “I think they’ve started playing chess with real people now.”

If Frau Merkel resurfaces in a monastery wearing band merch, well—some bells can’t be unrung.

THE AFTERMATH​

By the end of the tour, Europe was slightly less asleep, moderately offended, and deeply impressed. Even the EU Commission released an internal memo admitting:

“We do not endorse this band, but we hear them. Loudly. Through walls.”

They closed in Riga, playing under a lunar eclipse, flanked by Ukrainian flag projections and footage of Enlightenment philosophers frowning.

And as Jonas limped off stage, still bandaged from The Alt-Heidelburg Enlightenment Incident, he whispered into the mic:

“We came, we played, we rang the bell.
Sorry if you were napping.”

###

* Ha ha ha, that’s pretty funny. I can assure you—the band members are neither pro-Trump nor pro-MAGA.

 

[Azas]

INTERVIEW: Ivory Tower – “We’re Not Trying to Be Right. We’re Trying to Be Loud.”
Conducted by Marija van Horn for Amphetamine & Reason, 2024 Issue

Marija van Horn: First off—congrats on Renaissance at the Edge of Ruin. It’s getting praised in some corners of the press and quietly ignored in others. Must be a good sign.

Matas Šilkinis (vocals): Yeah. If both Berlin and Moscow hate it, you’ve probably done something right.

Jonas Vėdrynas (guitar): Or wrong in the right direction.

Marija: The album sounds angrier than ever, but also more complex. What’s the evolution here?

Vytas Dundulis (drums): We wanted to write something that feels like the European project right now: heavy, baroque, and about five minutes away from either enlightenment or collapse.

Matas: It’s a love letter to ideals. But like, the kind you write during a breakup.

Pranas “The Boss” Blinda (bass): It’s prog-thrash you can dance to if your country’s been invaded five times in 200 years.

Marija: Towers Die First—that last track. Nearly 10 minutes of thunderous rage. What’s the message?

Jonas: Empires don’t fall overnight. They rot in panels, roundtables, and resolutions. The towers always collapse before the people even realise the foundation’s gone.

Matas: Also, I just really wanted to scream the word “symposium” in 9/8 time.

Marija: There’s a lot of political anger, especially toward Western Europe. Some might call it... confrontational?

Pranas: We call it accurate.

Vytas: Look, our grandparents hid radios in their cellars to listen to news from free countries. Our parents marched for NATO while tanks rolled past. And now we’re told by comfortable people in Paris salons that deterrence is rude.

Matas: We’re not your enemies. We’re just the smoke alarm in your penthouse. Yeah, it’s annoying. But so is fire.

Marija: Jonas—let’s address the elephant in the operating room. You were stabbed by a radical at a show in Alt-Heidelburg. First off, how’s the arm?

Jonas (rotating his bandaged arm theatrically): Still attached. He got the upper bicep. Missed the artery, hit the part of my arm responsible for optimism.

Marija: Can you still play guitar?

Jonas: Oh absolutely. If anything, the stabbing added tone. My downpicking now has a slight tremble of historical trauma. Very Letovian.

Matas: Typical amateur leftist. All rage, no aim. He stabbed the only man on stage trying to harmonize civic virtue with 11/8 riffs.

Jonas: I told him while bleeding, “You brought a knife to a guitar solo. Bold.” He didn’t laugh.

Marija: Has the stabbing changed how you approach the tour?

Vytas: Oh, absolutely. We added more pyrotechnics and carry our own stage medics now. Also, Matas wears chainmail under his trench coat.

Matas: Safety is metal.

Pranas: And let’s be honest, the attacker thought we were fascists. I mean—have you read our lyrics? We make NATO look like an anarchist drum circle.

Marija: Some fans say this album is the band’s most mature work. Are you finally softening?

Pranas: We just tuned the rage to a higher frequency. It’s still fury, but now with key changes.

Jonas: Like if Master of Puppets and Piece of Mind had a baby, and that baby learned to read Voltaire in a trench.

Matas: We’re not softening. We’re just aiming for cathedral-sized truth bombs now.

Marija: Final thoughts?

Matas: Appeasement is not peace. It’s a warm bath before the firing squad.

Jonas: Europe must decide whether it’s a museum or a fortress.

Pranas: And we’ll be playing the soundtrack, whether you clap or cover your ears.

Marija: Ok, one more question, guys. What will you be doing when this tour is over?

Matas: I’ll be in the Letovian woods, naked and mildly caffeinated, screaming at birch trees about deterrence theory. There’s a sauna there. It helps. So does the silence. But mostly the part where no one tries to sell me a diplomatic solution while someone else reloads artillery.

Jonas: I plan to compose a four-movement suite for owl, chainsaw, and political despair while slowly dissolving in a mossy lakeside tub. If NATO collapses, don’t call me. Unless it’s in 7/8.

Pranas: I’m going to sit very still by a lake and listen to nothing. No politics. No interviews. Just the sound of frogs pretending borders don’t exist. Then maybe grill something. Probably sausages. Possibly metaphors.

Vytas: Sauna. Lake. Beer. Repeat. Also I’ll be building a bunker out of reclaimed wood and unresolved national traumas. Just in case the West keeps being surprised that winter exists.

Interview ends. Matas lights a cigarette indoors. No one tells him to stop. *

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* After reading this, you might think, “Azas is a prick—he supports smoking in rooms, restaurants, etc.” No, I actually hate that kind of behavior. But the guy in question is from a band—he’s a rocker. He’s got some balls. And no, he’s not a prick. He’s just a bit lost in his own thoughts and sometimes forgets that this kind of act is rude. For that, he’s sorry. But he’s an artist, you know.