There’s no milestone celebration, no pompous retrospective, no illusion of finality. Heimat might be Heaven Shall Burn’s tenth studio album, but the band treats it like any other: a necessary statement, not a symbolic bookmark.
“We’re not a band that lives in the past much,” says guitarist Maik Weichert. “We’re proud that we’re still creating music for the same reasons and still maintain the same energy level.” What follows is not nostalgia, but confrontation — with identity, with power, and with the meaning of home.
The word Heimat itself carries weight. Once a seemingly benign term for homeland or belonging, it’s long since been co-opted by nationalists and twisted into exclusion. The band doesn’t let that slide. “We couldn’t stand by and watch this important and highly emotional word being abused and undermined by right-wing circles,” Weichert explains. “It’s also a kind of reconquest.”
That reclamation takes many forms on the record. “Empowerment,” one of the key singles, shifts the lens toward solidarity and forward motion. “If you want to change something, start with yourself,” the band wrote in a public statement.
“The old men in power don’t fear the backward-looking, grumbling ones at the dimly lit regulars’ reserved table, but the good and progressive ideas of people walking the streets together under bright sunshine.” It’s a blunt metaphor that Weichert later expands on, pointing to isolation and algorithmic bubble-living as modern forces of stagnation: “All mechanisms for forming opinions and internal social discussion have been muted or abolished.”
That darkness — collective and personal — bleeds into Heimat’s visual and sonic design. The cover by Eliran Kantor is a violent reinterpretation of wildlife painting: a rearing stag framed by a lynx and an owl, placed not in serene forest, but amid scorched earth. “The shy lynx has killed a dove of peace,” Weichert says.
“The wise owl brings a glimmer of hope in the form of an ear of grain.” The classical symbolism is deliberate, and paired with orchestral contributions from the Sophia Chamber Choir, the Mondëna Quartet, and longtime collaborators Sven Helbig and Wilhelm Keitel. “These classical elements expand the spectrum in every respect,” Weichert notes. “The rage in our music becomes even more vivid and powerful when you approach it from calmer realms of sound.”
Despite Heimat’s grand scope, the band’s internal compass hasn’t shifted. “Maybe we’re the biggest hobby band in the world,” Weichert jokes, noting that they only release albums when there’s something they need to say — not to chase tours or keep up with cycles. He remains wary of the superficiality that plagues modern engagement: “There will be no HSB TikTok account. We post on social media whenever we feel like it, without regard for algorithms or trends.”
Heimat is not a swan song, nor is it a campaign. It’s another forward motion of an already legendary band. A resistance against cultural erosion, nationalist hijacking, and emotional numbness.
Read the full interview below to learn more about the artwork’s layered metaphors, the philosophical core of “Empowerment,” the Thuringian underground, and what it means to carry your beliefs like a portable home.
When I hear those relentless bursts on the new tracks, I’m instantly back in Dresden, watching you tear through the stage alongside AS I LAY DYING and EVERGREEN TERRACE. First time I saw you live — full-blown warzone, massive crowd surfing in a packed hall, like witnessing chaos sculpted into catharsis. Almost 20 years later, that energy’s still intact. Do you ever look back on those early 2000s shows and think about how the band has evolved — not just musically, but in terms of purpose, identity, and sheer stamina?
MW: Wow, you were over here to see that tour? That truly was a legendary journey across Europe! We’re not a band that lives in the past much. There’s still so much ahead of us, and we have so many ideas and projects, that we don’t like to focus on anniversaries or celebrations. So we don’t really think about how we’ve changed or improved over the years. Rather, we’re proud that we’re still creating music for the same reasons and still maintain the same energy level. That’s the truly remarkable achievement, not how much better our stage show or our songwriting has become.
You’ve now crossed the ten-album mark — a huge milestone in any band’s life. Not many make it this far without fracturing or fading. Do you feel a weight to that number? Or is it more like another chapter, another step forward in a larger continuum?
MW: I honestly hadn’t even thought about this being our tenth album. I only realized it when we got the new version of our band biography from the label. I opened Wikipedia with our discography and counted to see if we really have that many records already, and it’s true! Why should the ninth album be any different from the tenth? Sure, the first is very special, and so is the third (make it or break it).
But the importance and significance of an album is up to other people to decide, and often the things you consider milestones as an artist are more like transitional events in the eyes of observers and fans, and the things you don’t even notice become cult. So, we don’t really have any different feelings about the number ten than we do about the numbers eight or seven. You always try to do the best you can at that moment and capture the zeitgeist for the spirit of the album.
How does running a band in 2025 compare to those early days when physical flyers, zines, and late-night drives were the norm? Have you come to terms with the digital era — the algorithmic noise, the nonstop push for visibility? Or do you still keep a safe distance from that machinery?
MW: We’re actually a relatively hybrid band in that respect. On the one hand, we were early enough to still sell a decent amount of physical records and have continued that momentum to this day. On the other hand, we were also involved with things like MySpace from the very beginning has grown into the digital world of music, with all its manifestations like YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram.
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Since TikTok, however, we’ve reached a limit that we just don’t want to cross. From this point on, we’re kinda old-fashioned and won’t be venturing any further into the gutter of social media. There will be no HSB TikTok account or anything beyond that. We post on social media whenever we feel like it, without regard for algorithms or trends. Sometimes something happens, sometimes it doesn’t rain clicks; we’re pretty relaxed about it.
It’s a privilege to still sell as many physical records as we do today, and I prefer having people in front of the stage rather than in front of the screen.
You’ve always had strong parallel lives outside of the band — whether in education, activism, or other professional paths. How has that dual existence shaped the way you approach music and this project as a whole? Do you think that kept the fire from burning out?
MW: Absolutely. I think that’s exactly why, unlike many of our mates from back then, we’re still going strong today and have something to say. We only release music when it feels good and right, when we have something to say and to show. We don’t make albums to tour. Like any hobby band, we release something when we feel it’s ready. This attitude has never changed, whether we’re headlining Wacken or not. Maybe we’re the biggest hobby band in the world, haha.
I’m curious how “Heimat” sits with you personally — not just the album, but the word, the symbolism. It’s a term that can carry so much weight and contradiction depending on who’s saying it and in what context. What made now the right time to reclaim or reinterpret that idea?
MW: We simply sensed that there was a lot of challenge, tension, and provocation in this term. Everyone immediately has a feeling or thoughts about the term “Heimat.” You may or may not be personally connected to it, but regardless of how, you are touched on a personal level. That’s exactly what the effect of a good album title should be.
To be honest, we had and still have no idea how people will react to it. But we’ve already had many fascinating discussions and conversations on the topic, and that’s what we want. We couldn’t stand by and watch this important and highly emotional word being abused and undermined by right-wing circles. In that respect, I agree with you; it’s also a kind of reconquest.
The artwork is stunning, and there’s always a visual depth to your albums that goes beyond just a cool cover. This time, the triptych feels dense with metaphor — the rearing stag, the lynx, the owl. What story were you aiming to tell visually? And do you see the artwork as a counterweight or companion to the music?
MW: A record’s cover has to be both. It must be both a continuation of the title and a contrast that elevates thoughts and expectations to new levels and broadens the listener’s horizon.
Of course, we could have simply depicted a beautiful natural motif in the most kitschy way. But we decided to add a twist and showed an inferno instead. We definitely wanted to depict animals that are at home in our local forests and, at the same time, function highly symbolically and allegorically.
There’s the shy lynx that has killed a dove of peace and the wise owl that brings a glimmer of hope in the form of an ear of grain into the scorched world. And in the center, you see the stag, which stands for strength and determination, fighting against the inferno. Eliran Kantor has truly delivered an incredibly strong performance here and gave us a very emotional artwork.
That line in your comment — about “grumbling old men at dimly lit regulars’ tables” vs. people walking under spring sun — it hits hard. Do you still feel that ideological struggle in scenes and cities you visit? What does resistance look like to you now, post-pandemic, mid-collapse, with so much fatigue in the air?
MW: I think this paralysis and fatigue you’re talking about isn’t because people are no longer taking action or are giving up rebelling. The problem is more that people only interact within their own bubbles, and everyone only preaches to their own followers. All mechanisms for forming opinions and internal social discussion have been muted or abolished.
And that’s exactly what I wanted to make clear in the promo sheet: the beer- soaked, dimly lit regulars’ tables are the isolated bubbles of society, and the open, sunny streets are the open and accessible places where different people come together to forge plans and actions together. I meet people everywhere who have a deep longing for a new beginning. The indifferent and destructive couch potatoes are still in the majority, but I’m sure there will be moments of awakening in the future. If you want to change something, start with yourself! The terrible thing about it, though, is that things will get much worse before paralysis turns into movement.
You’ve collaborated again with Sven Helbig and Wilhelm Keitel, adding the Mondëna Quartet and the Sophia Chamber Choir into the mix. There’s a sense of intentional grandeur and cinematic texture. Was there something you wanted to reach for this time — emotionally or narratively — that only this scale could express?
MW: When we began working with Olafur Arnalds, he brought this dimension to our sound, and Sven Helbig and Wilhelm Keiter have continued this process with their outstanding work. We create emotional music in every respect, and the expressive means of classical music enormously expand the spectrum of emotions that can be portrayed. In this respect, we don’t care about conventions or genre boundaries.
The rage in our music becomes even more vivid and powerful when you approach it from even calmer realms of sound. So, these classical elements expand the spectrum in every respect.
On “Empowerment,” you talk about transforming frustration into forward momentum. But that’s easier said than done when so much around us feels either broken or fake. How do you, personally, not slip into despair or cynicism when the weight of it all gets heavy?
MW: Of course, I drift into such states of mind from time to time, and there’s no shame in that. But I always find my way and try to transform frustration, hatred, and resignation into positive momentum. And, of course, the band plays an absolutely crucial role in this, as an outlet, a mouthpiece, a source of encouragement, and as a medium.
One thing I’ve always respected is how you’ve stayed rooted in your local scene while still becoming globally relevant. What’s the Thuringian underground like today — still fertile ground? Any new acts or voices from the past year or two that really struck you?
MW: There’s a lot of stuff going on. But I’m also a bit older now, and I’ve probably never heard of the next big thing from Thuringia or Saxonia, but that’s totally okay.
Newer bands from our area that I really like are definitely Wucan, Cytotoxin and Deserted Fear. Recently, I saw a very young up-and-coming band called Soulless. They’re very promising; I’m excited for their first EP!
Looking back on 2024 and early 2025, were there any albums, shows, or even random moments that shook you out of routine — anything that reminded you why this all still matters?
MW: The moment when a Ukrainian singer, as part of her choir, sang the lyrics to our song “War Is the Father of All” with tears in her eyes was truly an incredibly touching and very stirring moment for me. In the text, I explore the nature of war, its roots, and its anchoring in humanity, but only on a philosophical and theoretical level.
The fact that someone directly affected by war and displacement was able to develop such a deep connection to the text was devastating and humiliating for me in a positive sense. It simply puts everything into perspective: all the silly little problems we have that we work on and allow ourselves to be distracted by, all the false and discouraging little things you mentioned earlier, mean nothing compared to the relentlessness and cruelty that war as a condition of human existence represents.
Bands like PARKWAY DRIVE have taken things to arena levels, but somehow you’ve carved a different kind of legacy — more subtle, maybe, but just as enduring. Do you think there’s a quiet strength in not chasing the biggest lights? Or has your idea of success changed over time?
MW: Here I have a short answer for you, which comes from the greatest songwriter in history, Johann Sebastian Bach, from my home country of Thuringia, who, when asked about his rather moderate contemporary success, is said to have once said: “The ocean is not a fountain.”
Do you ever imagine a life without HEAVEN SHALL BURN? Not in a dramatic way, but just — what else would you be building, if this had taken a different path?
MW: I think I would definitely be an artist in some capacity. But not full-time. I would need, as I do now, a relatively normal side of life to maintain inspiration and drive. A life without Heaven Shall Burn is possible, but pointless.
Final one, and it’s more of a musing: when you look out at a sea of people screaming back lyrics you wrote in solitude, maybe years ago — does that feel like home in the truest sense of the word? Or is home still something else entirely for you?
MW: That is by far the most profound and apt question I’ve been asked so far in connection with the album title. Thank you very much for that. It’s exactly like that: for me, home is more of a mindset, a canon of beliefs and fundamental virtues.
Of course, these attitudes are shaped by where I come from, what I’ve experienced and who I’m friends with. But because it’s a mindset, I can take it with me on my journey, I can share it, I can promote it, I can make it accessible to others.
And when my innermost thoughts and motivations reach people in the form of my lyrics and trigger a vibration in them, then that is definitely home. Because real home may not be where you come from, but it is definitely where people understand you.
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