#great interview

In the film industry, there’s a thing called a “rollout”. It refers to the marketing and distribution strategy by which, through platforms and promotion, studios ensure that their movies get seen by as wide an audience as possible. For the Skarsgård family, the Swedish creative dynasty made up of actors, writers, poets and a couple of long- suffering medics, whose current patriarch is the 74-year-old actor Stellan, it means something else entirely.

“Every day we had this thing called utrullning, which means ‘rollout’: it’s when you roll Grandma out. My uncle Johan would roll her down to this restaurant in a square in south Stockholm where she had a standing table every day at one o’clock. She would drink too much, so Dad and his siblings made a deal with her: one pint of beer, then one 6cl Fernet Branca, then a 4cl Fernet Branca. People would go down there — cousins and second cousins and aunts and uncles — because everyone lived in the same neighbourhood and you knew that Grandma would be there holding court for two hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a really lovely tradition.”

Explaining this to me is Alexander Skarsgård, 49, the eldest of Stellan’s eight children and, despite some competition from his younger brothers Bill, Gustaf and Valter, who are also actors, currently the best known. (There’s an even younger Skarsgård acting contingent, too: Alexander’s half-brothers, 16-year-old Ossian and 13-year-old Kolbjörn, have also dabbled). In terms of where you might know him from, he’s played all kinds of roles, in part because he’s versatile, but also, perhaps, because it hasn’t always been obvious what to do with him. On the one hand he has an extraordinary physicality — he’s 6’4 and is, by any conventional measure, A Hunk — but he also has dry sense of humour and a taste for the weird. It’s a pretty delectable combination, and makes him a hugely appealing and intriguing figure, both on-screen and off.

It also means that, over his more than 30-year career, Skarsgård’s had the chance to show some range. He played the sexy vampire Eric Northman in seven seasons of the Southern Gothic drama True Blood. He was the scene-stealing, slider-shod tech billionaire Lukas Matsson in Succession. He embodied a vengeful Viking in Robert Eggers’ stylised epic The Northman. He won an Emmy as Nicole Kidman’s charming and abusive husband Perry in the glossy miniseries Big Little Lies. He was Tarzan in Tarzan. This year, he was a misanthropic android in the sci-fi comedy series Murderbot. Going back a bit, he was Meekus, one of the ill-fated male models in Zoolander’s iconic “gasoline fight”.

Grandma was not impressed. She’d say, ‘I could tell you weren’t really trying hard'

One critic, though, proved consistently hard to please. “Grandma was definitely not impressed,” says Skarsgård, of his farmor’s verdict on his career. “She’d be brutally honest, like, ‘Yeah, I saw that thing. That wasn’t very good. I could tell you weren’t really trying hard.’ And I’d say, ‘You’re right, Grandma, I was kind of winging it.’ But it also meant that getting a compliment from her meant a lot, because you knew that she wouldn’t sugarcoat anything. You wanna try the cauliflower?”

Skarsgård is brandishing a floret at me in a gastropub in Waterloo, south London, where we are having the kind of jolly dinner that Grandma might have enjoyed, though sadly minus the Fernet Branca: he has just flown in from a shooting stint in Belfast on a yet-to-be-announced film and is on the Diet Coke. Along with the cauliflower, he has ordered the Dover sole and fries and has already given his verdict on my herring, prepared not in the Swedish style — “we don’t fuck with capers” — but nonetheless, he confirms after a long pause, chewing meditatively, “quite nice”.

A little before all this, I pick him up from his central-London hotel, waiting in the lobby with the trepidation of someone who is about to go for a walk with a giraffe. Unlike most actors, Skarsgård is famously tall, not to mention something of an internet honey right now, thanks in no small part to a string of playfully styled red-carpet and chat-show appearances. Even if he seems unlikely to be sporting leather thigh boots or short-shorts today, it is hard to predict how inconspicuous our walk through the city would be.

To my relief, he arrives in the lobby in classic famous-person-on-the-down-low attire: a grey quarter-zip sweater, sweatpants, Converse, shades and a baseball cap; the latter perhaps less classic, given it is embroidered with the name of Pillow-Cat Books, a New York store that specialises in books about animals. He’s tall, yes, but not freakishly so — no zookeeping skills required — and we head out on foot into the balmy late-September evening.

I’m ashamed to admit that, despite having lived in London my whole life, the pressure of having to convey a celebrity across the Thames gets the better of me. I take us on an unnecessarily circuitous route, up piss-stained stairwells and through grotty underpasses, with Skarsgård keeping pace obligingly. He does, however, draw the line at jay-walking — not even a bike lane! — confirming that, despite a globe-trotting career and two decades living in the States, he remains, in his heart, a law-abiding Swede. When we are finally seated at our outdoor table, the pub’s staff having almost successfully feigned ignorance, we start by discussing Pillion, the film that has instigated those saucy red-carpet get-ups, and also our dinner.

The feature debut of British director Harry Lighton, Pillion is the story of a timid gay man, Colin — played by the British actor Harry Melling — whose life is upturned by a chance encounter with a mysterious, sexually forthright biker, Ray, played by Skarsgård. The pair embark on a thrilling but also strangely domesticated BDSM-based relationship, which is kinky but also sweet, and occasionally very funny. There’s not much that’s quite like it, though it has tonal similarities to Halina Reijn’s recent movie Babygirl, and I suggest to Skarsgård that both could be labelled as DomComs, a new genre I’m desperately trying to coin. “DomCom! That’s great,” he says with a kind laugh, like the tired father of a toddler.

It’s worth mentioning at this point that Skarsgård is, in fact, the tired father of a toddler: he has a three-year-old son with the Swedish actress and director Tuva Novotny. In fact, as he’ll suggest through passing comments here and there, he does seem to be entering a different mode. After two decades spent in LA and then New York, Skarsgård has recently moved back to Stockholm: not so much a case of a prodigal son returning, he says — he has never stayed away for very long — but a practical decision, given that so many projects, including American ones, are shot in Europe these days. Plus, of course, both his nuclear and extended family are there. “It wasn’t a hard decision,” he says.

Pillion, which received an eight-minute ovation at Cannes, undoubtedly counts as one of Skarsgård’s more leftfield choices. The shoot, during which Skarsgård relocated to Brixton, took place in and around Bromley; to keep the costs down, the production headquarters were based in a former old people’s home. Because time and budgets were tight, Skarsgård’s very first encounter with his co-star Melling was rehearsing a scene in which they engage in an erotic grappling match. “We basically met, shook hands, and started wrestling,” Skarsgård remembers, though he points out they were not yet in costume: in the final version of the scene, Melling wears a one-piece with a hole cut out of the bum.

We were running around, shooting guerilla- style. It was wild and I loved it

It’s the kind of lightly anarchic working environment in which Skarsgård seems to thrive. “I sound really old now, but to be around a lot of young, enthusiastic, energetic film workers was really inspiring and created a special energy,” he says. “Obviously, they couldn’t afford to close off streets, so we were running around downtown Bromley with no security, just shooting guerilla-style. It was playful and fun and wild and, yeah, I loved it.” Also on hand, and in the film itself, were members of The Gay Bikers Motorcycle Club, who helped ensure an authentic portrayal of their subculture. The GBMC even got to attend the premiere at Cannes, including one member who almost eclipsed Skarsgård’s thigh boots by wearing a full leather “pup” outfit. (His name is Paul.)

Sadly though, not everyone who matters to Skarsgård will get to see the movie. His grandmother died nine years ago, and so was denied the opportunity to watch her grandson receive an inexpert blow job down an alleyway next to the Bromley branch of Primark. Possibly just as well? “Oh no, she would have devoured this movie,” says Skarsgård. “She didn’t give a fuck. She was incredibly sexually liberated and open. She’d be like, ‘I don’t care who you sleep with as long as you’re happy.’ I think she would have enjoyed Pillion.”

To understand Alexander, you first have to understand his place in the Skarsgård clan. He was raised in Södermalm, the traditionally working-class, artsy neighbourhood of Stockholm, in a lively apartment where art- istic debates, fuelled by wine and cigarettes, floated across the kitchen table. Stellan was mostly a theatre actor at the time, while his mother, My, trained to be a doctor while Alexander and his siblings were young. Not all of the kids would follow directly in Stellan’s footsteps: Eija, the only daughter, is a casting director and third son Sam is a doctor like his mum.

Skarsgård’s introduction to acting came pretty much by osmosis — messing around backstage while his father rehearsed Strindberg plays with Ingmar Bergman — or the occasional bit part, such as when his dad did Hamlet for TV, and Alexander and Gustaf were cast as extras. “I was maybe six, and my brother was three, and they had to hide little pieces of candy in the snow because Gus would run off and not stay in the frame. I remember being frustrated, like, ‘Doesn’t he understand?! We have to pretend to be playing in the snow!’ I mean, he was three years old, so I don’t know what I expected, but I took my craft seriously.”

Having a theatre actor for a father didn’t bring too much heat — “It wasn’t as if my 12-year-old friends were like, ‘Have you seen [Strindberg’s] The Father?’” — although that changed somewhat when Alexander was in his early teens and Stellan was cast as… Hamilton. Carl Hamilton. “Hamilton is like the Swedish equivalent of James Bond,” Skarsgård explains. “A bunch of different actors have played him over the years. That’s the first time my friends had seen something Dad had done. We thought he was cool. He definitely thought he was cool. He went from being a cerebral artist to wearing tight jeans and cowboy boots and driving a Corvette.”

Skarsgård’s first proper acting job also came more or less by accident, when another friend of his dad’s, the Swedish actor and director Allan Edwall, cast him as the lead in a film called Ake and His World. “He was at our place having dinner, drinking wine, and he needed a seven-year-old kid. I was seven years old. He was like, ‘Hey Stellan, can I ask your son if he wants to be in my movie?’ And Dad and Mom were both like, ‘Yeah, sure.’ He cast me as Ake originally, but then he decided I was a way better fit for the friend from the slums who was sick and died. I was like, ‘Sure!’ I didn’t care. I could barely read.

The rest of the food arrives and Skarsgård attacks it gamely. He’s not on any kind of restrictive no-carbs regimen right now; when he shot The Northman, he put on an extra 20lb of muscle — though he’s no schlub at the best of times — and was allowed only three “treat meals” out of every 20. Though he’s a year shy of 50, he looks much younger, with sandy-blond hair that he wears in a boyish cut, and when he laughs, which he does often, he has the hint of an overbite that is charmingly close to goofy (which I would feel bad about writing were he not so obviously hot).

It could have all worked out quite differently, though. By the time he was 13, Skarsgård’s acting career hit a roadblock. He had appeared in a made-for-TV movie, The Dog That Smiled (it sounds faintly better in Swedish), that was seen widely as it was broadcast on one of the national terrestrial channels, of which there were only two at the time. He quickly decided that being recognised in the street was not for him. “I was never pursuing acting, and after that I was like, ‘This is annoying.’ It was very easy for me to just continue school and not go off and do something in the summer months.”

At the age of 19, he enacted a modest rebellion against his “bohemian, urban environment” and “not very outdoorsy parents” by joining the Swedish navy: he signed up on a whim after being handed a recruiting pamphlet in a park that made it look “badass”. (National service was technically still mandatory in Sweden at the time, but as Skarsgård recalls, “I don’t really feel like it” was as much as you needed to say to be excused.) He spent a year and a half cruising round the Stockholm archipelago in small boats with other young Swedish men, in scenes that it’s hard not to imagine as a maritime version of Meekus, Derek and their ridiculously- good-looking friends driving around in an open-top Jeep to Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go”.

But perhaps that’s unfair. This was after the Cold War and before the more recent rise in Russian aggression, so the chances of happening upon an enemy submarine in the Baltic were slim, but that didn’t mean there weren’t tense moments, notably in the final week of his service. “We got a call that they’d seen a frogman on one of the islands,” Skarsgård remembers. “They gave us live ammunition, and we had to go a couple hours south of Stockholm to secure these islands, to check for any ingoing or outgoing tracks. There was nothing in the end, but it was enough to get your heart rate up, sitting with my three friends and live ammunition with no idea if there’d be Russian Special Forces there. It got very real.”

Leeds was fantastic! It had a club with a one-quid-pint student night. Incredible

After his stint in the navy, he and his best friend Ulrik decided to forgo that well-worn path of Swedes heading to London in favour of “a real British experience… we landed on Leeds.” He did a six-month English Literature course at Leeds Metropolitan University, which, he says, was “fantastic! Grimy and intense, and it had a massive nightclub called Majestic with a one-quid-pint student night. Incredible.” That was followed by an abortive stint at drama school in New York, which he quit because of a girl, followed by a few years of professional meandering.

He did, in that time, get his first Hollywood audition: another bit of happenstance when he was in LA visiting his dad. “I was working in Stockholm as a bus boy and a barista, but had started doing small acting jobs. Dad’s manager knew that and asked if I wanted to go to an audition while I was on vacation. I was like, ‘That could be a fun story!’ And it was Zoolander.” Skarsgård bagged himself both the part and American representation, unusual for a Swedish actor at the time, so he moved to Los Angeles to be where the work was. Or, in his case, wasn’t. “Except for small supporting roles in Sweden, I didn’t get another job for five years after that,” he says. “Right up to Generation Kill.”

Generation Kill, which aired on HBO in 2008, is the job of which Skarsgård, even now, says he is most proud. Headed up by The Wire’s David Simon and Ed Burns, it dramatised the experiences of a real-life US Marine battalion during the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Skarsgård was cast as the resident stoic, Staff Sergeant Brad “Iceman” Colbert, in what was a plum gig for any young actor. “Those years when I wasn’t working in LA, I was auditioning for, like, the jock in a bad horror movie who gets killed in the first scene, and I couldn’t even book that,” says Skarsgård. “And this is the one that I get? I could not believe my luck, and I remember thinking, ‘There’s no way this is actually going to happen.’”

But it did, and before he knew it Skarsgård found himself on a seven-month shoot in the Namibian desert with an acute case of imposter syndrome. “I couldn’t sleep at night, but I was really enjoying the work. It felt so authentic and not, like, glorifying, flag-waving bullshit. From my limited experience in the military, it just felt like it rang true. But I was like, ‘I’m probably going to get fired tomorrow, so I may as well enjoy today.’ It wasn’t until we were two months into production that I started to realise that they can’t replace me — not because they want to keep me, but we’d done three episodes, and it was going to be too expensive to reshoot.”

Grandma was also a vocal fan of Generation Kill (“I remember she was into that one”), which prompts the question of how feedback works in general within the Skarsgård family circle. Bill has gained a cult following for his creepy portrayals of Pennywise in two It horror films and Count Orlok in Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu, while Gustaf did seven years on the History Channel series Vikings and has recently appeared in Steven Soderbergh’s Black Bag. In the last couple of months, Alexander has been bumping into his dad on the film-festival circuit, where Stellan has been promoting another touted indie, Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value. How frank are they about each other’s work?

“First of all, I don’t watch everything that they do, but it helps that I think they’re all incredibly talented,” says Skarsgård diplomatically, pointing out that it was actually his younger brother Gustaf who wanted to be an actor first, and went down the classical theatre-school route, so he was never the big brother with a target on his back. “I’ve honestly never seen one of my brothers or Dad and thought, ‘This is bad. I don’t believe this.’ I mean, we’ve all done stuff where you’re like, ‘This is not a masterpiece, but I get what you’re trying to do here and why you did it.’”

Actually no, there was one time, he recalls, when it did get awkward.

“So the author who wrote Carl Hamilton — the Swedish Bond — wrote this famous medieval book series. They were making it into what was, at the time, one of the biggest-budget Swedish movies ever, Arn, and I auditioned for the lead. This would have been those years between Zoolander and Generation Kill when I was mostly living in LA, not working much, and I got a bunch of call-backs: enough to get my hopes up where I was like, ‘Oh shit, this might actually happen. I really need this job. I really want this job’ — it all sounded like a pretty epic thing to do.

I can take not getting a job, but you kind of never want to hear about it again

“And I didn’t get it,” Skarsgård continues, enjoying himself now, “and then my dad ended up playing one of the chieftains in the film; and Gus played, like, a friend of the lead; and fucking Bill, who was a teenager, played a young prince. So it was a year of sitting around the dinner table hearing stories from the set of these big battle scenes they shot, and how amazing it was. I mean, I can take the disappointment of not getting a job, but if you’re close to getting something and you don’t get it, you kind of never want to hear about that project ever again and secretly hope it is going to do terribly at the box office and be a disaster.

“So that stung a little bit,” he says, good-naturedly. Then, with a mischievous smile: “But then the movies didn’t turn out that well.”

Now that Skarsgård’s back in Stockholm, the lively discussions over the family dinner table can ramp up again. His old friends are mostly still there, too: the ones with whom he “partied quite a lot” in his younger days. His brothers Sam and Gus now live in the apartment they all grew up in, “the epicentre of our universe”, which has been divided into two to accommodate their own families. Stellan and his second wife Megan live a block away; Eija and Valter both live round the corner. Alexander is a whole 10 minutes away, while his mother has relocated full-time to the family house on an island in the Stockholm archipelago, which is not as inaccessible as it sounds and can be reached in an hour.

Skarsgård’s leisure time in the city is now characterised less by brewing “really strong, really disgusting” beer at home to drink with his friends because they couldn’t get into Stockholm’s tonier nightclubs, and more by “eating cold baby food over the sink”. But it’s a shift that, as a father now, he’s happy to make in his personal life and also in his professional one: he remembers how, when he was growing up, his dad, who was in his mid-twenties when Alexander was born, was still cementing his acting career and could be summoned to a job in, say, India, at a moment’s notice.

Becoming a father slightly later brings some benefits, he says. “I’m glad I didn’t have that responsibility when I started out and could just be selfish and throw myself into anything without taking other people’s needs and desires into consideration. That obviously changes when you have a kid and you have responsibility. For example, with Murderbot” — the Apple TV+ series that has just been renewed for a second season — “my son was a year old when we started it, and it was shot in Toronto, but I was like, ‘I can’t go to Toronto for six months, so we need to look at the schedule, figure out a way I can come home and be with him, or when he can come out and be with me.' But I’m grateful that I am in a position today where I can afford to say no to stuff and also make sure that, when I do take a job, it works for the family.”

Skarsgård will fly back to Stockholm tomorrow. He hasn’t seen his son for two weeks and doesn’t want it to be more than that. The various generations of his family are currently working on a way to bring back utrullning: maybe not every day, but once or twice a week, and hey, don’t pushchairs have wheels?

After three hours of talking, he’s starting to look — though he’s too polite to admit it — a bit zonked. It feels only right to release him. (I’m not sure if he does it inadvertently or on purpose, but when I ask for the bill he shoots me a wink.) Does he need me to walk him all the way back to his hotel, I ask. “I’m a big boy,” he says. As his giraffe-like silhouette is outlined by the headlights of cars crossing Waterloo Bridge, I can see that he’s right.

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“There's something different about people who express themselves with their bodies and people who express themselves with instruments”

ーーYou first bought a guitar because you wanted to be in a band, right?

Kyo：I had the image that band = guitar (laugh). If I wanted to play in a band, I'd want to own an instrument, but I am not able to do that at all.

ーーHave you ever challenged any songs?

Kyo：Back then, X (now X JAPAN) was really popular, and there were quite a few people playing X around me so I was given the score of “BLUE BLOOD."* But I'm such a beginner that I don't even know which ones are difficult and which ones are easy. I looked at the score and wondered if I could do something like this. The guitar soon became not something to play, but something to display (laugh).

*Blue Blood is the second album by X Japan, released in 1989

ーーEven so, you still couldn't get over your passion for the band, so your next choice was to be the vocalist?

Kyo：I borrowed a bass from my friends, but it was just for fun. HIDE-san (X JAPAN) was the first guitarist I liked, but I'm generally attracted to vocalists. Moreover, there were many special vocalists. It just so happened that a lot of people in the band that I like wear makeup, so I thought I'd like to be part of a band like that. At the same time, I also liked Endo Michiro-san* (THE STALIN) and other punk music, but they didn't blend well back then, in my opinion. Isn't it a different genre? There were not many bands that could coexist in multiple music genres, probably GASTUNK. I had the impression that if I was going to do different types of music, I would have to do it separately. That's why I joined various bands. There were Punk-style bands, and there were also Visual-kei bands.

*遠藤ミチロウ (Endo Michiro) is the vocalist of THE STALIN.

ーーWere you not that particular about music style or genre?

Kyo：No, I really like intense music.

ーーWas it the era when Endo Michiro-san was throwing pig heads at live shows from THE STALIN?

Kyo：When I was in the second grade of middle school, it was the time when X had released “BLUE BLOOD”, and BUCK-TICK had almost released “TABOO"* or not. I only fell in love with THE STALIN later.

*TABOO is the fourth album by BUCK-TICK, released in 1989

ーーThe late 1980s was a time when the indie scene in Kansai was very strong.

Kyo：But I was still in middle school (laugh). The only source of information was TV, and I was like, “What's indie?” That's why I know X and BUCK-TICK. Somehow, I later learned about THE STALIN and GASTUNK. Back then, there was a video called “Takarajima VOS"*. There were a lot of other omnibus videos out there, so I was shopping all over the place and looking for them.

*宝島vos (Takarajima VOS)

ーーYou’ve got a lot of things that attract you. Was it all intense (music) since then?

Kyo：Yeah. Thrash Metal was also in fashion, and Metallica was becoming popular. And Skid Row, which is not Thrash Metal, was also popular back then. But I wasn’t attracted to that. I don't like bands that look good in bandana (laugh). After graduating from middle school, I worked at the central market in Kyoto. I had blonde hair and was approached by a band member who was working at the central market. Later, I became a roadie for their band, which was a Hard rock band.

ーーWas it a Bandana-kei band which you didn't like very much?

Kyo：It's a Bandana-kei band, but they wore makeup. I toured with that band as a roadie. After watching many bands, I gradually understood what was going on, because I also had formed several local bands.

ーーDid you get any advice from the bands you were with or from the bands you met on tour?

Kyo：I was 15 years old back then, and the people in the band I was with were 22 or 23, so I was still like a child. We didn't have too many deep conversations, like what a vocalist is or how a song is made. My specialty was loading and unloading equipment and making hair stand up. But I noticed something. The band members were close, but there was a little distance between the vocalist and the instrumentalists. There's something different between people who express themselves with their bodies and people who express themselves with instruments. And like not drinking, health care, these are different from people who play instruments, right? I learned a lot.

ーーAs a vocalist, was there anything about the live experience that blew your mind?

Kyo：It's a bit special… Back then, Kamaitachi* was popular in my hometown Kyoto, and they were all red. I don't know if it was an agreement with the company or not, but the band I was with as a roadie all wore gold enamel outfits.* Also, when they released an album, they didn't play any songs from the album. They said, “The company chose those songs on their own, and we don't really want to play them at our shows.” I've been looking at things like that, so I thought the company was not very good (laugh). If possible, I would do my best to do it myself.

*かまいたち (Kamaitachi) is a Visual-kei band that formed in Kyoto in 1985 and disbanded in 1991. All the members had red hair.

*金のエナメル。I guess it's some kind of material (?)

ーーYou thought it's not good for adults to get involved?

Kyo：I thought it would be bad (laugh). It gave me a strange image. So I tried to find members, put up flyers in music stores and second-hand CD stores, contacted them myself to form a band, but nothing really went well. It's really difficult to start a band.

--- --- ---

“I don't want to make any compromises I don't want to do anything else”

ーーDid you have an ideal form for the band?

Kyo：There was absolutely something that I thought was cool. I can't put it into concrete words, but there was something unshakable. In my first band back then, there were about 8 people in the audience, and we were playing against about 5 other bands, so there were only about 30 people in total. Tables and chairs were set up, and after their favorite band was finished, the audience would start eating. I understood that, but I got very angry when people talked while I was performing, so I complained about it during the MC. I think I feel the same way from then to now (laugh). I knew that the fans and the audience were important, but I wasn't mainly focused on them, and I would do exactly what I wanted to do.

ーーIsn’t it similar? Wearing white makeup on face* and waving a bamboo sword (laugh). It's like a live fight.

*白塗り。It's like the Kabuki actor or the Geisha who puts on white makeup from face to neck.

Kyo：That's the punk band (laugh). We didn't fight, but we played shows similar to that. I was not interested in being a vocalist who sings well. Even if I didn't sing, I thought it was fine as long as I could express what I wanted to express and the atmosphere of the moment. There was no fixed concept that I had to sing just because I am a vocalist. That's why I didn't sing much at live shows back then. Even after I became DIR EN GREY, until the end of the “Withering to Death.” tour, I was still called a vocalist who doesn't sing. I did what I wanted to do, but I didn't feel that I had to sing because I'm a vocalist. It was like that.

ーーDid you feel like you were letting out your inner anxiety and confusion?

Kyo：That's part of it, but it might have been better if I was a part of my role as a performer. It would be good if I could show what I think is cool and what I want to do.

ーーDo you want to see the surprised faces of the audience?

Kyo：I think it happened to some extent, but after the live show, I just want to perform on stage that I am satisfied with. This is a very self-centered idea. I was satisfied, so everyone else must be satisfied as well and that's why they came to the show, right? For example, no one would want Endo Michiro-san to sing for the audience. It's like Endo Michiro-san is doing whatever he wants. That's what I wanted to be like. That's why I'm not saying anything like trying to be happy through our songs and MCs. That's how much I hated it.

--- --- ---

“I was not interested in being a vocalist who sings well There's no concept that I have to sing just because I'm a vocalist”

“I don't want to leave any regrets On the contrary, I want to move forward to a more difficult place”

ーーLiving with trauma all the time is also the main reason, right?

Kyo：That's probably true. The only person I can trust is myself, and basically I always think I can't get along with other people, or maybe I just refuse to get along with them. When I was in my previous band, and maybe in the early days of DIR EN GREY, I didn't talk to other bands at all, so I was told by people around me that I had anthropophobia. Of course, they weren't my enemies, but even if I told them, they wouldn't understand. It was like I had given up. In that case, I don't want to make any compromises in what I do, and I don't want to do anything else.

ーーYou have shown a colorful voice from the early days to now. Did you always want to broaden the range of expression in the songs?

Kyo：No, until the end of “MACABRE”, I wanted to do more than just sing. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I didn't think too much about singing or voice. To be honest, I was more prickly in DIR EN GREY's indies period and my previous bands. I had no money, no friends, and always felt like I was going to explode. That feeling faded away unconsciously after our major debut, I guess it's because I was busy doing interviews and photographing every day. After several days of interviews from morning to night, instead of anger and dissatisfaction, I thought more about the fellowship with the members and the need to overcome this busy period. Something I cared about had changed. I think my sweetest period was about halfway through the MACABRE Tour until I injured my ear (sudden hearing loss in the left ear). That's why it was my least favorite period. I was not sure how much longer I would be able to do it after my ear injury. I had to make sure I didn't go back to my naive self so that I wouldn't have any regrets. For that reason, I decided to go to more difficult places and became more strict with myself. During the period of “Kisou”, we studied and incorporated new musical tastes into what we've been creating up until now. From there, I started to put more emphasis on my own vocal style. I started thinking about how to use my voice and what only I could do. When creating these works, I paid close attention to details such as the localization of the voice and the texture. But I thought that works are works and live performances are live performances, which are different things, so people kept saying that I was a vocalist who couldn't sing. I was also told that “DIR EN GREY should just release CDs” or “If you can't sing it live, don't do it”, but in my mind, CDs are CDs and live performances are live performances. If you want exactly the same things as CDs, please listen to CDs. At live shows, you can still feel something even without singing, right?

ーーThose live shows were filled with great tension. You mentioned the word "study." What exactly did you do?

Kyo：I'd say I've started listening to all kinds of music, regardless of genre. Didn't I just say that I don't like hard rock music? But that's just what I imagined, so I started listening to it trying to find something. In my own way, though. Still, it's okay to hate what you hate. I think that was when I listened to the most variety of music. There was no YouTube yet, and videos were not easily available, but back then Marilyn Manson simply made an impact on me, and so did Nine Inch Nails. I realized that there were foreigners who were visually interesting. There might have been more foreigners if I went back further, but I had never heard of them. Then I started listening to various kinds of music, but the vocalists I liked were overwhelmingly Japanese.

ーーEndo Michiro-san and Nakamori Akina-san. Also Cocco-san who you had been listening to a lot since those days.

Kyo：I liked BAKI-san from GASTUNK and KIBA-san from Gargoyle as well. I liked KIBA-san's unique style of not moving or laughing at all during live performances back then. I also liked the early VIRUS and the bassist NOBORU-san. I liked those eccentric people.

ーーDid you become prickly because of your admiration for eccentricity?

Kyo：Or rather, there were some strange rules in my mind that I didn't realize until I injured my ear. It didn't matter after the injury, the strange rules started to be broken, but I was worried that it would be bad for the image of the band. I think I was able to break down the various elements I had before and put them together without rules.

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“The style that only I can create I packed it all into UROBOROS”

ーーThen it spurred on and led to insane live performances. I guess you just couldn't stop yourself anymore. There have been many times where you started bleeding after shows and an ambulance was waiting at the backstage entrance. So what kind of mental state were you in when you were standing on stage?

Kyo：I think the most extreme tour was the “Withering to death.” Back then, the members did not get along well with each other, and the stage was a place for me to release myself. I didn't sing many songs, and if I didn't like something, I would go back to the dressing room right away, so I guess I was too honest with myself (bitter smile). I've become even more prickly than the indies period, and I greedily did everything that I wanted to do or that I thought was my expression. I was getting more and more extreme, and even vomiting blood, but I also had the feeling that it was just a fake, and I thought that was boring. I decided to try to do it with the real thing. I wanted to make the expression of pain in the lyrics more realistic, so that people could understand just by looking at it. I wanted to express it freely using my own body, sweat, blood, and various other things. So it exploded.

ーーI think it was “THE MARROW OF A BONE” that changed things in terms of vocal approach and style. It's also swerving in extreme directions such as death, growl, guttural, etc.

Kyo：Up until “Withering to death.”, I was creating works as works, and the live performance was like an explosion of myself. “THE MARROW OF A BONE” is a combination of both sides. The single “RYOUJOKU NO AME” (凌辱の雨) had harmonies and a beautiful finish, but the album is a single piece with no harmonies. We changed the way we made the song because we wanted to make it as close to the live performance as possible and express aggressiveness. I kept the vocals as close to the live show as possible, with as few takes as possible, and kept the momentum going. So when I listen to it now, I think it's the most painful song I've ever sung.

ーーAt the same time, the many ways of using your voice have become a part of your personality as a vocalist. What kind of process did you go through to broaden your singing style?

Kyo：In my opinion, I think it has been narrowed. Up until “Withering to death.” I had been using various techniques to expand my voice in the work, but with “THE MARROW OF A BONE” it suddenly shrunk. After performing live, I got really pissed off at being called “The vocalist who cannot sing” (laugh). Some people thought that I was just doing a good job of making sound recordings on the computer (laugh). Until then, I had intentionally included soundtracks that without singing in the coupling song of singles. But in the end, nothing seemed to be conveyed. There was a great sense of distance, so I felt that I was the only one walking to an unknown place, I had to pull them up. So I decided to raise the quality of our works above “Withering to death.” From a global perspective, what is the style that only I could create? I did some research on myself, and I packed it all into “UROBOROS.” Moreover, I felt like I've almost 100% recreated it in live performances so no one would complain. After I actually did it, I was able to create exactly what I had envisioned, and I felt satisfied that I could become a singer with a unique style. After that, when we toured overseas, I was selected in many rankings in the metal vocalist category, and I felt that I had done nothing wrong. I think it was with “UROBOROS” that I finally found a match between my live performances and our works.

ーーFrom that album, you started recording songs at home.

Kyo：I created an environment at home where I can sing when I want to sing. Until then, I had been singing in an environment where I had to go to a studio and have an engineer there. But I thought that was not good enough. I felt that this style would not be complete unless I was in a position to sing with the feelings I wanted and at the time I wanted.

ーーAs a result, you have quite a vocal range from growl to clean. Do you sometimes approach singing stoically, thinking that in order to perfect your style, you need to broaden your vocal range?

Kyo：There are vocalists who can somehow shout, sing, and have a high-pitched voice. However, I realized that there aren't many vocalists who can take each of these to a very high level, so I researched and pursued them greedily. Think about it, “UROBOROS” is still a bit naive, but it feels like the first part of the current style.

ーーWhat exactly do you mean by research? If you're a guitarist, it's easy to copy a song you've never played before and make it your own.

Kyo：I don't have that kind of know-how, and I haven't had voice training. When we make new songs, I sing based on my first impression of the song that the members brought. Then I add my own color to it in my own way while paying attention to those impressions, that's how the style was formed. I just accepted what came out naturally from me and repeated it over and over again. Also, I did it in a way that I can enjoy. “ここでこう来んのかい!?”* It's like I'm enjoying it myself (laugh). In the end, music always tickles my heart. It feels good when the chorus comes just when you think it's coming. I made it in such a way that I could enjoy it myself, and then it came up with something bizarre (laugh). If you are just trying to be like someone else, you are just repeating the same thing from the beginning, and you will never be able to create something new. The reason you find something interesting is because you've never seen it before. I don't think I can create anything new without doing so, so I'm just doing what I think.

*Sorry I don't know how to translate it into English

ーーIt depends on the song, but does it take a long time for you to find the vocal arrangement?

Kyo：It doesn't take much time. There are no rules anymore, so when I hear a song, I just kind of sing it, and sometimes it is almost completely decided on that basis. Of course, there are times when I have to remake it. I used to listen to all kinds of music for a while, but now I don't listen to much music anymore. If you listen to only one kind of music all the time, you may become fixated on it. I don't like that either.  When I listen to a piece of new song and want it to be intense, I don't imagine an intense band, but rather an intense, messy picture. Or it's sad to see a withering leaf. That's probably where I get my strongest images from.

ーーYou express yourself through music, but music is definitely not the only thing that sparks your imagination.

Kyo：That's right. I just pull from what I feel and see in daily life and make it into musical form. I feel like anything is possible when it comes to expression.

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“I don't practice at all I think of live performances as practice”

ーーAt your live performances, there is a vocal solo piece called “INWARD SCREAM”, or a place to express yourself. How did you start that?

Kyo：Basically, I don't talk during live performances. In the past, I used to force myself to talk, but there was a strange idea in the company that I had to do MC because I'm a vocalist. Why do I have to do all the talking? But DIR EN GREY has a lot of songs in different tunings, so there there are often gaps between songs. And when I don't do MC, the scene becomes quiet, doesn't it? (laugh) So I asked them to let me do it without MC because I had my own idea. The people in the company were reluctant, but once I did it, their attitude changed (laugh).  Fans sometimes ask us to play DIR EN GREY songs, if I’m going to sing “INWARD SCREAM”. But even if we didn't have “INWARD SCREAM”, we wouldn't have more songs (laugh). I hope you understand that first (laugh). We are not doing this by reducing the number of songs.

ーーI feel like I'm suddenly lured into the world of esotericism with “INWARD SCREAM”. Compared to songs that have already been released as sound sources, do you feel that you are in a different world in terms of tension?

Kyo：Not really, but the binding will be completely removed. If it's a DIR EN GREY song, the melody is already decided, and to a certain extent, the lyrics and the worldview of the song are also decided. These just came naturally from within me. But “INWARD SCREAM” is more like a state of zero, or rather, a flow from the previous song, and what kind of movement and voice I will make. It is a free expression of those things. I've always been interested in “living things”*. It is important to keep the same quality as CDs, and unlike in the past, I've raised the minimum standard. Even so, I still want to cherish the freedom that can only be felt at that moment, and I don't want to be tied down to the songs.

*生物

ーーI guess you are seen as quite eccentric overseas.

Kyo：Is that so? I am always looking for a vocalist that only I can be. I have always been non-style, but I like the process of creating and then destroying, so I want to keep changing.

ーーIs this the same for your ideal style?

Kyo：There is no such thing for me. It's just like, “I want to do this”, “I want to express myself like this at the next show.” These thoughts keep changing during the tour, that's how I feel. Lately, I feel like I'm moving further and further to the edge (bitter smile).

ーーYou have a shaved head and piercings, and sometimes you put on make-up and turn into four eyes, so it looks like you've gone completely out of bounds (laugh).

Kyo：Yeah, yeah (laugh). It doesn't matter (laugh).

ーーIt's also related to the expression “INWARD SCREAM”, you insist on using a shielded microphone on stage, right?

Kyo：To be honest, it doesn't matter either way. Without a shield, I can broaden my performance range, and with a shield, I can express myself in different ways. However, I prefer to have a shield. On stage, everyone is dressed all in black. A bright red shield is like a blood vessel, and it gives me an impression of being alive, and the sound is connected to the shield. Also, wireless microphones are thick in structure, right? That's just not cool. If there is a shield attached, there are restrictions on my movement, but I have a weird rebellious feeling that I should express myself regardless of the restrictions (laugh). Besides, the sound is usually better with a shield. It also avoids any trouble with radio waves. As long as it is shielded, I don't care what kind of microphone it is, whether it's dry sounding* or the front end has gotten bumpy (laugh).

*カスカスのマイク

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“Make the expression of pain more realistic I wanted to express freely using my own body, sweat and blood”

ーーAren't you particular about the recording microphone?

Kyo：I don't care what kind of microphone I use, but I sing the same way on the recording as I do on stage. I am not used to singing with my hands behind my back on a stand mic (laugh). I always sing with a hand mic. That way I can control the mic subtly, such as moving it closer or further away with my hand, and I can use it live as it is. I enjoy doing things like creating delay-like effects using only my own live voice, without using a delay device. I also enjoy doing things like making my voice sound quieter by using a live voice and a hand microphone instead of using a machine to reduce the volume or level. “AGITATED SCREAMS OF MAGGOTS -UNPLUGGED-” was recorded in one shot, but there's a clattering sound at the end. I did that by rubbing the hand mic against myself and banging it against the wall (laugh). I prefer the hand mic because I can act on my own ideas right away.

ーーDo you have any recent vocal practice tips?

Kyo：My vocal range has expanded, and people say that I must have practiced a lot. But I don't practice at all. I think of live performances as practice (laugh). When I record a song, the director will tell me how far the key has been extended. It was interesting to me, and I would think to myself, “Next time, I got this far, and then this far more.” There was a time when I played it like a strategy game, but I got tired of it now.

ーーDoes it have anything to do with the menacing thought, “If other guys can do it, I can do it too?”

Kyo：No, no, I have a very low opinion of myself. Other vocalists practice hard and put in a lot of effort. I always think, “No, no, I can't do it.” It's really impossible for me.

(END)

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#excerpt: deg players book