Artist Spotlight: Meet Luci Ferrum
Punk Head: You describe the EP as “a public autopsy on gnarly feelings.” What emotion did you find hardest to cut open?
Luci Ferrum: Every song from Post Mortem Invictus is very personal to me. They are all intimate and raw, but I would say Cycle Breaker is the hardest one because it’s basically a dedication to my parents. I love my parents, but there were so many things I needed to work through to be able to create boundaries. So, this particular song is a liberation, you could say. There, I said it: “F*ck you” for this and for that. The beginning of the song is also very powerful to me:
I’m your baby daughter, I was skinned alive
A million times. You gave the knife.
Mother, father, two toy figurines,
I’ve been holding you under my torn skin.
Because, you know, we kinda hope our parents have their sh*t together—and sometimes they don’t. I don’t judge, because everybody is just trying to get by with what they have on their hands, right? But for a long time, I felt like I was the one taking care of everyone, sacrificing myself, my resources, and my time. Giving and giving and giving. I reclaimed my space only a few years back when I decided enough was enough. But this song, and speaking about it in such a public manner, is difficult.
Our relationship has healed over time, and I love my parents very much.
Punk Head: What does the title Post Mortem Invictus mean to you personally?
Luci Ferrum: It’s everything I believe in. I believe in being reborn and in second chances. Physical death is something I am very, very, very scared of because I have so much to do—I want to breathe, love my son, write my music... I have this urgency to live. My urge to live is a decision I made years ago.
But beyond physical death, there are many other types of death—for example, the death of the ego, which is common in spiritual practices, or the metaphorical death of a chapter in your life that has ended. There’s also the concept of destruction in order to build something new—to be reborn.
For example, in Tarot cards you might think the scariest card is Death, but it’s not. The scariest card is the Tower, because it means destruction—but after destruction comes renewal. You always have to make space for new things and ideas to enter your life. It’s messy and chaotic, but necessary.
So the name Undefeated After Death means being reborn into something new—living through raw and painful experiences, processing them, and leaving them behind as part of another life.
Punk Head: You call “Funny Guy” “an almost Buddhist song,” but it’s also deeply sarcastic. Do you see it more as a lesson in patience, or a twisted joke about morality?
Luci Ferrum: It’s still about patience to me—although yes, it has a celebration of somebody’s demise in it. Let’s be honest, we’ve all seen those people who are terrible human beings, and when their true nature gets exposed, we get that deeply satisfied smirk on our faces, like “There you go, you stupid f*cking c*nt.” Because justice, you know. Karma. We all need karma doing its thing.
Morality and karma are the two things that keep humanity more or less in check. So sometimes you just observe. It’s difficult not to retaliate and to be the bigger person. Patience was never my virtue—I did some serious powerlifting to grow that patience muscle. That’s why being able to just sit, wait, and observe is an acquired taste for me, which in the end always delivers that aforementioned smirk to my face.
Punk Head: If “Funny Guy” had a visual counterpart — like a short film or installation — what would it look like?
Luci Ferrum: As an installation, it would definitely be a 3D version of the song’s cover art, which perfectly depicts the madness of the abstract “Funny Guy.” But as a short film, I imagine a sci-fi animation about a cyborg going rogue—acquiring emotions, feelings, and a taste for causing pain—who obviously would be defeated in the end, finished in some gruesome way, all while finding catharsis in understanding those complex emotions of fragile human experience.
(My therapist says I’m okay.)
Punk Head: You’ve been praised for your integrity and DIY approach. How do you keep that rawness while gaining more recognition?
Luci Ferrum: Sometimes I don’t keep that rawness. Sometimes I don’t have the energy for it—or for anything else. Sometimes I force myself to practice and start five tracks that I’ll never finish. Sometimes I go on a binge and produce four or five songs in less than a month.
The only parameter I have for creating music is my taste. If I love it, I love it. My best songs are the ones written on impulse—with that raw, emotional energy. Sometimes music takes more effort—tinkering, toying around with lyrics and sounds—but regardless of the process, I only have one criterion: my own liking of the song. What do I communicate? What feelings do I awaken? Does it make me cry when I record the vocals?
There’s often a breaking point in the writing process where I get stuck because the piece still feels “underf*cked,” and I need to revisit it over and over until the emotional message becomes perfectly clear. You can probably hear how jagged and neurotic my music sounds. Well, that’s me and I’ll only evolve. Somehow my lyrics keep getting darker and darker. I’ll write a song and think, “Damn, that’s scary,” and then I write another one that’s even worse than the previous one. I don’t know how I manage that. Although, on the other hand, my mental health is in top-notch shape—I promise. My guess is that, given my long story, I just have a lot of material to dig through in my subconscious.
