Nearly a decade after 2016’s Peripeteia, Louisville, Kentucky black metal band Anagnorisis‘ fourth full-length album is Caregriever. The record began as a personal outlet for vocalist and guitarist Zachary Kerr while he cared for his father-in-law through a prolonged decline. After reconnecting with guitarist Zak Denham and inviting bassist Josh Mumford and drummer Cody McCoy to participate, the material evolved into the band’s first new album in almost ten years.
The album moves away from much of the symphonic scope of earlier releases toward a more immediate, abrasive sound, while its lyrics confront the complicated realities of caregiving, anticipatory grief, and loss. Kerr discusses how the music took shape, the importance of his collaborators, the decision to preserve the rawness of the original recordings, and what it means to bring these songs to the stage as the band prepares for an active 2027.
Jose Cardona: Caregriever began as a deeply personal project you created while caring full-time for your late father-in-law, before gradually becoming the foundation of a new Anagnorisis album. At what point did you realize this material no longer belonged to a solo project and had become something that needed the full identity of Anagnorisis?
Zachary Kerr: It was initially intended to be a solo project, really just as a way for me to deal with the stress and pressure I was under at the time. I had never actually recorded anything on my own before, so I reached out to my longtime friend and bandmate Zak Denham to help with the production and mixing side of the demos. We spent a weekend together working through the first song, and once we had something resembling a finished piece, we both kind of looked at each other and realized it sounded an awful lot like Anagnorisis.
From there, we figured, why not see if the other guys would be interested? We reached out to Josh Mumford and Cody McCoy to see if they’d want to come back and make another record with us, and fortunately, they were both on board. It all happened surprisingly quickly. There wasn’t some grand plan to resurrect the band after nearly a decade. It was really just something that started as a personal outlet and, almost accidentally, became an Anagnorisis record.
The album deals not simply with death, but with the experience of watching someone gradually disappear over several years. That kind of prolonged grief can involve love, exhaustion, resentment, guilt and even relief at the same time. How difficult was it to write honestly about emotions that people often feel but may be afraid to admit?
I think writing about those emotions was as much about confronting myself as it was about confronting the circumstances I found myself in. There was an overwhelming amount of exhaustion, shame, stress, depression, and resentment that I didn’t necessarily know how to process, let alone articulate. Writing became something resembling a journal, a place where I could be brutally honest about what I was experiencing without having to justify or explain those feelings to anyone else.
I often found myself occupying the roles of both protagonist and antagonist in these songs. There were moments when I felt like I was doing everything I possibly could, and others when I was disgusted with myself for what I was thinking or feeling. I think that’s one of the more uncomfortable realities of caregiving. You can love someone immensely and still feel completely consumed by the responsibility of caring for them. Those feelings exist simultaneously, whether you’re comfortable admitting them or not. I wasn’t necessarily trying to make any of it palatable or present myself in a particularly sympathetic light. If anything, I wanted to expose those contradictions, including the parts of myself that I wasn’t especially proud of. I think writing these songs forced me to acknowledge things that I probably would have preferred to keep buried.
Anagnorisis has always drawn from deeply personal experiences, but Caregriever seems especially exposed emotionally. Was there ever a point during the writing or recording process when you questioned whether some of this material was too personal to release publicly?
The band has always been something of an open book into my soul. I’ve never made much of an effort to conceal my nature or the less flattering aspects of who I am. I’ve always approached writing lyrics as something akin to peeling back the flesh to expose the cancer underneath. For a long time, I’ve viewed myself as that cancer, so I suppose writing something rooted in raw, unnerving self-loathing comes fairly naturally when it’s been such a deeply ingrained part of how you see yourself.
I think we all care, to some extent, about how our creative work is perceived. That’s especially true when you’re preparing to release something that you’ve invested so much of yourself into, knowing that it’s going to be dissected and judged by a whole lot of people at roughly the same time. There’s always going to be some apprehension surrounding that. But as far as being personally judged by the people who seek out our records, I don’t think there’s much anyone could say about me that would be more brutal than what I’ve already said to myself. So, in that respect, I suppose I’ve made my peace with it. Whether that’s a particularly healthy way of approaching things is probably another conversation entirely.
Nearly ten years separate Caregriever from Peripeteia. When you began working together again, did it feel like continuing a conversation that had simply been interrupted, or did you have to rediscover what Anagnorisis actually meant as a band after so much time apart?
It genuinely felt like not a day had passed. We’ve all remained close friends throughout the entirety of the hiatus, so there wasn’t really any awkward period of rediscovering one another or figuring out how to function as a band again. We all pretty much fell straight back into our respective roles, with a few adjustments here and there. It was surprisingly effortless, considering how much time had passed. I don’t think we ever really had to rediscover what Anagnorisis meant to us, because I don’t think that fundamental purpose has ever changed. Anagnorisis has always been, and always will be, a pain amplifier. We write music when we need to exorcise our personal demons, and every record we’ve made has had that at its core. The circumstances surrounding those records might change, and we’ve certainly changed as individuals over the years, but the reason we create this music remains essentially the same. So, in that respect, it felt much more like picking up a conversation we’d left unfinished than trying to reinvent something that had been gone for a decade.
Musically, Caregriever moves away from much of the symphonic scope of the earlier records and toward something darker, more immediate and more abrasive, with industrial and punk elements entering the sound. Was that shift a conscious reaction against your previous work, or did the emotional character of the new material naturally demand a more direct musical language?
I was really just writing my emotions. I’m not a particularly proficient musician by any stretch of the imagination, so there wasn’t some grand strategy behind how I approached the compositions. I essentially attacked the guitar and bass with whatever intensity I was feeling on that particular day, and when I found myself in a slightly better headspace, I’d go back and try to layer melodies over the raw shell of what I’d created. It was a pretty primitive process, but I suppose that was appropriate given the circumstances. There wasn’t any conscious effort to move away from our previous records or introduce specific musical influences. I wasn’t particularly concerned with what the songs were supposed to sound like. I was just trying to get something out of myself, and whatever came out was what I had to work with.
Once I presented the material to the rest of the band, they did what they do best, and Caregriever gradually became what it is today. I’d estimate that the songs changed somewhere in the neighborhood of 50–60 percent from those original demos. Everyone’s contributions went far beyond anything I would have been capable of creating on my own, and I’ll be forever indebted to them for that. In a strange way, they took on the responsibility of caretaking my pain and helped give it a form that I never could have achieved by myself.
Several song titles seem to form almost a progression of emotional deterioration — “Nothing Left To Give,” “Nothing Left To Take,” “Death Of Man,” “Death Of Men,” and finally “Death Of Me.” How important was sequencing the album as a psychological or emotional journey rather than simply as a collection of individual songs?
Interestingly enough, “Nothing Left To Give” and “Nothing Left To Take” were originally one song, as were “Death Of Man,” “Death Of Men,” and “Death Of Me.” Once we separated those compositions into individual pieces, they remained relatively close to where they had been in the original demos, with a few minor adjustments here and there. Thematically, though, the record was almost like a jigsaw puzzle where every piece somehow fit perfectly into place. I don’t think the specific order was necessarily as important as the collective weight of the music and lyrics. Everything was coming from the same place, and each song represented another fragment of what I was experiencing. There wasn’t really a need to manufacture some grand narrative because, in a sense, I was already living it.
I’ve gone through periods in my life where the idea of simply ceasing to exist has felt like an escape from whatever pain I was experiencing at that moment. I think you’ll find traces of that throughout all of our records, and Caregriever is certainly no exception. “Death Of Me,” in particular, was about both my father-in-law and myself letting go together. I knew that when he eventually passed, the part of me that had become completely consumed by his well-being would disappear alongside him. My entire existence had become so intertwined with caring for him that I didn’t really know who I would be without that responsibility. In that sense, the song was about coming to terms with the fact that we were both losing ourselves, albeit in profoundly different ways. There was no real sense of resolution in that realization, just an acknowledgment of something I knew was coming and couldn’t do anything to prevent it.
“Death Of Man” is particularly interesting because Niels Riethorst contributes both lyrics and vocals. What made that song the right place to introduce another lyrical voice into such an intensely personal record, and what did his perspective add to the album that you could not have expressed yourselves?
Niels made this record possible. Period. His encouragement, friendship, and wonderfully matter-of-fact Dutch disposition weren’t about to let me sit around and bathe in my own misery indefinitely. I distinctly remember talking with him the day I bought my first guitar, and I think I was sending him demos less than a month later. He was there from the very beginning, encouraging me to keep writing and pushing me to actually do something with what I was creating. I owe an enormous amount of what this record became to him. He helped pull me out of a very dark place and, ultimately, helped bring me back together with my Anagnorisis family. Having him involved with the album wasn’t really negotiable as far as I was concerned. It was something I knew needed to happen, and everyone in the band absolutely loved what he contributed.
What makes his lyrics on “Death Of Man” particularly meaningful is that they’re about me, written from his perspective as someone watching me navigate everything I was going through. So while the rest of the record largely documents my own internal experiences, his contribution offers a perspective from someone on the outside looking in. It’s deeply personal, incredibly real, and in some ways probably reveals things about me that I wouldn’t have been capable of articulating myself. And while I have the opportunity, I’d be doing him a disservice if I didn’t mention that his incredible band Beenkerver has a new record right around the corner. I’ve heard it, and it’s absolutely phenomenal. A masterclass in European black metal and something everyone should be keeping an eye out for.
Caregriever was produced and recorded largely within the band, with Zak Denham also handling the mix and master. For a record this emotionally specific, how important was it to keep that degree of control internally instead of bringing in an outside producer who might have created more distance from the material?
Zak really made an effort to preserve as much of the original demos as possible, which I greatly appreciated, although I repeatedly told him it wasn’t necessary. He somehow managed to do my musical bumbling justice while giving everything the power and weight that the record has now. What started as this thin, emotionally vulnerable, lo-fi black metal project eventually became something that encompasses virtually every feeling I was experiencing, both sonically and structurally. I genuinely couldn’t be happier with what he accomplished. I don’t think keeping the production within the band was necessarily about maintaining some absolute degree of creative control. It was more about trust. Zak understood where the material came from, what it meant to me, and how important it was to preserve that underlying vulnerability. I never felt like I needed to protect the songs from him or anyone else in the band. Quite the opposite, really. I wanted them to take what I’d created and make it better, and they did exactly that.
We did have some wonderful people helping us along the way. Mike Low assisted with some of the drum editing, primarily to take a little of the burden off Zak’s shoulders, and also helped with preparations for tracking. One thing I think is worth emphasizing is that every single drum note you hear on this album is Cody. Nothing was resampled or quantized. There were some minor adjustments here and there, but the intention was always to preserve as much of his actual performance as possible. Our friend Enrique Ferrer also helped with the engineering, particularly when Zak needed to step away from the controls and concentrate on performing. So while this was very much an internally driven record, we were fortunate to have some incredibly talented friends helping us bring it to life. I’m enormously grateful to all of them.
Your October 23 record release show in Chicago will also mark Anagnorisis’ first performance in roughly a decade. After spending so much time creating this album around grief, isolation and loss, what do you expect it will feel like to finally place these songs in front of an audience and experience them collectively rather than privately?
I’m assuming grief, isolation, and loss will be among the emotions I’ll be experiencing, which I suppose is a fairly appropriate way to celebrate a record release. It’s never been particularly easy for me to perform any of our material, regardless of the circumstances. Every Anagnorisis record is so deeply personal that performing these songs tends to open the floodgates to emotions I’d otherwise prefer to keep somewhat contained. Even with Peripeteia, hearing my father’s voice speaking to me through the home recording samples we incorporated into the record has always been incredibly difficult. Those moments don’t necessarily become easier with repetition, and sometimes it feels like you’re deliberately reopening wounds that never had much of an opportunity to heal in the first place.
With Caregriever, everything is still so fresh and emotionally raw that I can only imagine performing these songs will be equally exhausting, if not more so. I’m not entirely sure how I’ll react when the time comes. There’s a pretty substantial difference between experiencing these emotions privately and having to confront them in front of a room full of people. But I suppose that’s always been part of what Anagnorisis is. We’ve never really been a band that offers much emotional distance between ourselves and the material. If anything, getting back onstage will probably serve as another reminder of why we stopped doing this to ourselves in the first place. I’m looking forward to it, though, as strange as that might sound.
With Caregriever bringing Anagnorisis back after ten years, more Midwest shows ahead and Northwest Terror Fest already confirmed for 2027, does this album represent the beginning of a fully active new chapter for the band, or are you deliberately avoiding placing expectations on what Anagnorisis has to become next?
I think it’s safe to say this is the beginning of a very active new chapter for Anagnorisis. We already have tours booked, others in the works, and if everything comes together as planned, we’ll be playing more shows in 2027 than we ever have in a single year throughout the band’s existence. Which is a pretty ridiculous thing to say, considering we just spent the better part of a decade doing absolutely nothing. I don’t think any of us necessarily anticipated this level of activity when we first started working on Caregriever. As I’ve mentioned, there wasn’t some elaborate plan to resurrect the band, release a record, and immediately throw ourselves back into touring. But things have developed so naturally, and the enthusiasm surrounding the record and our return has been incredibly encouraging.
We’re all genuinely excited to be doing this together again, and I think there’s something particularly rewarding about returning after so much time away and finding that the desire to create and perform this music is still there. As far as expectations for what Anagnorisis needs to become beyond that, I’m not particularly concerned with placing any limitations or obligations on ourselves. We’ve always made music because we needed to, not because we felt obligated to maintain some level of activity. For now, we have a record we’re incredibly proud of, a lot of shows on the horizon, and four friends who are excited to share a stage again. That’s more than enough for me.
(interview published October 23, 2026)
