EMPUSAE INTERVIEW

Empusae is the long-standing Belgian dark ambient project of Nicolas Van Meirhaeghe, known for crafting immersive soundscapes that move between ritual intensity and cinematic depth. Since the late 1990s, the project has developed a distinct sonic identity built on layered electronics, tribal percussion, and carefully sculpted atmospheres that evoke both inner landscapes and desolate urban horizons. Empusae stands as a refined example of European post-industrial composition, where precision in sound design meets emotional weight. Each release unfolds like a controlled descent into shadowed spaces, guided by disciplined structure and a clear artistic vision that balances power, subtlety, and thematic coherence. This time Nico answered some questions in order to know more about the project as well.

Why did you choose the name Empusae as a manifestation of your artistic identity? What symbolic resonance did it have for you at the time the project was born? And the empusas in Greek mythology are ambiguous female figures, between seduction and terror. Do you identify with that duality in your music or in yourself?

When I started composing back in 1995, I was searching for a name that would represent what I wanted to express at that time. I stumbled across a very strange creature in an entomology book: the beautifully eerie praying mantis Empusa pennata, native to Southern Europe. In France, it's called "Diablotin" (little devil). It represented exactly what I wanted to create: music composed of beauty and decay, the charms of darkness, and the comfort of shadows. Later, I discovered that in Greek mythology, the empusae are the daughters of Hekate-horrific demonic vampires hidden in seductive female human bodies. Again, this duality perfectly matched the essence of my project.

Do you think that by naming the project in this way, you have created a channel or mask to work with specific energies? Have you felt that the name invokes or opens gates? What is the relationship between the sonority of the name Empusae and the soundscapes you build? Did the name precede the music, or did the music precede the name?

I already had the concept of the project and did a few experiments before naming it. From that point on, Empusae became my muse, the personification of the project. It definitely influences me, and the creature became a kind of entity within me-not an alter ego, but something I merged with. I became them, and they became me. I didn't have solid concepts for my first albums other than being guided by this presence; the music itself became the concept.

In "Symbiosis" you create a deeply emotional post-apocalyptic soundscape. What kind of collapse did you want to portray: an external one, as a civilizational one, or an internal one, as a spiritual one? What does "Symbiosis" represent for you in the context of the album? Is it a relationship between human and machine, between ruin and rebirth, or something more abstract?

Symbiosis was a turning point for Empusae. I needed to morph and distance myself from cleaner, electronic rhythmic noise toward more organic-infused music. It was the perfect moment to collaborate with musicians in my circle of friends, people I felt could guide me and help me create a symbiosis of Empusae and their art. I wrote a piece for each artist (ORE, ISN, Arcana, Nick Grey, and Christel Morvan, who also created the first cover art for me). I couldn't imagine a better symbiotic album with these fantastic artists and human beings. The titles were based on lyrics written by each collaborator. I composed the last song afterwards, "Kralizec," which indeed could be called the apocalypse (from Frank Herbert's Dune novels). It marked the end of an era. 

Do you feel that "Symbiosis" has a prophetic or visionary character? Did it become a mirror of realities that we are living now?

I think the artists I worked with are very sensitive souls who might have felt something coming. Who knows? The album was released before what people called the "Mayan apocalypse," which, according to their lore, was not an end but a moment of transition-a passage to another era.

In the album "Organic.Aural.Ornaments" there is a true alchemy between the ritual and the cinematic. How was the process of merging between your sound language and that of Shinkiro?

The music I created with Manabu Hiramoto came to life in a very organic way. I was instantly drawn to his universe after discovering his album Deep Blue (Athanor 2005). I had to contact him to propose a collaboration. We exchanged various recordings and built up layers of aural ornaments. All music from both albums came together very naturally and almost effortlessly.

What do the "organic sound ornaments" of the title symbolize for you? Do they refer to subtle details, to living forms, or to structures charged with intention? How did you approach the use of rhythms on this album? What led you to oscillate between tribal structures and minimalist sequences?

Manabu's music has a very tribal feel-although not obvious to every listener-but his work is deeply influenced by Buddhism and Shintoism, so the connection is clear. I heard those tribal vibes within his drones, melodies, and noises, and I added tribal drums and rhythms to accentuate them. The titles came naturally to us and simply translate the music itself. 

"Sounds from Beyond" album is described as an ascent and descent into madness. How did you build that dramatic curve from the sound? Is there a point of no return in listening? What role do delirium, the loss of language and the dissolution of the self-play in the sound narrative of the album?

It is indeed a voyage into madness: starting from a pleasant and recognizable reality, slowly morphing and deforming into something deranging.The further you listen, the more the protagonist loses grip on comforting reality, on sanity, and on both inner and environmental control. It becomes darker, deeper, more obscure, and cosmic. When insanity nearly reaches its peak, there is a moment of clarity-a glimpse of hope, a feeling of wellness, almost a tangible embrace of a caring soul. This was important for me to include, as I felt very heavy inside, drawn into the void while recording this piece. Unfortunately, that moment of relief is short-lived-or perhaps just an illusion-as, hidden within the harmonics, comes the harsh realization that this was the passage through the veil, into the void. It's up to the listener to decide whether to keep their head above water or be submerged beneath the veil.

Do you consider this album to be a kind of ritual of opening portals? Was it conceived as an act of invocation, of revelation or of self-destruction? What kind of tools, recordings or techniques did you use to recreate that environment of "non-Euclidean world" and mental distortion so characteristic of cosmic horror?

I think this piece has the potential to open a portal for anyone willing to let go and follow the sounds from beyond. Initially, I wanted to create a musical novel, but I also wanted to explore where it would lead me. The more I experimented with ways to access these unknown realms, the more I realized something was happening. The core of the piece is based on 78 RPM records from between 1890 and 1930, which I recovered from my ancestors. They were captured via overhead and contact microphones, with metal springs and a snare attached to a record player from the same era. I even used a sharpened rodent jawbone as a needle substitute to release altered frequencies hidden within the shellac grooves. The journey begins with a rather clean and steady recording of an old record, gradually deforming and twisting into muddled sonic chaos-the start of the descent. I added various homemade experimental electroacoustic instruments (such as my Didgeridrone), along with analog, electronic, and digital sound sources. There was no traditional structure during recording, only the narration itself.

How did your body react to working with these types of frequencies? Did you have dreams, hallucinations, or internal transformations during the recording? Do you think this album can alter the listener's consciousness if listened to in liminal states such as sleep, meditation, or sensory deprivation?

Remarkably, my body reacted quite intensely during this process. At certain moments, I experienced heart palpitations, dizziness, and cold sweats. Mentally, I had the impression of being lost somewhere between realities, with a strong sense of not being alone. This phenomenon reappeared when I worked on my last album The Alchemist's Rift and Penumbral Aethyr's EVP (Eldritch Voice Phenomenon). Those three albums are more than music to me-they have the capacity to open a pathway to the beyond, at least from within myself.

Do you have a daily spiritual or philosophical practice that complements your sound work? What books, authors or philosophical ideas have marked your vision of the world? 

I don't have any routine-never really had, actually. I'm not a very structured person, especially when it comes to the creative process. Everything tends to emerge unconsciously, unless I'm working on a conceptual album, such as Lueur, Pilgrimage to Ganriki (about my eye disease), or The Alchemist's Rift (based on Christel Morvan's art and persona). Otherwise, the music comes from the gut and the unconscious mind. 

Do you consider your music as a map to traverse the unconscious? And do you think there is a spiritual limit to what can or should not be invoked sonically?

Yes, I am convinced my music can provoke dreamlike states and open pathways to other, perhaps undesired, locations-both within and beyond. I don't believe there is a strict limit to how far I can or should go, except for what I am personally ready to confront. For the listener, the music is only a trigger-a medium that releases substances in the brain or connections to unknown matters or entities. The risk lies within each individual. The darker the person, the deeper they might descend. The tools to find their way back must be found within themselves.

In "EVP - Eldritch Voltage Phenomenon", you work with technology and entities. Do you think the devices can become spirit mediums?

I honestly don't know. I was skeptical at first and simply experimented with it, which led me to record some sessions. But then, as I mentioned before, things started to shift-an oppressive cloud, a feeling of insecurity, the dreadful sense of being watched, and a disturbing mental unease.  What I am certain of is that the audible frequencies emitted have an intense influence on both mind and body. It's music I cannot listen to at any given moment; my mind has to be ready for it.

What have you learned spiritually or musically from sharing the stage with Ah Cama-Sotz, In Slaughter Natives, Ordo Rosarius Equilibrio, and Triarii? How does the audience's energy influence your live performances, especially when you perform pieces with intense esoteric or emotional charge?

I had been performing live as Empusae and Tzolk'in for many years before I played with these projects, and I recognized that we all share the same kind of energy. Besides being good friends, we are all attracted to the same esoteric elements and emotional intensity-before, during, and after performances. At the same time, each project channels that energy differently, which has been extremely enriching. Playing percussion with these projects enhanced the spiritual aspects for me even more. I'm grateful and blessed to have done this for decades. Unfortunately, I had to decline future live appearances due to my degenerative eye disease. However, I continue to channel all that energy into my studio work, so it's never truly lost.

Before finishing this interview, could you reveal a bit about upcoming material with Empusae or new projects?

You can expect several new releases from Empusae, Penumbral Aethyr, and Tzolk'in. There should be a new release every few months for years to come. My music has also been licensed for a motion picture and a video game, both hopefully released early next year. I'm also composing an original soundtrack for another film by Belgian director Karim Ouelhaj, which I consider some of my best work. Composing for films as a visually impaired person may sound strange, but we've found a way of working: I compose music based on scenes, atmospheres, and ideas he describes, which he then integrates into the film editing. It's a very exciting process, and I look forward to more projects like this.

Finally, what spiritual or vibrational legacy would you like to leave through Empusae? If tomorrow there were no more music, what other channel would you choose to communicate the universe you carry inside?

That's a tough question. Obviously not visual arts, haha. Perhaps I would find a way to translate music into words-a kind of abstract or mental narrative, if that makes sense (it probably doesn't, but I might find a way nevertheless). Thank you for this interview. It was a pleasure to answer questions that were far from cliché.

 

EMPUSAE

https://empusae.bandcamp.com