Author's note: An early version of this interview was published for a limited audience in Oct. 2018 in Endarkenment: Contemplative Writing on Dark Ambient Music Appreciation, my former Substack newsletter.

It is my great pleasure to release this long-anticipated new version to the public as a collectible edition on Paragraph.

So much of the music journalism that originally influenced my work has vanished from public view. Many of the host publications and blogs have shuttered, often because funding dried up. This interview, by contrast, can be read, collected, and preserved onchain.

Updated by Ulf and thoroughly edited in 2024, this interview covers his early influences, creative processes, literary inspirations (and voracious reading habits), interest in Old Norse religion and culture, live performance, philosophy of sound design, and career as a professional sound designer. Enjoy!

Once in a blue moon, good fortune brings a writer a "full circle" moment: an opportunity to interview a consummate artist and brilliant musician whose work profoundly shaped the course of her life.

For this writer, that musician is Ulf Söderberg.

Perhaps best known under the name Sephiroth, Söderberg's releases include four highly coveted and critically acclaimed albums under his own name on his Slow Moon label: Nattljus (1995), Tidvatten (1998), Vindarnas Hus (2003), and Inland (2016). As Sephiroth, he released Cathedron (1999) and Draconian Poetry (2005) on the legendary Cold Meat Industry label.

As reclusive as he is gifted, Söderberg often steers clear of the public eye. He's been called "…one of the best kept secrets in the ethno-ambient world." His Slow Moon label maintains no public presence on Bandcamp nor any streaming platforms, and media coverage of his work is regrettably minimal for an artist of his stature. The elapsed time between his last published interview and the one you're now reading spans more than a decade. As a result, his talents remain under-appreciated outside of underground music circles — unfortunate, especially since his music ranks among the most effective selections to spark interest among dark ambient newcomers.

Ulf Söderberg performs "Wolftribes" at the Cold Meat Industry label 30th anniversary event in Stockholm, Sweden, November 2017. Video by Pentecost.

Though I've been an avid listener since the 1990s, not until the Cold Meat Industry (CMI) 30th Anniversary event in 2017 did I finally see this respected virtuoso perform live.

As I recall, in keeping with his penchant for mystery, Sephiroth took the stage in a close-fitting hat and long black leather trenchcoat, hiding in the shadows and fog as the smoke machine chugged on overdrive and the audience squinted to get a closer look or a decent photo. Even as he launched into "Wolftribes" — perhaps his most beloved and well-known track — and guttural bellows of joy spontaneously erupted among the thrilled audience, Söderberg shunned the spotlight, remaining as concealed as possible.

Since then, he has also performed at Waves of Darkness I (2019) and II (2020) and the CMI 35th Anniversary event.

I'm far from the only one whose affinity for Söderberg's music spans more than two decades. In CMI fan circles, inquiries about his work often meet with hushed murmurs of awe and reverence. Some listeners wax poetic, launching into long lists of superlatives. Long-time dark ambient aficionados regard Söderberg's music as the crème de la crème, notable for its extraordinary depth and enchantment.

With cinematic sensibilities and an uncanny knack for pinpointing the ideal moment to heighten the grandeur, Söderberg expertly weaves monastic chants and choral voices into his endarkened atmospheres, seasoning his musical alchemy with sacral undercurrents. "Effing the ineffable," as it were.

Among the most primal purposes music can serve is to stir ancestral memories and awaken latent hungers to reclaim and revive pre-Christian spiritual traditions. Söderberg's work offers multiple keys to unlock and strengthen this elemental embodied wisdom. The misty forests, poetry from the Vǫluspá, and evocative Bronze Age rock carvings in his album art and liner notes are all deeply rooted in Nordic nature mysteries, every bit as much as the music.

Once, when pressed to explain the rare quality I find so compelling in his work, the closest I got was: "there's a taproot in his music that stirs visions, and it's masterfully juxtaposed with exquisite tenderness of the sort that emerges in the wake of grief, pain, and loss."

A quote from John O'Donohue always brings to mind Söderberg’s music for me: "I always think that music is what language would love to be if it could."

No matter how effectively I might arrange words, tender places remain within the depths of the human soul that words cannot reach. Only music.

At long last, drink deeply from the wellspring of the influential maestro himself as he delves into a candid interview covering the fertile ground of Old Norse spiritual traditions, writers and illustrators as influences on his music, and learning to detect sonic sweet spots suffused with everyday magic.

Danica Swanson: I'd like to start by thanking you for the opportunity to update this interview for public release. You're often perceived as reclusive and averse to publicity. It's rare for you to appear in music media, and as far as I can tell, your Instagram page featuring your nature photography is the only public presence you've ever had on social media. Aside from the professional website you maintain for your work as a sound designer, you maintain no presence on Bandcamp, nor any other official online information about your music.

Could you say a bit about your background and the driving forces behind your reclusive ways? What factors influenced your decision to "come out of hiding" — with respect to underground music subcultures, anyway — to perform live at the Cold Meat Industry/Waves of Darkness events, and to do this interview?

Ulf Söderberg: Thank you Danica. I wouldn't say I'm deliberately hiding, but you are absolutely right in that I don’t do many interviews. I don't read many, if any, interviews with other artists myself either; I'm just not very interested. I've never been very interested in the private person behind the art. I might enjoy a good book by a certain author, but that does not mean I'm interested in that author's personal life. I honestly don't care what that particular author eats for breakfast or what their favorite colors are or how they furnish their living room.

It's the same with all art, music, paintings, films and everything else that I enjoy and find inspiring. I'm extremely interested in the work itself, but not curious about the private life of the person behind it. I couldn't care less, actually, other than finding more good art, books, or music from that particular artist.

There might be a few exceptions. If there is a truly extraordinary artist like Andrei Tarkovsky or Ingmar Bergman, for example, I might be interested in that person's creative process. But I'm still not very interested in their private life. I don’t think I've read a biography about any artist, ever. I can certainly appreciate that people like my music, but I truly don't get why that would make me interesting as a person.

To be honest, when I'm not working with my company, in my free time, I'm kind of a hermit. I really don't want to be in the spotlight.

Understandable, though I do think it's normal for most people to be curious about the person behind a piece of art that speaks deeply to them.

Well, perhaps, but I'm not like most people in that regard. (Laughs). I'm just interested in the painting, not the painter.

Your IG bio reads: "Sound designer, composer, creator. Nature. History. Culture. Art. Sound. Local and global. Realism and magic. Exhibitions, films, games, guides." Could you expand on that a bit? Where do you focus most of your creative time these days?

Music and sound are still the main focus areas for which I can say with a bit of confidence that I know what I'm doing. But I've expanded into film and photography a bit more in recent years. I've always been into those areas to some extent, but I've become quite a bit more serious and disciplined in recent years. I'm always curious, and always expanding my palette of expressions. I've also started to look into XR technology in recent years. In many ways though, I view every new discipline as an expansion or a new platform of my soundscapes. Sound and music are still the foundation of everything else I do.

But the other day I found myself in a shop, staring at a nice set of knives and tools for woodwork. So who knows where I'm going next? I certainly don't!

Ulf Söderberg performs at the CMI 30th anniversary event, Stockholm, Sweden, November 2017. Video by Pentecost.
0:01 - "The Clock of Distant Dreams" from Sephiroth - Draconian Poetry (2005)
6:31 - "Virvlaren" from Ulf Söderberg - Inland (2016)

All your albums are highly coveted in every format, with many listeners willing to go to great lengths to acquire copies. Curiously, however, they're also long out of print, and all have remained scarce for many years.

One fan writes: "Like all of his albums this seems to be impossible to find, especially in the US. Mr. Söderberg should really set up a Bandcamp page. At least then fans would be able to purchase digital versions of the albums and support the artist."

Would you be willing to talk about what's behind the continued scarcity (both digital and physical) of your albums? I'm asking about everything you've released publicly on your Slow Moon label, on the CMI label as Sephiroth, and also for museum exhibitions… from your first sold-out instrumental release for Folkungasagan in 1993 up to the present day. Can you give your devoted listeners some solid hope that they'll be able to purchase copies of any of your albums anytime soon?

I'm very well aware of this issue and I will address it at some point. A re-release of Cathedron is in the pipeline at the Cyclic Law label. It's really up to me and I have been terrible at getting the wheels to move. Terrible. But now it will happen.

After that we're looking at re-releases of my other albums, with Draconian Poetry being next in the queue. I also need to address my huge pile of unreleased new material. I know, I know.

As a sought-after professional sound designer and prolific composer of music and narrative audio guides since the 1990s, you've completed a vast body of sound design and production work for films, museum exhibitions, and art installations in Sweden. What are some of the challenges, rewards, and highlights of your career so far?

I've had many highlights over the years. In fact, I try hard to make every project a highlight. But I'll try to single out a couple.

I'm actually working on a huge new project in Norway right now, but it's a little early to spill the beans about it. I'm excited because in addition to my sound design, it will feature my photos and films to a higher degree than my earlier exhibitions.

Speaking of earlier works, the Viking museum Trelleborgen project we did in 2022 really ticked the boxes of everything I like. I'll probably release a bit of new musical material that originated in that exhibition.

In 2018 we did an exhibition at Jönköpings Museum about the influential fantasy and fairytale illustrator and artist John Bauer.

John Bauer was one of my really early influences as a child growing up in Sweden and walking around — either alone, or with my brothers in the deep woods at home. I remember these very old books that my grandmother had on the bookshelves and in boxes up in the attic, including Bland Tomtar och Troll (Among Gnomes and Trolls). I spent hours gazing at the artwork. He really captured the essence of Nordic nature and its mysteries and mythology in a way that was very accessible, even for a small child.

Other Swedish artists and illustrators of children's books that laid an early foundation for the artistic output I have today are Hans Arnold and Elsa Beskow.

John Bauer and Hans Arnold were probably the most important early influences, and the older I get the more I have to acknowledge that. There wasn't really any music at that time that had the same artistic impact on me as a child as those illustrators.

So to get the honorable mission to design the sounds for that Bauer exhibition was a "full circle" moment. The sound installation is a multichannel design and I spent early mornings (like three o'clock) capturing nature sounds in the very same woods where John Bauer did his walks and illustrations. I had to be up this early to avoid having my recordings ruined by the sounds of airplanes. It was a bit of a challenge, but also very rewarding.

These recordings form the main sound layer of the exhibition. I also used these recordings in different ways, mainly re-designing them in the Kyma sound design environment to create layers of more "supernatural" sounds of trolls and elves lurking in the background on a very subtle third layer of moving ambient mist.

I could tell stories of one or two strange events that happened during the recordings in those woods…

All in all it was a huge project for me, but one of the most rewarding.

If I singled out one more project, it would be the multimedia production made for Västergötlands Museum on the Bronze Age ceremonial shields in 1994. That was one of my very earliest "big" productions, and it still runs today at the museum. Even though it's now nearly 30 years old, I still think the magic is there when you enter the room. Also, that production ultimately led me to produce the record Nattljus in 1995.

Capturing nature sounds for the John Bauer exhibition at Jönköpings läns museum (2018).

Many of your album notes and song titles suggest a keen appreciation for literature and poetry. "Now Night Her Course Began" from Draconian Poetry, for example, seems to refer to a line from John Milton's Paradise Lost, and an illustration of the same name by Gustave Doré.

Could you say a bit about some of your literary inspirations? How do your reading habits influence your music, and who are your favorite poets and writers?

Oh yes, definitely one of my favorite subjects! Reading books has influenced me immensely since childhood. I'd even go so far as to say that in some respects, reading has had a bigger influence on me than music. I gladly digest everything that has a touch of quality darkness and mystery, but I really favor the period around the early 18th century to around the mid-19th: William Hope Hodgson, Henry Kuttner, M.R. James, Arthur Machen, Gustav Meyrink, Lord Dunsany, Rudyard Kipling (Kipling's novel The City of Dreadful Night is more dark ambient than any dark ambient music I've ever heard!), Marion Crawford, Ambrose Bierce, Algernon Blackwood, Jeremias Gotthelf, Leonid Andrejev, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Paul Leppin, etc., etc., etc. Far too many to list. H.P. Lovecraft, obviously, although unfortunately I think his heritage has now become painfully overused and clichéd.

Among the classical Swedish poets and authors that still influence me today are Viktor Rydberg, Dan Andersson, Nils Ferlin, and Harry Martinson.

I also have a little soft spot for some of the science fiction stories from the 1950s, '60s, '70s, and '80s: Strugatsky brothers (Andrei Tarkovsky’s film Stalker that was based on a chapter from their novel Roadside Picnic is another early milestone influence for me), Stanislav Lem, Jay Williams (Time of the Kraken), Arthur C. Clarke, Brian Aldiss, Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury… again, too many to mention them all.

It doesn't have to be all ghouls and roaring twilight and the end of the universe though. I also appreciate authors like William Faulkner, Flannery O'Connor, Cormac McCarthy, Vilhelm Moberg, Sven Delblanc, Väinö Linna, Mika Waltari, and many others. Truly, if I listed everyone I'd need five more pages!

When it comes to more modern literature or film I often seem to return to the genre called "southern gothic" or genres in a nearby area. Since I grew up in the countryside myself, it probably speaks to me in a dark and twisted way. (Laughs).

To be honest though, although many people think I am, I'm really not much of a fantasy or science fiction person these days… not when it comes to more recent productions, at least. There are always exceptions, of course. I truly like the film Last and First Men. I love a good mystery and a good story, but for me that can come in any shape or form. I'd much, much rather watch a good documentary than a lackluster overproduced drama production. I'm totally unimpressed by CGI or fancy surfaces if there isn't a great story to back it up. If the depth of a good story isn't there to keep me interested, I'll immediately move on to something else.

Your work features many references to Old Norse religion and culture. You've included, for example, Bronze Age rock carvings from Högsbyn, Tisselskog in your album art; quotes from the Poetic Edda (stanzas 5 and 38 of the Völuspá) in your album notes; and some interesting voice samples in "Tidvatten Part II"…

The voice in that track is author Sture Wikman, my close friend, colleague, and mentor, who reads a fragment of his poem "Tidvatten." It was written at the same time as my album. It’s the same text that is printed inside the album cover. Both his poem and my music were part of an art exhibition we had together with two other artists at Forsviks Industriminnen in the summer of 1998. His original poem is several pages long and really beautiful.

The music on the album Tidvatten is also a smaller part of a much bigger original production that’s about two hours longer than the album. All that ran at the exhibition that summer. Tidvatten should have been a triple album, really. Or at least a double. Hopefully we will release the full project someday. I've actually started to look into it. The material is there, and it felt surprisingly good when I listened to it after all this time.

…"Långt borta och nära" from Nattljus accompanies a video production made for Västergötlands Museum on Bronze Age ceremonial shields found at Fröslunda (Freyr's grove) near Lidköping where you are from, and the track apparently takes its name from Peter Jankavs' book Långt borta och nära: gudaoffer och vardagsting från bronsåldern (Far Away and Near: God-sacrifices and Everyday Life from the Bronze Age)…

I have no idea who came up with the name originally. That period is starting to feel a bit distant now. (Laughs). As you mentioned, the name comes from the multimedia exhibition surrounding the Fröslunda Bronze shields at Västergötlands Museum, and the book was released as a part of that project. The exhibition opened in 1994 and the book was released in 1995, the same year as Nattljus.

There is a tiny fragment of the show on YouTube. The exhibition multimedia room has huge screens and props and lighting, so obviously it looks a bit underwhelming with only one picture on a tiny YouTube screen.

Again, that's Sture Wikman who wrote the spoken text. You can hear an early version of the track "Våroffer" from Nattljus in the background.

A clip from the exhibition at Västergötlands Museum about the Fröslunda bronze shields. Music: "Våroffer" from Nattljus (1995).

…and several of your song titles refer to divine forces [e.g., "Skymningens Unga Gudar" (Twilight's Young Gods), "Novembergudarna (November Gods)," and "Järtecken" (signs or omens from divine sources)]. What are your thoughts on Old Norse religion, and spirituality in general? Do you consider yourself a follower or supporter of the old ways?

Yes, in many ways I do. These are my roots and my heritage. If I go as far back as I can remember, I recall a children's song called "Schottis på Valhall" that my mother used to sing to me to get me out of bed in the morning. I was like four years old, or even younger. I didn't care so much about the melody, but I remember that the lyrics really struck a nerve. I checked out the song today, since your question brought it to mind, and it has not held up so well. But hey, as I said, I was barely four years old, and I had to start somewhere. (Laughs).

Some years later I got hold of Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda. I actually found it in an old chest in the attic at home. I recall that it was dusty and really old and had that lovely "old book" smell. I don't remember exactly, but I might have read Bilbo by J.R.R. Tolkien back then, and that in turn led me to start reading the Edda.

This is far back; I wasn't even 10 years old. What I do remember is that it really, REALLY struck a nerve, and it still has the same effect on me today. I clearly remember reading the Völvans spådom (Vǫluspá) about the Ragnarök prophecy. And I literally felt tears fill my eyes with melancholy and awe.

And you know what? I still get overwhelmed with awe and melancholy when I read that poem. So there has to be something there that just cuts right into my soul. A heritage or something… I don't know, it just speaks to me. The same happens when I see rune stones, old iron age stone circles or rock carvings out in nature, or if I walk into a wild forest, or stand on a mountaintop looking out over a wooded landscape. Chills run down my spine. It just runs in my blood.

That said, I certainly appreciate other cultures, myths, and history from around the world as well, as anyone who has heard my music can attest. Very much so. But the Scandinavian heritage always flows strong and clear in my creative process.

To conclude, though, I'll have to clarify that I am very pragmatic in my everyday life. I absolutely do support tradition and the "old ways," yes, but I am in no way a "follower" of any kind of organized beliefs and I would never let any religion influence or rule decisions in my everyday life (apart from common sense like "thou shall not kill" obviously). I just can't be part of a group or a cult in that way. I am far too much of an individual. As soon as anything becomes trendy or surrounded by unwritten rules I just walk away to something else. I see that it's happened with the Scandinavian heritage now too — it's being exploited for films and TV productions for the masses. It seems inevitable that this happens sooner or later with everything that has some kind of potential for exploitation.

I do see myself as a spiritual person, but somehow I find that as soon as it gets the least bit organized and starts to involve other people, I just lose all connection and inspiration.

I have my own "sacred places" and my own connections with the subconscious, but there isn't a need for me to share any of that with someone else.

If I do "worship" anything at all, I'd say it would be nature in all shapes and forms. It rips my heart out to see how we humans manage to ruin this planet with mindless exploitation and, above all, overpopulation. We really are doomed in the long run... but I'd love to be wrong about that.

One of your tracks from the early 1990s, "Tre Bröder ett Rike" (Three Brothers One Kingdom), was uploaded to YouTube by a user who noted that it was one of four tracks composed for Folkungasagan, a multimedia folk tale display at the Swedish History Museum. Is any of this work available to interested listeners?

This was my first actual release of instrumental music on CD, and a hint of what would come later with Nattljus and my subsequent albums. I had written a lot of music in this style for several years, but at that time nothing had been released yet. The theme for Folkungasagan began its life as a longer 30 minute composition I did for my grandmother four or five years earlier.

There was this huge exhibition about Swedish history taking place at the Swedish History Museum in 1993, and I got the job as the sound designer. I was a bit green at that time, but I did put all my ability into the project and it turned out really well. One of the rooms had a huge multimedia show about Folkungasagan and the events at Nyköpings Gästabud.

I composed the soundtrack for the show, and it turned out that so many visitors asked how to get the music that the Museum offered to print a series of CDs. This was kind of a big deal at that time. This was years before self-released records became common; it was quite a bit more expensive and convoluted to print records back then, and quite a bit more complicated to produce album art.

Anyway, the condition they gave me was that they'd need to get it out before Christmas, and it was early December, so I had very little time to deliver the finished music. I remember that I had just moved, and the first thing I did in my new apartment was to pull up my sampler, an Akai S-1000, my synth, a small mixer, my only two effects, a not-very-expensive reverb and delay and a DAT-recorder, and just got it done.

I remember asking how many they would print, and they said "2000 copies." I thought: You will never, ever, sell that many. I got five free copies just before Christmas. I gave four of them to my friends and family. A few months later, I called the museum to ask if I could get hold of some more. They replied: "No, sorry, they're all sold out."

And that was it. I have one copy of that record.

Another YouTube user, Paul Ziolo, writes about "Tempel och katedral reser sig ur djupen" (Temple and Cathedral Rising From the Depths):

"The (absolutely superb) soprano entry at 3:57 is in fact the Gregorian Introit from the Tridentine (pre-Vatican II) Mass of the Dead. The words are 'Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine et lux perpetua luceat eis' - 'Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon them'. Most of the texts from Tidvatten and other vocal tracks are from the Gregorian (plainsong) canon from the Mass of the Dead, 'treated' digitally. I believe Söderberg was/still is a Catholic church organist from Northern Sweden. I'm a church organist too (of the Tridentine Rite), and recognise his sources."

Could you comment on this? Are you an organist?

That Ulf Söderberg, the organist, is another person with the same name as me. There have been two or three misunderstandings over the years. I've received a few phone calls from people who wanted to hire me as an organist for their wedding. Needless to say, I was a bit puzzled, until I learned I had a namesake. It’s not impossible that he's had a few confusing proposals as well. (Laughs).

On second thought, maybe I should have said yes, and given them a wedding concert they would never have forgotten!

[Editor's note: As of this writing, even Perplexity is confused; the summary paragraph ("classical and dark ambient musician born in 1959") conflates the two different musicians with the same name into one, and the music available on Spotify and Apple Music is by the other Ulf Söderberg — the organist. If accuracy is important to you, be careful with AI! Whenever possible, consult with the original artist or find music nerds who know their history well and can help you sort out details.]

Your professional background also includes teaching music and audio production for video games. Do you still teach?

No, I've stopped doing that, at least for now.

I've had some good moments teaching there (the University of Skövde) and I think I'm quite good at it, but ultimately it's not my thing. Originally I was interested in taking that course myself, but after I went to an interview they called me the next day and asked if I'd like to teach there instead.

I was there for seven years. It was nice to get a regular paycheck and paid vacation for a while, but ultimately it became unsustainable, as I was running my own company at the same time. It reached a point where I had to choose one path, and here I am. (Laughs).

What is your philosophy of sound design?

Learn how to listen. Find your own unique voice. Learn when the magic appears, both inside the studio and out in the field, and learn how to communicate it with other people.

When I talk about magic in this context, I mean something that moves you deeply, and moves other people as well. Something that sends chills down your spine and fires your imagination. It's important to learn how to recognize those moments when they appear. Learn how to be sensitive. Open your senses like a child.

Something amazing might happen in one particular spot, but when you move a couple of inches away or sideways, the magic suddenly disappears. I've experienced that on so many occasions — mostly in nature, often while recording waves among the cliffs — but also in urban areas. Once I passed a generator and heard it produce an amazing electrical tone, but then took one more step away from it and the magic atmosphere vanished!

For example, I was walking in Malmö not long ago, and all of a sudden at a crossroads I found a small spot where sound reached me from all four directions. There were cars, a street performer, people talking at a restaurant, and a big ventilation fan blowing… and there, in one small spot, all those sounds blended perfectly and created an almost Brian Eno-ish ambient background. I took a few steps forward, and the atmosphere was gone. I took one step back, and there it was again.

When you walk past that sweet spot, the sound will reach you for maybe half a second. If you're not trained and skilled and you don't open your senses, you'll miss it! For me it's become so natural that I don't even think about it anymore. Obviously, always carry some kind of recorder with you so you can capture those moments!

I also carry that way of thinking with me in the studio. I think I've developed a kind of consciousness that enables it to work almost automatically. When I compose or work on a sound and something magical is happening, almost instantly all sorts of images come to mind. The motifs can vary widely: everything from tentacles sweeping through the dark edges of the universe to more earthly things like an abandoned house in the middle of the woods, disintegrating statues covered with ivy, or an overgrown railway track on the borderland between an urban area and the countryside. Stuff like that.

I've also learned how important it is to stop twisting knobs and making changes as soon as the inner scenery appears. One careless twist of a knob and they could just as easily disappear.

And forget all the focus on gear. It's not that it doesn't matter, but it's secondary to finding your own voice. I've known so many talented people over the years that get stuck in that gear trap and never get anything done. They don't even use the great gear they already have. Get the best tools you can afford that you are inspired by and comfortable with, and get on with it. Trust your instincts. Go find your voice.

You know, if you listen to my first full-length record Nattljus from 1995 and then listen to Inland from 2016, it's pretty obvious that they are made by the same person. But not one single piece of gear that I used on Nattljus was used on Inland. Not one. It's a whole different set-up, yet the sound is there. Nattljus sounds a bit older, obviously, but the essence of the sound and atmosphere is the same.

Gear is seductive and fun, but ultimately it's not the most important thing. Creativity beats gear every time.

It's easy to be led astray by shiny new and "better" tools, but I'll always prefer things to be less technically perfect if I feel the magic is there in the end result. That goes for music, photographs, paintings, films, everything. There's so much material being produced today that is awesome technically, but the magic simply isn't there. No atmosphere.

I don’t care much for pristine high-resolution stuff. Yeah, it’s ultra-sharp and detailed, but if it doesn't move me, so what? Give me some atmospheric distortion, blur, rust, mist, fog, buzz, imperfections, and decay, and I'll be happy. (Laughs).

Do you plan to continue performing live?

As long as someone wants me to show up I'll think about it. (Laughs).

There are things I really like with performing: meeting the people that appreciate my music and testing my video art on the big backdrop screen. But everything has to be well arranged and in order. I'm probably just a bit too comfortable these days to sleep on someone's couch.

Well, maybe if it's a really, really comfortable couch I'll think about it. (Laughs).

Describe your creative process. How do you prefer to work in your day-to-day life?

Well, a friend of my wife asked exactly that same question a few years ago, and my answer was simple: "You just roll up your sleeves and go to work!"

It was obvious that she was disappointed with that answer, but really, that's all there is to it. Creative work is no vacation. It takes years and years to hone your skill and find your own voice.

People love to hear romantic stories and expositions about creativity and inspiration, but for me all that happens outside the studio. I certainly get inspired by traveling, good art, films, reading, photography, or whatever, but when I enter my studio I just work. I'm very pragmatic. I don't wait for divine inspiration to hit or anything. I just press "rec" and go, and it works every time. It always has. When I enter the studio, I'm already inspired. All the ingredients are in place, cooking and sizzling. I just push the button and let it flow.

Generally I try to get down at least two or three ideas every time I go into the studio, and I go there almost every day. I've got several hundred ideas lying around, everything from four-bar snippets to almost-completed tracks, but very little of that is turned into finished songs.

Finishing a song for release is just hard focused work, nothing else. But obviously you also have to retain the magic and not ruin the atmosphere that made the piece interesting to begin with, and that’s what I consider the hardest part: retaining the spirit, atmosphere and flow of the original idea, while at the same time making it technically acceptable for release. I think it's easy to lose the magic in the process if you focus too much on the technical side, polish away too much of the dust and rust, and make things too shiny.

But it has to be said: even though I describe the creative process as hard work, it's a deeply rewarding process as well. Otherwise I wouldn't do it.

And obviously, just to be crystal clear, when I refer to my process as "hard work" I don't mean hard work as in "working in a coalmine." I might work many hours a day, every day, but yes, I'm still privileged to be able to do this for a living.

I'm intrigued by the interesting tension you touched on there — you characterize creative work as "no vacation," yet also a reward and a privilege. As you mentioned, people are sometimes more interested in tales of creative inspiration than matter-of-fact reports of the labor and time involved.

In general, there seems to be a great deal of emphasis on idealistic notions of "labor of love," but comparatively little attention given to the labor itself, let alone the infrastructure and business models necessary to support creative labor sustainably. What's your take on this?

Great question. I think one misconception that refuses to die is that creative work, and music in particular it seems, should be "fun." I rarely, if ever, think the creative process is "fun" in the literal sense. I don't go into the studio laughing, so to speak. If I have to describe my feelings around the creative process, I'd strongly prefer the word "rewarding" instead.

Secondly, I'm running a company, not a charity. It's no different than running a gas station, shop, or any other small business: if the numbers don't add up, there won't be a business to run. Simple. I can absolutely do some things solely for the love of it — it happens all the time — but in that case, it's me and no one else that decides what those things are.

I look at a project budget like a cake. Sometimes there isn't a cake at all, and then it's up to you if you want to sit down at the table anyway. Sometimes you may want to do that because the company is nice, or the project is interesting, or whatever. But if there is a cake — however small it might be — I want a slice of it. It might be a small slice, but don't pretend there's no cake to share if there is one. I've got no patience with that these days. Be fair or I'm out.

To conclude, though, I'll say that 99.9% of all the projects I've been involved in have been fair, rewarding, and magical from start to finish. I have a strong tendency to meet and get involved with only awesome people. I have no idea why! (Laughs).

The intro on "Morgonmåne" from Vindarnas Hus is dedicated to John Foxx, who is perhaps best known for his work with Ultravox, and if memory serves, you’ve also mentioned your appreciation for artists such as Skinny Puppy, Graeme Revell, and Nurse With Wound. What are your thoughts on your early influences? What was the first music you heard that you would call dark ambient? What music do you listen to currently?

My early influences… this is an interesting question. Recently I spoke to my wife about the earliest influences that imprint upon us as small children. I've inquired far, far back into my memories to find out where my fascination with these sounds comes from, because they've been present inside me my whole life — long, long before this type of music started to appear to the general public. My earliest sound influences were probably not music at all in the traditional sense.

Here's one of my earliest memories from about three or four years old. I was walking on a small gravel road out in the fields near my home with my grandfather's elder sister, who was holding my hand. I recall that her name was Sigrid; she was a babysitter for me at that time. It was extremely cold — like minus 25 degrees Celsius — and it was dark outside except for a small brim of deep red and a thin crescent moon on the horizon. I remember all this very clearly.

I remember how she suddenly stopped at a passage where a large number of old telephone wires crossed above us from different directions. She leaned towards me and whispered:

"Ulf! Listen! Listen to the telephone wires singing for us!" I heard a deep, slow, celestial sound, like a choir with metallic icy overtones. It seemed to fill the air around us in all directions as we stood there. This was in the countryside, so it was dead silent otherwise. No cars or city background noise. Just extreme cold, stars staring down on us, and a huge ghostly metallic icy choir sound emanating from the crossed wires above us.

I was awestruck. I remember clearly that the hair on my head literally stood up, like in a cartoon. The experience stirred mixed feelings: deep fear and veneration. Even after all these years, the hair still stands up on the back of my neck when I think about it.

I have no idea what made the wires sing like that. Probably the extreme cold made the wires tense. I haven't heard anything quite like that ever again anywhere. I went back to the exact same spot as a grown-up a couple of years ago, but the telephone wires weren't there anymore. I think this is my very earliest memory of sound — not sound as something common that's around you all the time in everyday life, but something that fills you with awe and leaves an imprint that you carry with you for the rest of your life.

Since I grew up in the countryside, there were electrical generators and huge hay blowers from distant barns contrasting with the silence of the surrounding fields and woods. I remember lying in a tent in the garden as a child listening to these distant sounds in the summer night. As I mentioned earlier, I wasn't aware of any music at that time that resembled what I do today, but I still feel that these types of atmospheres have been a part of me my whole life.

I think this is the origin: growing up in the countryside and observing the contrast between total silence, sounds of nature, and single spots of sound from electrical generators and huge old rhythmic farming machinery. Actually, a picture of one of those very machines ended up in the artwork of the inner sleeve of Draconian Poetry. People have asked me if that's some kind of medieval torture construction. And I tell them "No, that's one of my grandfather's farming machines from the '60s!" (Laughs). But I agree it looks evil.

A lot of those old machines were extremely interesting, and some of them produced very interesting sounds. I wish I could go back in time to record them. I think I've always been somewhat fascinated by the sounds of mechanics, electricity, and atmospheric noise.

Another very early memory: my grandmother had this huge tube radio in the kitchen, and I just loved to tune it in between stations to get that warm atmospheric noise, with crackling foreign voices chatting just beneath hearing level far out in the periphery. Those stations had names like "Hilversum," "Kalundborg," and "Esbjerg," which at that time had a mythological and poetic ring to me as a child.

My grandmother was like "Hey, stop doing that! I want to listen to Melodikrysset!" (Laughs). Bless her. It was probably good for my sanity to listen to a bit of Melodikrysset as well. She’s the "Mary" that I dedicated my album Vindarnas Hus to, by the way…

The best radio atmosphere, though, was when you could get a mix between the atmospheric noise and a Swedish program called Sjörapporten. That was pure poetry. I still have that very radio in my house, by the way… but unfortunately, just like my lovely dear grandmother, it has died of old age.

As for music in a more traditional sense, there have been a couple of influential milestones.

In my earliest years, I listened to my aunt Karin's record collection with The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix. That very early period was extremely important, as it shaped the foundation of my musical interest. I recall the TV series Moses the Lawgiver — the music by Ennio Morricone made a big impression. There were also some awesome surrealistic Swedish children's programs directed by Staffan Westerberg that had great music.

But the big life-changing musical moment came in the late '70s and early '80s with the post-punk movement called New Wave. I heard Gary Numan's "Are Friends Electric?" on the radio, and was completely blown away. Knocked out. It was just so different to the other music that played on the Swedish radio at that time.

Gary Numan in turn led me to early Ultravox and John Foxx, whose solo albums Metamatic and The Garden were also a big influence. The title track on The Garden in particular, with its ambient sacral sound, beautiful lyrics, and field recordings, made a huge impression on me in 1981. I still love it in fact. As you noted, the intro on "Morgonmåne" is a homage to that track. I was also very inspired by his photography and art. You might say that I owe him.

Other important and obvious influences include Peter Gabriel's Birdy and Passion, the aforementioned Graeme Revell (more precisely the record Zamia Lehmanni - Songs of Byzantine Flowers), and Lustmord. I also liked many of the new hybrid synth bands that were coming out of the underground later in the '80s, like Skinny Puppy and Ministry, even though they didn’t really color my own musical output much. I had a side project called Ravenhead in the '90s with a friend that was more in the vein of Skinny Puppy, Ministry, Doubting Thomas, and Cyberaktif, and we did a couple of live shows where he cut up his stomach and things like that, but we never did release anything.

I was also a huge fan of the band Type O Negative in the '90s.

Nowadays... obviously there are piles of crap out there, but sometimes you run into things that grab you. The vast majority of the music I listen to today is soundtracks, sacral music, and ethno-folk music.

One contemporary artist I appreciate very much is Tolgahan Çoğulu, a guitarist that uses microtonal tunings. It's a bit of an acquired taste perhaps, but I really love it. I think he's brilliant.

To conclude: this question regarding influences is a huge and complex mosaic for me, and it's an ever-changing mosaic as well. If I were to mention everything that has inspired me throughout the years, this interview would be 600 pages long, and if you ask me again in a couple of years there will be hundreds of pages more.

On one hand, I'm very selective and fastidious. My friends get frustrated because they don’t think I like anything. Admittedly I do think there's a huge load of crap out there. Huge. Borderline depressing, actually. (Laughs).

On the other hand, I’m open-minded to every genre and every expression of art. So yeah, there's lots of good and inspiring stuff out there too. In addition to everything I've already mentioned, there's so much I enjoy and digest that perhaps never reflects directly into my musical output: old 1930s cartoons, abstract art, nature documentaries, old maps, sculptures, architecture… you name it.

Right at this moment I feel inspired by just looking at rays of the twilight sun shining through the window. Tomorrow it'll be something else. It's literally hundreds of thousands of things. Eventually all that will color my work in some way, even if it's just a tiny, tiny microscopic fragment in the full palette.

Is there anyone with whom you would like to collaborate artistically that you have not yet had an opportunity to work with?

Yes. I always look for opportunities to collaborate with photographers, filmmakers, storytellers, designers, directors, game creators… you name it. I love a good collaboration. I love to be part of a creative team with good people. So hit me up!

But be serious. Don’t bother with variations on the "Hey, can I use your music for free?" messages that I get from time to time. That's not collaboration. I won't even respond. I mainly look for a lasting and deep relation that can evolve over time, even if a one-off project can be nice as well. I've been lucky to work with some truly skillful and inspiring people over the years. There's always room for more.

Anyone that I have not yet had the opportunity to work with? Well, it probably won't happen, but I would be totally stoked if Salomé Lamas called me to do sound design for one of her projects. I love everything she's done, especially the movie Extinction.

What’s next on the agenda for you?

Well, I really shouldn't talk before I have an actual product ready… but I'm working on a new album. It's about 90% done, and it's good! Unfortunately, the last 10% usually takes 90% of the total time to make it! When will it be released? When it's ready!

When I have a deadline for an external project, I'm very fast and things get done. But when it comes to my own projects, like making records, there usually isn't a deadline, and therefore things tend to take forever. But I'm aware of it and I try to address it.

Believe it or not, I've made some progress on a third Sephiroth album. In reality and practice that project more or less died with CMI for my part, although I've continued to write some material in that style. I have a folder called "Sephiroth drafts" on my computer that slowly gets filled with new material.

For those who haven't guessed, the intro I performed at the CMI concert in 2017 was an incomplete draft of a new Sephiroth track that I spontaneously pulled out from the dusty shelves just a few days before the show. And I have to acknowledge that the CMI events and the fantastic response from the audience has inspired me to write a few more tracks and look a bit deeper into that "drafts" folder.

When will it be ready? Don’t ask. I have no idea! People should be aware that when I say "soon" it can mean ten years. (Laughs). So I’ve stopped using that word.

(Editor's note: While waiting patiently for the new albums and re-releases, don't miss the new music from Ulf in the Njordheim trailer — a collaboration with Marcus Sandgren from 2023.)

I also have a plan to release my more minimal, ambient, experimental, and primitive work. I have at least seven or eight albums of material that has an obvious imprint of "my" sound, but is based to a larger extent on my field recordings and acoustic sources, including some primitive homemade instruments I built. Perhaps inspired to an extent by early Zoviet France and Maeror Tri.

I've been working more and more with this type of my own material and have been enjoying it quite a bit, so there’s a good chance that it will actually be released. When will it be ready? Again, I have no idea. As always: I'm working on it.

Is there anything you'd like to comment on that I didn't include in this interview? If so, please add it in!

Yes: I love my cat!

Thanks to: Raubbau, Peter Nyström, Pär Boström, Åsa Boström, Johan Levin, Birka + Räv Skogsberg, Joseph S. Hopkins, and Marcus Lönebrink, whose kindness and support played a key role in making this interview happen.