Interview
HUMERROR come from Palembang, South Sumatra, but their roots stretch back to the Indonesian underground of the mid-1990s. Several members previously played together in grindcore band Ta’zia before careers, families and other responsibilities pulled them in different directions. Years later, they reunited with a different perspective and a new band.
Now working within deathgrind, HUMERROR use the genre’s speed and aggression to carry ideas about power, technology, belief and the systems that shape modern life.
For this Beyond Africa interview, AFRICA.ROCKS spoke with vocalist and lyricist Adityo Wibisono about the single ‘Digital Overkill’, their debut album Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods, Indonesia’s underground and what it means to build extreme music far from the industry’s usual centres.
‘Digital Overkill’ presents technology as both an object of worship and a system of control. Was the song inspired by a particular experience or moment when you felt the digital world had crossed from being useful into something destructive?
Adityo Wibisono: I don’t think there was one dramatic moment when I suddenly thought, “Technology has gone too far.” It was more like watching small changes happen over many years until they became normal.
Technology has given us incredible things. It allows us to connect with people across the world. This interview is actually a great example of that. Without the internet, HUMERROR probably wouldn’t be talking with AFRICA.ROCKS today. So the song isn’t about rejecting technology. It would be dishonest to say that.
What started to concern me was how quietly technology stopped being just a tool and slowly became something that shapes our attention, emotions, opinions and even our identity.
Today, many people wake up and immediately look at their phones before speaking to another human being. Algorithms decide what we read, what we watch, what makes us angry and even what music we discover. We often believe we’re making independent choices, but many of those choices have already been filtered or influenced by invisible systems. That idea became the foundation of ‘Digital Overkill’.
The title doesn’t simply describe information overload. It also describes a society that is constantly consuming without having time to reflect. We scroll endlessly, react instantly and move on before we’ve even processed what we’ve seen. Eventually, that constant stimulation starts replacing genuine human experience.
For me, that’s where technology becomes dangerous, not because machines are evil, but because convenience can slowly turn into dependence without us noticing.
That concept also connects directly to Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods. Throughout the album, we’re exploring different forms of modern worship. ‘Vicious Dominion’ focuses on institutions and belief being used to dominate people, while ‘Digital Overkill’ looks at how technology becomes another kind of altar, one that doesn’t ask us to kneel but quietly captures our attention every day.
I think the most frightening forms of control are rarely imposed by force. They’re accepted voluntarily because they make life easier. That’s the question this song asks: at what point does convenience stop serving humanity and humanity start serving convenience?
The track combines grindcore and subtle industrial textures. How did you shape those different elements so that the production itself would communicate overstimulation?
When we started writing ‘Digital Overkill’, we didn’t begin by asking, “How do we make this heavier?” We asked a different question: “How do we make the listener feel what this song is about?”
The subject of the song is information overload and digital dependency. Those aren’t quiet experiences. They’re fast, relentless and constantly competing for your attention. We wanted the music to create that same feeling.
Grindcore was the natural foundation because it’s already one of the most intense forms of extreme music. The speed, the abrupt changes and the sheer physical impact perfectly represent the pace of the digital world. Every notification, every headline, every endless scroll. It never really stops. Grindcore captures that urgency almost instinctively.
The industrial elements came later, but they were never meant to dominate the song. We used them more like an atmosphere than a genre. Small mechanical textures, synthetic layers and cold sonic details were added to create the feeling that something artificial is always present beneath the music, almost like an invisible machine quietly operating in the background.
We also wanted the production to feel dense without becoming chaotic. Every instrument still needed room to breathe because the goal wasn’t simply to make noise. It was to build tension. We wanted listeners to feel surrounded by sound in the same way people today are surrounded by information.
Another important decision was to avoid making the production sound overly polished. ‘Digital Overkill’ talks about a world that’s messy, overwhelming and constantly demanding attention. Keeping some of the rawness in the mix helps preserve that emotional honesty. It reminds you that this isn’t a perfect digital environment. It’s a system that’s beginning to consume the people inside it.
For us, production isn’t just about making a record sound powerful. It’s another storytelling tool. Every texture, every layer and every moment of intensity should reinforce the message behind the song.
This is the second chapter leading into Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods. What does ‘Digital Overkill’ reveal about the album’s wider concept, and how does it develop the ideas introduced by ‘Vicious Dominion’?
I’ve always seen Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods as more than just a collection of songs. It’s a conversation about the different ways people surrender power without always realising it. Each track explores a different part of that conversation.
‘Vicious Dominion’ was the opening statement. It looks at the moment when belief is transformed into domination, when faith, ideology or authority stop inspiring people and begin demanding obedience. It’s about systems that openly exercise power and expect submission.
‘Digital Overkill’ takes that idea one step further. Instead of asking, “Who controls us?”, it asks, “What happens when we willingly participate in that control?”
Today, domination doesn’t always come through violence or obvious authority. Sometimes it comes through convenience. Through endless connectivity. Through algorithms that quietly shape our attention, our opinions and even our relationships. That’s why ‘Digital Overkill’ feels more personal than ‘Vicious Dominion’.
The first song looks outward at institutions and structures of power. The second looks inward, asking how much of ourselves we’ve already handed over to the digital world without noticing.
That progression is intentional because the album itself keeps expanding the perspective. Some songs deal with organised belief. Others explore technology, political narratives, identity, fear and the psychological need for certainty. On the surface, those subjects might seem different, but underneath they’re connected by one recurring question:
What do human beings choose to worship when meaning begins to disappear? That’s really the heart of Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods.
The title isn’t about machines becoming gods. It’s about humanity creating new objects of devotion whenever old certainties begin to collapse. We aren’t saying technology is evil, or religion is evil, or institutions are evil. The album isn’t built around simple answers like that. What interests us is the human tendency to surrender responsibility to something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes it’s religion. Sometimes it’s politics. Sometimes it’s technology. Sometimes it’s ideology. The object changes. The behaviour often doesn’t.
As the album progresses, those ideas become increasingly interconnected, until the listener hopefully begins asking not just, “Who are the synthetic gods?” but also, “Have I already built one without realising it?”
HUMERROR comes from Palembang, far from the regions that traditionally dominate international extreme-metal coverage. How has your local Indonesian environment influenced the band’s sound, attitude and determination to be heard globally?
Growing up in Palembang teaches you something very early: you can’t wait for opportunities to come to you.
When we started playing extreme music in the mid-1990s, there wasn’t a clear path to reach an international audience. We didn’t have promoters bringing overseas bands every weekend. We didn’t have labels scouting local scenes. There were no streaming platforms, social media campaigns or digital distribution. If you wanted people to hear your music, you had to build everything yourself.
That DIY mentality has never left us. We learned to organise our own shows, record with limited resources, exchange demos by mail and build friendships with people simply because we shared the same passion for extreme music. Looking back, those limitations actually shaped who we are. They taught us resilience, patience and the importance of community.
Even today, although technology has made the world much smaller, bands from places like Palembang still have to work twice as hard to be noticed internationally. That’s not something we complain about. It’s simply our reality.
In many ways, HUMERROR exists because we refused to believe geography should define possibility. Another thing Indonesia has given us is perspective.
Indonesia is incredibly diverse. Different cultures, religions, languages and traditions exist side by side. That diversity constantly reminds us how belief systems shape the way people see the world. As a lyricist, living in that environment naturally influences how I think about faith, authority, identity and coexistence. Those ideas eventually found their way into Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods.
At the same time, Indonesia’s underground scene has always had a strong DIY spirit. People support each other because they understand that no one else is going to build the scene for us. That sense of solidarity has been one of our biggest inspirations.
Today, our goal isn’t simply to prove that an Indonesian deathgrind band can reach an international audience. It’s to show that meaningful stories can come from anywhere.
You don’t have to be born in London, Stockholm or Tampa to create music that speaks to people around the world. If the ideas are honest, the music is sincere and you’re willing to keep pushing forward, geography becomes much less important than authenticity. That’s the mindset we’ve carried from Palembang to every listener who discovers HUMERROR.
For listeners across Africa, where independent metal scenes also operate outside the industry’s traditional centres, what connections or shared experiences do you hope they will recognise in HUMERROR’s music?
One of the reasons we’re genuinely excited to be speaking with AFRICA.ROCKS is because I believe our scenes have more in common than people often realise.
Indonesia and many countries across Africa aren’t usually seen as the “centres” of the global metal industry. We don’t have the same infrastructure, media exposure or commercial support that bands in Europe or North America often have access to. But somehow, the music keeps growing. That’s something I deeply respect.
It grows because people build communities before they build careers. They organise local shows, print their own merchandise, support independent labels and keep the underground alive simply because they believe it matters. That spirit feels very familiar to us.
When I listen to bands from Africa, I don’t hear a scene that’s trying to imitate anyone. I hear musicians telling stories shaped by their own realities. That’s exactly what we try to do with HUMERROR. We’re not interested in pretending to be a Scandinavian or American deathgrind band. We want our music to come from our own experiences, our own questions and the society we live in.
Even though ‘Digital Overkill’ and Liturgy of the Synthetic Gods talk about technology, power and belief, the album is really about something much more human. It’s about how people search for certainty. It’s about how fear can be exploited. It’s about how power often changes its appearance but rarely changes its nature.
Those are experiences that don’t belong to one country or one culture. Every society, in one way or another, has faced questions about authority, identity, inequality, manipulation or the struggle to preserve independent thinking. That’s why I believe the themes of this album can travel beyond language and geography.
If someone in Johannesburg, Nairobi, Lagos, Cairo or Cape Town listens to HUMERROR and recognises even a small part of their own reality in our music, then we’ve already achieved something meaningful. Because at the end of the day, extreme metal has never been about where you’re from. It’s about having something honest to say and the courage to say it loudly.
A message to AFRICA.ROCKS readers
Adityo Wibisono: Before we finish, I’d just like to say thank you to everyone reading this, especially those discovering HUMERROR for the first time through AFRICA.ROCKS.
One of the most beautiful things about extreme metal is that it ignores geography. It doesn’t care where you’re from, what language you speak or how big your local scene is. If the music is honest and the passion is real, people will connect with it.
As musicians from Indonesia, we know what it feels like to build something from outside the traditional centres of the industry. That’s why we have so much respect for what AFRICA.ROCKS is doing. It’s creating space for voices that deserve to be heard, regardless of where they come from.
If there’s one thing we’d like people to take away from HUMERROR, it’s not just the aggression or the speed. We hope they leave with questions.
Questions about the systems we trust. Questions about the ideas we inherit. Questions about the things we choose to worship. Because once we stop asking questions, someone else usually starts providing all the answers for us.
Thank you for giving us the opportunity to share our story.
Hopefully, this is only the beginning of a long connection between HUMERROR and the incredible metal community across Africa.
See you somewhere in the noise.
