Interview: Alan Averill (PRIMORDIAL)

Hello Alan, how are you?

I'm fine, man. Not too bad, I keep on rollin’. Just another day closer to the grave.

That's really something that you could say! So, Primordial is returning to Sofia in June and I guess you’re doing a lot of interviews lately. What’s the most stupid question I could ask you?

For an interview? Asking me what’s the history of the band. After 35 years, you’re not going to get a very long answer, because you can look that up on Wikipedia and ask me something specific. But in person, I don’t really mind — as long as people aren’t super drunk, I can deal with most things. I don’t mind talking to people in bars and stuff, because usually people have pretty cool, insightful, and interesting questions. People take Primordial pretty seriously and to heart, and very often they wanna know something specific about the lyrics or something.
The worst is being interviewed by someone who clearly has no idea who you are. But even that’s OK — you can have fun by taking the piss at an interview. But yeah... telling the history of the band? Nah, you’re not gonna get that out of me. Way too boring!

Yeah! I understand, that’s why we’re not going to talk about that. This interview will be more like a discussion, because I really want to hear your point of view on some topics.

Yeah, sure man!

Primordial’s music is full of atmosphere and history, but at the same time it’s honest. Do you see yourself more as a musician, a storyteller, or a cultural archivist?

Wow, “cultural archivist”! I don’t really see myself as an activist. We’re musicians. The band has always been very serious. I always wanted it to have this historical, cultural aspect. I never wanted it to be fantasy or mythology — that’s the first thing.
And you can be several different things at the same time. It’s important to be part-poet, part-hooligan, part-historian, part-fan — a little bit of everything. But we always had that connection within the music.

You’re an amazing lyricist and a mind-blowing performer and frontman. Do you write lyrics with the stage performance in mind, or does that come later?

No, no. I just write the lyrics on my own. And very often I write when I feel the need to — not with specific songs in mind. Sometimes in the studio, but mostly I just write.
You only begin to think what a song might be like on stage as it gets near completion, when you’re starting to record it. And sadly, one of the big problems is — when you have nine albums — some songs you’d really love to feel live, but they just get lost in the mix. A gig can only be an hour and a half, maybe two.
There are songs from the last album I’d love to feel more live, which ended up never getting played. That’s because festival appearances have taken over touring. And touring has become so fucking expensive. So you end up playing live mainly at festivals, and it’s very rare you get 75 minutes stage time. It’s more likely 45, 50, or 60. And that’s what happens — songs just get lost.

You mentioned festivals. You’ve played everywhere — from underground clubs to major festivals. Where does your music feel most alive?

I don’t mind. There are different approaches. At festivals, you need a broader, bigger dramatic effect and gestures to fill the bigger space. Whereas at a small gig, you can be right up in people’s faces. But you have to bring people into the songs and make it a communal experience — not an alienating one. So both are OK, but it’s a different approach.

I’ve always been fascinated by how Primordial sounds and how the songs are structured. I’ve often compared your vocal lines to a seagull — not vocally, but as movement. Gliding on the winds of the melody, but having its clear own direction... and at some point diving deep and resurfacing again. Sorry if that went a bit too poetic. How does writing a Primordial song begin — with a riff, a lyric, a historical idea, or something else entirely?

Well... it usually starts with a riff. Mostly from Ciáran, but the other guys also come in with riffs.
We all have to be in the room together — we don’t trade files or anything. Then the idea gets expanded and moved around. Then I look into my lyric book and see what fits, and we gradually polish the song out. Sometimes it happens in 20 minutes, and sometimes it takes years to finish. But genuinely, we aren’t perfectionists. We try to go with the vibe and the atmosphere of the moment. That’s what we really try to do.

How has being Irish shaped your artistic vision in a global metal scene dominated by Scandinavian and American bands?

Well, Ireland is not a fashionable country to come from. You’re kind of stuck on the edge of the scene, off the continent. We couldn’t just drive across a border to play in another country. That sort of makes you evolve in a slightly different way, I guess — there’s nothing you can do.
I see Primordial as a continuation of great Irish artistic traditions — whether literary or musical — but at the same time, I didn’t want Primordial to just be about being Irish. You’re supposed to hear the struggle, the glory, the triumph — all these great historical and personal themes — from wherever you come from.

In 60 years, how would you like Primordial to be remembered?

In how many years?

Like 60?

Sixty!?! I mean, who knows? I have no fucking clue. 60 years is an awful long time.
The world is going to change so dramatically in the next 10 years alone.
To think 60 years ahead... I’ve no idea if someone, somewhere is still listening to Primordial in 50–60 years. Great if they are. But I don’t really... you know, I’ll be dead, that’s for sure.

Saying “Alan, the singer of Primordial” is too simple and kind of misleading — you’re so much more: booking agent, podcaster, writer, and more. Have there been moments when you thought about walking away from music entirely? What kept you in the fight?

Well yeah — every day, haha! This is all I know. To be honest, all I wanted when I was 13 was to be in a band. I joined this band when I was 16 — and we’re still here. Has it made me rich? No. Has it even bought me a fucking house? No! We’re not professional musicians — we all have to do other things. But it is what it is. Suddenly it’s five years, then ten, then twenty... and time really flies once you hit a certain age. You just have to take in the beauty of the situation and think, “This is something we built.” And take pride in that. That’s all you can really do, because you never know when you’re going to spin off this mortal coil. I never take anything for granted.
I still love traveling and going to new places. The idea that someone still wants to bring us over to the other side of the world — it’s a joyous thing. You just have to try and keep your intensity, your dedication, all those kinds of things intact.

I mentioned your podcast — I constantly listen to it. It covers everything from censorship to cultural decay. How do you choose what to talk about, and do you ever censor yourself?

I think you have to box clever about it. I do always think about what I'm going to say. Now, there are people on either side of the extreme — let’s say from left and right — who get irritated by the fact that they think I sit too much in the middle. I'm not really interested in this sort of left-right axis, really, when it comes to podcasting or what I'm going to say. There are things I just don't see any great value or worth in getting into on the podcast. I don't really want to do podcasts about gender and get into that whole debate that's going on. I might add a sentence here and there about it, but it's not a diary. I don't put every single thing I think out there on it.

The truth is that I started it two weeks into lockdown, and it was a way of coping with that situation, but also a way of speaking out about what I saw as an infringement of civil liberty and human rights. So the bedrock of the podcast has always been freedom of speech. It's based in the principle of liberty, which is the most important word in the English language — not love, by the way, because you can love evil. But as lockdown ended, I sort of moved back into being a bit more about music and the music industry, and less about politics. But every now and then, I do something about culture and politics. And I found that, probably when it comes to podcasts by musicians — and certainly in heavy metal — I'm one of the few that has this kind of diverse way of dealing with things.

So this week's one, I've had a few notes and things written down, and maybe it's going to be a little bit about freedom of speech and some things happening around this Irish band Kneecap at the moment... or I have something else going on. I try to just make them a bit all over the place and unexpected — without being, you know, commercial or just existing to move advertising. And even though I get a lot of people listening, the other thing about it is that I have to make the division between Primordial and me. Because a lot of my views are not the same as Ciáran’s views about the world. So I try to make the division between being me and Primordial. But also, of course, if I say something absolutely fucking crazy, it affects Primordial. So you just have to be clever with what you're going to do. And like I said, there are some things — like, I did one podcast about the history, some study about Israel and Palestine and the land — and even then, I got people from either side shouting at me. And I said: “Okay, you know, this wouldn't do me any good to just wade into that right now!” Because it’s the most divisive topic on the planet right now.

But I did one — I held a podcast about the war in Ukraine. I did one about the uprising in Iran. I mean, I do historical things, like the history of Afghanistan, the uprising in Haiti. So there's historical stuff there. I don't shy away from it.

Yeah, when we don't speak about the problems, that doesn't mean they don't exist.

Of course. I also try to hold the middle ground, because I think too much airtime is given to the people with the most extreme points of view all of the time. Because, let's be honest — being a centrist doesn't get clicks. But that’s where most people are. Most people are a little bit here, a little bit there. So I try not to be captured by either side. That's kind of how I look at it, you know.

We live in an age when everyone is offended by everything, and people easily ban and cancel bands because of their music, ideas, or even nationality! You mentioned the band Kneecap. Some festivals literally removed Russian bands from their bill a few years ago just because they're from Russia!

Yes, stupid! Very stupid. The problem is that we are still simple animals at heart, you know? Simple animals. Our brains are not designed to take in this much information all the time. We're not designed to sit in front of a screen all day, and people spend so much time online. And let's be clear — the things that move clicks online are outrage. It's all of the “-isms”. It's Trump, it's sexism, it's misogyny, it's racism, it's homophobia, it’s sex, it's whatever it is. These are the things that move clicks. People want this outrage, and so we've created an outrage machine. We've also created a society where we are asking children to make adult decisions and allowing adults to behave like children. You've got a 10-year-old kid with a smartphone. A 10-year-old child has an instrument in their hand that is more powerful than the tools we sent men to the moon with. Do you know what I mean? And then they go on TikTok and can watch other 10-year-olds being blown apart in Gaza. So it's no wonder everybody is fucking outraged and anxious — also because people don't have hobbies anymore. Activism is a hobby now. Everything and everyone has become political. Everything is tribal.

The thing is — we’re just not well-designed as human beings. We've had 10 years of smartphone social media derangement, and it's only going to get worse. We're not designed to take in this much information. So on the one hand, it's not surprising that this is where we are. If people would take a little step back from their tribalism, they'd see that they're being played.

I mean, you know, I did journalism in college many years ago, but I think the principles remain: if it bleeds, it leads. I.e., good news doesn't sell. I think lockdown also showed our governments and our political class and our transnational, technocratic, multi-institutional elite that people will accept greater authoritarianism in their lives — under the guise of being kept safe. And we're moving into a more authoritarian age. We're moving into an age where you will have no privacy, and your security is what’s going to be sold to you. But it's going to be impossible for humanity to unhook itself from some of these things. So when I was in college — I was 30, 34 — and I did journalism and political science. The average kids in my class? No one was interested in politics. None of them. Whereas now, you go back to that class and all the kids are political. They all have a political angle, because everything in society now is political. And if you said to one of them: “Hey, cancel culture is a cornerstone of authoritarianism and you’re being used,” they’d find that offensive. Because they've decided that words are violence, or opinions are violence. What this whole thing is doing is undermining the democratic, free speech principles of our civilization. And many young people have decided that freedom of speech is just a dog whistle, and that maybe we should do without these things. And we're in a very dangerous moment in society. So being older, you can kind of look back and sort of see that. But at the same time, it is the technology that's simply poking that part of our brain. And being able to step back from that at 19 — when you've had a smartphone in your pocket since you were 9 — I think it's almost impossible, you know? Head for the hills, my friends!

Did you see what happened in Spain and Portugal the other day? The electricity was gone for 20 hours.

Yeah…

I was thinking I could do so much other stuff in such a situation… Then I realized I couldn’t do almost anything. We've got so used to technology that we actually don't know what to do without it.

Yes. But we also, unfortunately, generally have to work online, trying to make an income. The problem is that we are analog animals living in a digital world, if you want. And you take away our digital access, and all of a sudden it’s everything — from taking flights to taking trains to getting money out of the bank — so many things that you just can’t do anymore. It’s very hard to see independent living. And you saw this during lockdown — people who were able to just work from home in a nice house with a garden, they loved it. They could drink wine at noon and sit around in their pajamas. But for a taxi driver who lived in the inner city with four kids? They couldn’t make a living. And you saw that the most important thing in our society is still class. You know, the tech middle class — the pajama party — the middle class has been busy demonizing the working class for the last 15–20 years or more. And this again speaks to the atomization of society, you know.

Okay, let's take this back to the music. You've talked before about the "death of the underground." And the COVID years changed the game completely. How do you think extreme music can retain its soul in the mainly digital AI era?

I don't know. I mean, if I couldn't travel or play gigs, I wouldn't make it. I don't see the point. It's a human process. I started a band to be in a room with other people—whether it was being creative, playing gigs, or traveling. Take that away, and I just don't see the point.
Maybe I'd make some electronic music, sit at the screen, create something and be creative—or something acoustic. But heavy metal is meant to have a human process to it. And if you remove that, there’s not much left in it for me. So yeah, I mean, we're living in a society where we're constantly being encouraged to be more atomized. And in metal music—especially during lockdown—I saw how many in the scene who sang about rebellion weren’t really rebellious. And maybe "rebellious" isn't even the word—skeptical of authority—they just weren’t. So I found myself further from the shore than before. Because for me, skepticism is the only rational perspective when dealing with institutions of power, governance, and finance. If you think for a moment that you're on the same side of the fence as billionaires, billionaire philanthropists, Big Pharma, or the government—for the most part—you’re fucking deluding yourself. And you’ve been deluding yourself since day one of the whole fucking thing. And now, of course, we see we were lied to. It's just that people like me were saying it from day one. But we were called all sorts of names. You know, I’ve always had this dark view of the world, a dark view of humanity. I’ve always been completely skeptical of the nature of authority, always questioning the motives of these institutions. And unfortunately for anyone who argues with me—I have history on my side. If you take the side of Big Pharma, pull up a seat and I’ll give you 50 examples in 10 minutes of times where the state, hand-in-hand with pharma, didn’t give a fuck about your health. Or outbreaks of diseases, or whatever you want—give me the time, I’ll find the darkness to counter the argument. But that’s who I am. That’s my nature. I get it—it’s tiresome. Because to live inside my head and view the world that way—most people don’t want to do that. Because it can be, objectively, a bit dark and tiresome. But hey, look—it is what it is.
All I want is just a little more rational perspective from people about the nature of authority. And if they give that, maybe they'll start questioning sometimes the headlines in the media, or the things they're told to do that make no rational sense. You know?

Question everything?

It is tiresome. For many people, just being told what’s on the menu and having no choices actually made life a bit easier. But you know—the things you give away, you don’t get back.
So that’s how I see it.

Let me take you back to your show in Bulgaria. You have been here several times already. And Bulgaria, like Ireland, has a history marked by occupation, resistance, and cultural resilience. Do you feel a connection to that shared legacy when playing here?

I don't think any of us are exactly the same, but we have shared a lot. I wrote a song called “No Nation on This Earth,” and I was basically saying, tell me what nation isn’t born of tragedy and bloodshed. And that's pretty much every nation. Of course, some countries were occupied, some countries had empires, some didn't. But we can still point to the fact — and this is kind of what “How It Ends” is about — that regular working-class people were sent to their deaths. Either way, they fought in the trenches, in the blood and the filth and the shit. And their cities were being bombed, while the political class of elites, by and large, didn't suffer the same fate. Well, I mean, other than the guillotine, maybe in the French Revolution, or the odd firing squad. But it's human nature, isn’t it? It's this dark view of the nature of humanity that we get tribal. We get so tribal at some stage where we decide that the other side needs to be put up against the wall and, you know, shot. And that's human nature. Sadly, I don't think the technology that we're embracing is progressing us past that. I know some people would like to believe that’s true, but I kind of don’t see it.

I remember listening to a podcast where the host said: “Every great achievement that we have ever done was done by human suffering, slavery, and death.”

Well, people say that, but you know, actually, the pyramids weren’t built by slaves.

Aliens?

No, ha-ha. The pyramids were built by actual workers who lived in villages and were paid and respected. But, yeah, I know what you mean. We'd like to think we've developed as a species — and we have, of course. Compare the world of 1870, with people living in Victorian slums and suffering from terrible diseases, to the things we've done with medicine in the 20th century and improving child mortality rates. It can be easy to dwell on all of the negative, dark things, of course. And it's also more interesting, let's be honest. For somebody whose brain is wired like me, I'm always more interested in the dark side of these things. But, yeah, I just think we’re still simple animals interfacing with a technology that is just scrambling our brains. So take some time off from it. Go to the mountains, go to the forest, live in a small town, start a family, and try to unplug. That’s my message.

I think this message is perfect for the ending of our interview. I really like it.
Thank you very much for this conversation, Alan. I hope I didn’t annoy you too much.

No man, it’s all good. All good!

So, see you in Sofia in a few weeks, and let’s continue the chat?

Sure thing! Take care. Bye bye!

Autror: Nikola Petras | June 2025