25-Zach
Judas makes everything harder than it needs to be.
We’re doing group interviews; Louanne, Silver, and Seth in one trio, Daemonium in the other. The plan was to do Duae and Judas together as the founding members of Somnium, but due to foreseen assholery the last week since starting the tour, I had to improvise my schedule.
Liane, Pamrata and Whitney are off celebrating Whit’s thirty-third birthday at an amusement park, so I took the opportunity to catch the band separated for once.
There’s history to cover with the girls, so it makes sense to treat them as a separate entity.
Besides, the trio in front of me has enough chaotic energy to fuel the entire documentary.
I set the tripod height, audio levels, and lighting. The dressing room in Denver is a kind of organized chaos where a band’s toured long enough to turn madness into routine.
Louanne sorts through paint palettes with surgeon-level focus at the counter. Silver sits cross-legged on the couch, tightening the buckles on their knee-high boots while humming a steady tune. Seth’s perched on a stool, spiky leather jacket and demon mask already on.
Still, the empty space where Judas should be sits heavy in the air.
Seth and Louanne settle beside Silver, and I get them mic’d up. The distortion buzzes faintly as Cooper tests them. With Seth’s skeletal sockets and the twins’ lace and steel jawbones, they look like they’ve stepped out of someone’s fever dream.
“You nervous?” I ask, sitting in the cheap office chair across from them, smiling as I cross one knee over the other in a casual, inviting gesture.
Silver stretches, their loose-fitting sleeve nearly catching on one of Seth’s many spikes. “I’m roasting under this mask.”
Louanne tosses her head back, short tresses flailing as she snorts. “You’re always roasting. That’s not new.”
“Hit me with it, darling.” Seth leans forward, ripped jeans spread, an elbow on each holey knee. “I’m ready for my close-up.”
I twirl my pointer overhead, signaling Coop to start recording.
“Quatour, you’re the touring guitarist for Somnium, meaning you don’t spend time in the studio, correct?”
“That is correct,” Seth says. His ringed fingers dance along his knees, accentuating the dirty cuticles and blackened crevices. “What you hear on the records is all Judas.”
“So, you’re all from the UK, but for people unfamiliar, you’re originally from Scotland. How’d you get into the London music scene?”
“Honestly? Bit o’ fate, bit o’ family pressure.
” Seth shrugs, clinking the spikes and loops stitched to his jacket.
“Played guitar since I was wee. I moved to London; tried tae follow my roots and be a doctor like everyone expected of me. Didn’t work out.
Ended up runnin’ a tattoo shop instead. Tria and me were mates in Uni.
They came in ta my shop and said they needed a last-minute fill-in for a few shows.
It went well, and we proper clicked, so they kept me around. I’m blessed, truly.”
“That’s right,” Silver adds, clamping a hand over Louanne’s bouncing leg, careful not to bunch the striped fabric.
“Duae and I have known each other for ages.” They wink at their twin.
“She had her thing, I had mine, but eventually she needed a bass and guitar player because her lead singer couldn’t play four instruments at once. ”
“They’re like the cool cousins who show up to the family reunion,” Louanne chimes in, her teal gaze lingering on the lens behind me.
“So Duae,” I say to Louanne, careful not to say their real names, “you and Judas founded Somnium, correct?”
Moving as stiffly as possible to minimize feedback, I face her as Cooper leans in for a close-up.
Duae’s mask is stunning; resin threaded with silver filigree that catches the dressing room lights like oil on water.
The teeth are long and elegant, ceremonial and predatory all at once.
Even sitting still, it radiates a quiet, ritualistic power.
“Um, yes,” she murmurs, her thin brows dipping as her shoulders slump. Louanne rubs her palms along her dress pants, the heel of her boot tapping frantically against the concrete.
“Quatour and I are simply the honorary members,” Silver states, reaching across Seth to the end table. Holding a huge black water bottle, they hand it to Louanne. “And honored we are.”
“Like Tria said, we’ve all been mates for ages,” Louanne continues. “Grew up together. Each of us had our own lives, our own strengths. And Q’s right; it felt like fate. Judas and I clicked from the start. Enough similarities to understand each other, enough differences to grow.”
“Whose idea was the name Somnium? Why Latin?”
“Because Somnium sounds far more mysterious than ‘Dream.’ Judas is the soul of this band. And the brains. Most of them. That’s why we simply go by loose variations of two, three, and four.”
Louanne chuckles, lifting her mask just enough to toss back a drink of water, though I’ll cut it in post to minimalize her exposure regardless.
“If Judas is the brains, then what are you, Duae?”
“I’m the heart and veins, I suppose,” she says, twisting the cap back on with her thumbs. “He breathes life into it, and I keep it moving.”
“What does Somnium mean to you?”
“We spend a third of our lives in the dream space, and we barely understand it.” Louanne strokes her mask thoughtfully. “I like the idea of our music living in that mystique; breaking the rules of what reality, or music, is supposed to be.”
I turn to Silver. “And you, Tria?”
“Somnium is exactly that. Performing for thousands who choose to be there, who spent their hard-earned quid to share this moment with us. That’s what dreams are—hopes coming to fruition.”
“And you, Quatour?” I glance at Seth.
He chuckles, stretching out with a yawn. “It sounds nice.”
I arch a brow. “That’s it?”
“Aye, we can’t all be poetic wit our words.” Seth breaks out a lazy grin. “That’s why I’m just the guitar player.”
“Quatour, you mentioned artistry and the tattoo shop. Not many fans know you designed the band’s logo and the first three album covers. What was that like? Do you prefer making art to performing?”
“I love both, but differently.” Seth shakes out of his leather jacket, revealing a worn-out band tee I’ll have to blur in post, and fit biceps covered in very identifiable tattoos. “After feeding off the energy of thousands on tour, it’s nice ta disappear into art for a bit. Keeps me grounded.”
Silver adjusts their hood, situating the gold-lined edge along their thin brows. “He vanishes into his work for hours. We have to drag him out to eat.”
“Art waits for no one,” Seth declares, and I turn to Silver.
“Tria, you’ve been performing live bass since the first show. Is it strange not being part of the writing or recording process but still being such a core member?”
“Strange?” Silver tilts their head, cloak slipping. “Not at all. We stay in our lanes. I’m no songwriter, I know sod all about piano. My job is to keep pace with Duae. I hold the rhythm and I’ve got my mates’ backs, whatever they need.”
“Even as a seat for Judas during Duae’s drum solos?”
Silver throws their head back, knocking the hood away entirely. “Exactly! We do what we can to have fun. And honestly, that balance is vital, especially with the heavy themes in the music.”
“We wouldn’t be the same without them,” Louanne says, her chewed nails tapping the bottle to a rhythm only she seems to hear.
I glance at her. “Duae, you co-founded Somnium and you’ve been writing with Judas since the start. What’s it like watching the band grow from tiny clubs to arenas?”
“It’s surreal.” Louanne exhales, her red-tinted throat constricting, as if she’s trying to swallow her next words.
“We started this because we needed somewhere to put the things we couldn’t say aloud.
Watching it grow into this movement that helps people feel something is humbling. Terrifying and absolutely beautiful.”
My chest warms, knowing I’m one of those people. “And what do you want people to feel when they watch this documentary?”
“Seen,” Seth says.
“Understood,” Silver declares.
“Perhaps a bit less lonely,” Louanne whispers, her round eyes glistening with the beginnings of tears.
I swallow back my own tears, gesturing for Cooper to stop recording. The heaviness lingers for a breath before the room snaps back into focus.
“Okay, that was great,” I say, unclipping my mic. “Seriously. You guys played off each other so well. Your fans are going to lose their minds.”
“Oho, look at that, ya didn’t even chuck up,” Seth says, patting Louanne’s back like he’s proud of a toddler for eating their vegetables.
“Ah, were you nervous?” I ask her, trying to hold back my smirk as I unclip the mic. “I couldn’t even tell.”
She’s sweating buckets through her mesh long-sleeve, but at least she’s relaxed now; shoulders loose, posture open, and energy warm.
“Oh, that was torturous,” Silver groans as they hand me their mic and receiver pack. “No wonder we decided to be anonymous and not speak.”
I take my mic and hand it to Cooper. “You perform in front of thousands, but you’re scared of a little camera?”
“It’s completely different.” Louanne grabs my shoulders and pushes me back into my chair. “Sit.” A mischievous glint sparks in her eyes. “Coop,” she says, twirling her pointer in a mocking ‘go’ gesture. “Rolling.”
I laugh as Seth rolls me in front of the couch. “That’s not what we say.”
“Action,” Seth booms.
Cooper flips the light back on and I’m instantly blinded.
“Holy shit,” I say, shading myself.
“Yeah, not so great, is it?” Louanne says smugly. She leans against Cooper and crosses her ankles. “Now. Zachary Blake. Thoughts on that name?”
“Okay, point taken,” I deadpan into the lens. “But you did great. Coop—”
I gesture across my throat as I stand, and he cuts the camera.
“Now we just need to get her on stage,” Silver quips.
“Oh, hell no,” I say, stepping back so fast I nearly trip over the chair.
“We’re kiddin’, lass. Chalo ji,” Seth mutters, cupping my stiff shoulder. “An’ you’re sittin’ there callin’ us scared.”
“You’re the rockstars. And trust me, you rocked this interview. Thanks for taking all of this with a grain of salt.”
“Jude still bein’ a wanker?” Seth asks, stroking his chin as he dips his obsidian gaze to me.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I scratch my head as I pull out my elastic, letting my curls fall free. “But since you said it, yeah. He’s kind of being a wanker.”
The three of them explode into laughter.
“Oh, darling,” Silver says through bursts of clipped breath, “that was simply wrong coming from you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, wane ka,” I pronounce in an awful English accent, and they roar even harder.
“He’ll come around.” Louanne winks at me as she passes. “And if he doesn’t—” She points two fingers at her eyes, then at the door. “I’ll kick the little wane ka where it hurts.”
Silver and Seth hiss dramatically as they trail after her, waving at Cooper and me. For the first time since starting this tour with Somnium, I have a sense of camaraderie.
I’ve been starving for it.