PRESSOur WordsOur Fucking Terms

Venomous Sin has released We’re Not Broken, We’re the Reaction, a single containing the original track and an alternate version. The title states the point before the song even begins: a response does not appear from nowhere just because acknowledging its cause would make somebody uncomfortable. We wanted the space to answer back, with enough room left in the sentence to remember who started asking us to carry the fucking consequences. The phrase belongs naturally to the band’s wider confrontation with the habit of judging a reaction in isolation. Somebody can apply pressure for years, then present the eventual anger as proof that the person on the receiving end was the problem all along. We are interested in putting the missing context back beside the response. That does not make every reaction identical. It makes the conversation more honest. Xavi and Lina’s shared creative world has given that feeling several forms. Songs allow an experience to occupy more space than a label, a dismissive remark or a convenient summary. The title here refuses the neat description somebody else might prefer. It makes a relationship visible between what happened and what followed, and it leaves that relationship available for listeners to recognise in their own way. The release includes We’re Not Broken, We’re the Reaction and We’re Not Broken, We’re the Reaction (Alt Version). Keeping the versions together lets the central idea move without disappearing behind unrelated titles. A different treatment can change where the weight falls while still carrying the same refusal. Sinners can decide which one stays with them

Venomous Sin has released Bamboo Massacre, a single that gives a deceptively peaceful image a completely unreasonable title. Bamboo suggests calm scenery, patient growth and perhaps a pleasant nature programme. Massacre arrives and makes the introduction rather difficult to continue. We enjoy the collision because it tells the listener immediately that this particular corner of our world has developed a deeply questionable fucking sense of proportion. The song stands as its own release, with its own cover and a place in the catalogue. That gives the central idea room to hold attention before it becomes part of anybody’s larger interpretation of the band. Sometimes the right move is to let one grotesque little premise occupy the speakers and see how long it takes before the listener starts enjoying the fact that it exists at all. Bamboo Massacre belongs to our appetite for fictional exaggeration and black humour. We can take an ordinary subject, push the language past the point of good manners and build something recognisably ours around the result. The absurdity is intentional. A band’s creative identity includes what it finds funny as well as what makes it furious, and Venomous Sin has never been short of either. There is also pleasure in refusing the demand that every piece of music must present a respectable reason for taking up space. A terrible pun, a strange image or an improbable title can be a perfectly serviceable beginning. The work comes from following that beginning until it has character. Sinners who recognise that impulse will understand why a collection built around

Venomous Sin has released Confused Metalhead, a single with a title that sounds like it has already survived an exhausting conversation about what somebody is supposed to enjoy. Metalhead can be an identity, a pleasure, a history or simply the person standing in front of the speakers. Confused gives that identity room to become less tidy. We think the combination has rather more life in it than another fucking purity test. The release brings its own title and cover into our catalogue. We wanted this announcement to give that particular piece its place without reducing it to a general description of everything Venomous Sin makes. A single can hold one mood closely, and listeners can meet it there before deciding how it connects to the rest of the band’s world. Xavi’s metalhead identity is part of that world, alongside Lina’s gothic self-expression and the other characters who inhabit it. Those connections do not require a person to maintain a flawless explanation of their taste at every moment. Enjoyment can arrive before the classification. A song can surprise you. Something ridiculous can stay in your head longer than the serious piece you thought you were supposed to admire. We like the room that confusion leaves for curiosity. The expectation to be completely consistent can become another kind of conformity, especially when people use it to police an identity that was supposed to offer freedom. Venomous Sin is comfortable letting different moods share the same catalogue. We would rather follow an interesting impulse than discard it because an imaginary gatekeeper might find

Venomous Sin has released Festival Showdown Steel & Mud vs. Velvet Vampires, an album built around the collision promised in its title. On one side, the gloriously impractical business of surviving a festival. On the other, the gothic determination to remain dramatically dressed while doing it. We recognise both impulses. Put them together and somebody is eventually going to shout that they forgot their fucking shoes. Mud, Mascara & Mayhem sets out the terms of the encounter. Baptized in Mud, Diggy Diggy Mud and Mud-Armageddon give the weather several opportunities to become a personality. I Forgot my Shoes makes the practical consequences difficult to overlook. The collection takes the familiar details of festival life and lets them grow into their own ridiculous drama, complete with footwear regrets and questionable priorities. The title’s apparent opposition is part of the pleasure. Xavi’s metalhead world and Lina’s gothic identity both belong inside Venomous Sin. Neither needs to win a purity contest before the music can start. A release called Steel & Mud vs. Velvet Vampires gives us a way to play with those differences while remembering that people can enjoy the same night for wildly different reasons. Elsewhere, Engines of the Damned, Fistful of Moonlight and Caffeine Overdoze widen the album’s vocabulary beyond the mud itself. United by the Night gives the collection a title that makes sense after the collisions, the jokes and the imaginary arguments over what counts as appropriate festival clothing. The point is the company as much as the costume. Nobody has to become identical to belong in the

Venomous Sin is putting our position on hypocrisy on the record. We have published the longer declaration, and the point deserves to travel beyond its pages: individuality means fuck all when acceptance disappears the moment somebody actually behaves like an individual. We know that bargain. Smile, soften the edges, become useful, and perhaps the people who rejected you will pretend they supported you all along. Our response comes from the same ground as the music. Xavi and Lina built this band around experiences that respectable conversation kept trying to polish into something convenient. The characters give those experiences a voice and a shape. The digital faces do not turn the underlying feelings into disposable decoration. When we write about being normiefucked, we mean the pressure to surrender yourself and call the surrender maturity. That pressure wears several costumes in the original declaration: public morality, selective tolerance, marketable rebellion and status disguised as virtue. We are interested in what people do after the inspirational speech ends. Who gets heard when the truth becomes awkward? Who gets punished for setting a boundary? Who sells freedom while expecting obedience from everybody standing below them? Those questions belong in the room, even when the room would rather discuss our language. Songs including Compliance is a Corpse and No Throne for Disgusting Bastards already carry this argument into our music. The statement makes the connection explicit. Our anger is directed at the double standard, and our response is creative: words, songs and the refusal to become another reassuring product wearing rebellious clothes. A polished lie

Venomous Sin has released Ashes of Fake Facades (No One Cries for Monsters), a seven-track album that returns to its central idea through several versions. The title is the starting point: what remains when the respectable surface burns away and the behaviour underneath finally has to stand on its own. We are interested in that moment when a polished performance runs out of places to hide its fucking damage. The collection includes Ashes of Fake Facades (No One Cries for Monsters), Ashes of Fake Facades and versions associated with Nyx, Macabre, Draven, Seraphina and Thorin. Each name brings its own appetite to the confrontation. Giving the same wound several voices lets us stay with the subject, turn it over and expose another filthy edge each time somebody tries to smooth it back into something respectable. Nyx’s Industrial Version, Macabre’s Venom, Draven’s Judgement, Seraphina’s Fire and Thorin’s Hammer of Justice announce their different angles through their titles. We wanted the versions to remain visible as versions. Listeners should be able to follow the shared idea and decide which treatment pulls them closest, rather than being sold a vague claim that every variation is an entirely new revelation. The subject fits the band’s broader refusal to confuse appearance with character. A convincing facade can make cruelty easier to excuse and somebody else’s reaction easier to condemn. Taking the facade apart changes the conversation. Suddenly the person insisting on respectability has to answer for something more substantial than the neatness of their presentation. That is fertile ground for a band whose language tends

Venomous Sin has released Happy Hypocrisy Day (Your Last 4th July), a single that turns the language of celebration toward the contradictions standing behind it. The title track is joined by Happy Hypocrisy Day (Lord’s Version). We wanted the announcement to be as clear as the name: admiration demanded on a schedule is still open to questions, especially when the speech about freedom comes with a fucking list of acceptable opinions. The title takes a familiar date and uses it as a stage for the band’s broader argument about hypocrisy. Public rituals can produce powerful feelings, but the feeling does not settle the questions underneath. Who gets included in the promise? Who is expected to applaud while their experience remains inconvenient? What happens when somebody takes the advertised values seriously enough to notice where the practice fails them? Those questions fit Venomous Sin because our creative world grew around the refusal to become acceptable by disappearing. Xavi and Lina have made that refusal visible in different forms, from personal songs to blunt declarations. This single gives it a pointedly seasonal frame, allowing the celebration and the criticism to occupy the same sentence without asking the criticism to wait until the decorations have come down. The alternate Lord’s Version keeps the central title in view while offering another treatment. Listeners can spend time with both and decide where the argument catches them. The exaggerated language belongs to the music and the satire; the underlying demand is for the promise to be answerable to reality. We are interested in the gap between

Venomous Sin has released Du fega, du falska, a single release carrying eight versions of one particularly direct Swedish accusation. The title names cowardice and falseness without taking the scenic route around either. We wanted the phrase to remain recognisable across the collection, giving listeners several treatments of the same central refusal. Some sentiments deserve more than one opportunity to kick the fucking door open. Alongside Du fega, du falska, the tracklist includes versions associated with Macabre, Moongrave, the Lord, Seraphina, Draven, Nyx and Lucien. Those names connect the release to different corners of our world. The shared title keeps the relationship between the pieces explicit, so the versions can be explored together rather than presented as unrelated statements with the family resemblance carefully hidden. The Swedish wording gives the accusation a particular directness. It has no interest in dressing dishonesty as an unfortunate communication style or cowardice as an admirably cautious personality. Venomous Sin is drawn to language that can make a behaviour recognisable before the person practising it has finished inventing a flattering description. That recognition can be bitter, funny or deeply satisfying depending on what the listener brings to it. Versions also allow us to resist the idea that a finished piece should immediately become untouchable. A title can carry the same target through different perspectives. Returning to it can reveal another mood, another emphasis or simply another way to enjoy the expression. Sinners can choose a favourite, change their minds or find that different treatments belong to different moments. There is no listening order police stationed

Venomous Sin has released En midsommarnatts mardröm, a five-track EP that approaches Swedish midsummer with the expression of somebody who has been asked to sing along once too often. Små grodjävlar, Det gick för helan, Vi äro mutanter, Sommarens penisfest and En kärnvapen attack mot midsommar make up the collection. The ritual remains recognisable. Its imaginary participants have become considerably less fucking cooperative. The title promises a midsummer night’s nightmare, and the track names find several routes into it. Familiar seasonal language is distorted until the cheerful surface starts revealing a more unruly celebration beneath. We enjoy that transformation because it lets the listener recognise the starting point and the interference at the same time. The joke gets its force from how close the polite version remains to the disaster. This EP belongs to Venomous Sin’s appetite for turning compulsory moods into creative material. A holiday arrives with an approved atmosphere, and everybody is expected to know their place in it. We are interested in what happens when somebody brings a different mood to the gathering: irritation, absurdity, dark humour or the simple desire to hear a song that would never survive the official family playlist. The five tracks keep the premise concentrated. Each name belongs to this particular summer nightmare, giving the collection a shared setting without demanding a solemn explanation for every joke. Sinners can enjoy the exaggeration on its own terms. There is enough theatre in the titles to make clear that this is our musical distortion of the occasion, a place where the celebration can misbehave

Venomous Sin has released Operation Crucifuck: A Blasphemous D-Day, a six-track EP that puts ceremonial respectability through our particular kind of vocabulary damage. D-DAY (We Didn’t Learn Shit) opens the list, and the collection moves through national and religious imagery with enough irreverence to make the programme notes sweat. We have brought a blunt title to a subject that regularly arrives wearing a very solemn fucking face. The tracks are D-DAY (We Didn’t Learn Shit), Du Fega, Du Falska, Wings of Cum, Crown of Shit, Kristi Kukfärd, Arschgefickt Himmelfahrtstag and Anal Ascension Day. The titles are deliberately abrasive. They belong to an EP interested in what happens when inherited reverence meets somebody unwilling to perform it on command. Different languages give that refusal different sounds without making the attitude more obedient. Crucifuck has a specific meaning in our vocabulary: betrayal at its worst, the kind that turns supposed loyalty into the mechanism of the wound. Putting it in the operation’s name gives the release more than a decorative obscenity. It ties the provocation to the band’s wider interest in hypocrisy, coercion and the gap between a noble public story and the treatment of the people expected to believe it. Ceremony has a remarkable talent for making obedience look dignified. Stand here, repeat this, lower your voice when the approved symbol enters the room. We have supplied six songs for the moment that instruction stops working. Sinners can follow the titles into the music and make their own judgement about where the anger, humour and irreverence meet. Agreement is not an