Purnama: Fifteen years of darkness, passion and rebirth

Fifteen years on the scene is more than just a number. Behind it lie hundreds of hours in the rehearsal room, concert stages, strong friendships, difficult decisions and moments when you find yourself searching once again for the reason you started playing music in the first place. The Czech metal band Purnama, whose name refers to the full moon, has travelled exactly this kind of path since 2011. From their first shared ideas through the albums Lioness and Flame of Rebellion to major concerts and lineup changes, not only their sound has gradually evolved, but also their outlook on music and life.

Purnama's story, however, is about much more than heavy riffs, energy and a dark concert atmosphere. Through the Metal for Hope project, the band has managed to connect the metal community with concrete efforts to help others. And while the driving force behind the band used to be primarily the desire to push boundaries and conquer new stages, authenticity, mutual trust and the joy of creating music together are now coming to the forefront.

That's why we sat down with frontman Jakub Viták for Rebel Sound to talk not only about musical achievements, but also about doubts, comebacks, responsibility and the courage to admit one's own mistakes. We also discussed the band's first Czech-language song, Pamatuj na smrt, the upcoming album in their native language, and what remains after fifteen years on the metal scene once the pressure to perform fades away. The result is an open conversation about a band that isn't afraid to evolve — while never forgetting why it came together in the first place.

Purnama was formed in 2011, and the name itself means "full moon" in Indonesian. Looking back at that symbolic beginning "under a blood-red full moon," what remains of the original vision for the band, and what has reality mercilessly rewritten over the years?

That's a great question. I feel like this is the first time in fifteen years anyone has asked me that in such a pure form. It made me go right back to the beginning in my mind and revisit the whole journey. The first things that come to mind are the joy of playing and the determination not to give up. We've experienced plenty of highs and lows, but those things have stayed with us.

I was about twenty-one when we founded Purnama. Today I'm thirty-six and living a completely different life. I've changed a lot, figured out many things, and the band has helped me with that. I think Purnama's transformation is mainly connected to how we ourselves have evolved. We still have our enthusiasm and the ability to find a way forward even in difficult situations.

One of the biggest changes is that running the band no longer rests solely on my shoulders. In the very beginning, everything revolved around me coming up with ideas, arranging things and getting them done. Gradually I realised that putting everything on one person could be our weakness. I had to admit honestly that I couldn't manage every aspect of leading the band alone.

Our manager Michal Šedivý has been with us for about ten years, and I gradually handed him the helm. He took over all the management and day-to-day running of the band, and he is the person I owe the most to for the fact that we're still here. Entrusting that responsibility to someone so close to me personally and in the way he thinks was one of the best decisions I made, both for my own life and for Purnama's survival. Michal has always given the band everything he could, and I'll always be grateful to him.

His work is behind many of our achievements, including our appearance at Masters of Rock. He isn't as visible, although he sometimes joins us onstage as a demon. That makes it all the more rewarding when people recognise him even at concerts where we aren't playing. His name is becoming increasingly familiar, and it's a pleasure to see how far he's come. We discuss everything and decide on our direction together, but Michal is the one steering our operations and leading us forward today.

At first, all we wanted was to get out and play, make metal, make some noise and enjoy ourselves. We had no precise idea how far we might go. Today we're better at sharing the work of running the band, but that original enthusiasm still unites us. If anything has survived every change, it's our desire to play and create together.

Roughly six years passed between the band's formation and your debut album, Lioness. Which period tested your patience and faith in the band the most? Was there a moment when you came genuinely close to calling it quits, and what made Purnama carry on?

Honestly, if anything truly tested our patience and faith in the band, it was mainly the last three years. I wouldn't look for the hardest period in those first six years before Lioness. Major changes began between the first and second albums and continued afterwards. My ambition grew, along with my desire to bring Purnama up to a world-class level.

I never wanted to trample over people to get there. It always mattered to me that the others felt good in the band. Even so, looking back I can see that I sometimes led it too forcefully and didn't always recognise what the others needed. That pressure brought results, but it also carried risks.

We'd already been through lineup changes before. After Lioness, bassist Jarda Bejr left, and Václav Lhota replaced Petr Libich on drums. Those changes were friendly, and we knew where we wanted to go next. At the time I wasn't putting quite so much pressure on the band, and I think that made the transitions easier.

After Flame of Rebellion, guitarist Václav Vaníček, who had been there at Purnama's very beginning, also left. We parted on good terms, but losing someone who had built the band with you from day one is a major blow. Looking back, I wonder whether my way of leading the band and the pressure I created played a part in his decision. I don't want to speak for him, but I have to admit that I didn't get everything right.

At the same time, we experienced some amazing things. We won Spark Fresh Blood in 2019, and on Within Destruction Tour 2019 we played a lot of shows with Nahum and Innersphere. So our efforts did pay off. But even great results don't necessarily mean everything inside the band is in balance.

For me, the hardest part of the last three years was finding a new guitarist. Two other guitarists played with us in succession, and we got along well, but it just wasn't quite right. During that time, though, I began looking for answers within myself. I started to realise that the pressure I was putting on the band might not reflect what I actually wanted from it at all. Sometimes the best thing is to let things find their own time and path.

About a year ago I went to see Václav, our original guitarist, and had an open conversation with him, rather like the one we're having now. I asked whether he'd consider coming back so we could set off together again with the same kind of joy we had at the start. And he said yes. He's back with us, and we're enjoying playing together again. That means a great deal to me.

I had to accept that I was changing too. A band is a living organism. To grow, it needs nourishment, but it also needs rest and recovery. We can't ignore the fact that our needs are different now. I no longer have that desperate feeling that the band must survive and last forever at any cost. But as long as we're here, we'll try to give it the very best of ourselves.

Purnama's lineup has undergone several significant changes over the years. How do you decide which elements are untouchable parts of the band's identity, and where a new member needs room to genuinely influence the music? Can you think of a song that would sound completely different without the other members' contributions?

Probably all of them. I think every song would sound different without the others' contributions. We want all the members to shape Purnama's identity, and everyone brings something of their own.

Because I sing and play guitar, I usually come up with the basic motif. I bring in that first line, idea or feeling—some essence of how a song might sound. But it's still just a guitar. What the drums make of it, what the bass and second guitar add, I leave to my bandmates. And I think that's the right way to do it.

Sometimes the finished song sounds a little different from what I originally imagined, but I don't mind at all. Over the years I've learned to step back and make room for someone else's vision. The musical chemistry in our current lineup works one hundred percent. I have the best musicians and friends beside me that I could wish for, and I believe in what we create together. For me, that is Purnama's identity: music that belongs to all of us.

Metal for Hope demonstrated that extreme music can have a deeply human and tangible impact. How did helping children with cancer change your view of the band's purpose, your responsibility towards fans and what the metal community can achieve beyond the stage?

Metal for Hope began with a simple thought: metal gives me strength, and if I have strength to spare, I want to use it for someone who needs help. When it came to sick children, I felt I couldn't remain indifferent. Through the band we had a way to reach people, bring them together and do something collectively.

We began organising benefit concerts, later also at Trosky Castle. The first significant financial result connected to one of our own recordings came with Lioness. Thanks to the people who bought the first hundred copies, we were able to donate CZK 27,300 to the Šance onkoláčkům foundation. It meant an enormous amount to us to discover that music we made for the joy of it could also help someone in a very real way.

And if I compare that with our most recent benefit event, the online concert for Florimon during the pandemic in December 2020, together we raised more than CZK 100,000. The help also reached beyond cancer, because Flori was living with muscular dystrophy. Behind every amount were real people willing to donate, share, perform or give their time and effort. None of it would have happened without them.

That was particularly meaningful to me during the pandemic. We couldn't meet at concerts as we normally would, but we still found a way to do something together. The bands, the organising team and people watching at home all became part of the same effort to help. To me, that is the real strength of a community.

Those experiences repeatedly showed me how much sensitivity and willingness to help exists in the metal scene. Beneath the tough appearance and love of extreme music there can be an enormous heart. That was what we meant by the slogan 'Evil Against Evil'. We wanted to turn the dark, heavy energy of our music into something that helps people in real life.

It also strengthened my sense of responsibility towards the people who support us. I want them to know they are part of all this and that we value their trust. Metal for Hope gave our music another purpose: the energy of a concert can carry on beyond the stage and make a difficult time a little easier for someone.

Lioness was not only your first major studio milestone; it was also linked to your charitable work. Why did you choose the lioness as a symbol, and what do you hear between the lines of the album today that you could not yet put into words when it was made?

To me, the lioness represents a mother fighting for her children. That story is also in the title track Lioness: hunters want to take her cubs for their own sense of conquest and power, and she stands up to them even if it means giving her life for her young.

I feel an immense rawness and the power of nature in that image. I don't see her fight as revenge or hatred towards humans. It is maternal strength standing up to whatever threatens her cubs. For me, that symbol still contains life and death themselves, and an enormous will to preserve life. That is what speaks to me, and I carry it into my own life as well.

That is why the lioness also seemed such a powerful symbol in connection with helping sick children and people facing major obstacles in life. I wanted our music to convey the will to live and the strength to stand up to whatever tries to stop us. When I got to know the stories of mothers with sick children, I saw those lionesses in them: women prepared to do anything so their children could live.

Now that I have a child of my own, I feel that symbol even more deeply. The gift of life has taken on another dimension, and I understand things that I couldn't access in the same way before. What I felt and put into the music back then, I now experience as a father too.

And what do I hear between the lines today? Perhaps something I still can't fully name. There are emotions and feelings there that I understand differently now than when the record was made, but I can't translate them completely into words. Maybe that's why music matters so much to me: some things are easier to express through it than through speech.

Flame of Rebellion came from a more confident chapter, and you also entrusted its final sound to the experienced ears of Andy LaRocque. Which comment or decision during production pushed you furthest outside your comfort zone, and what did the album teach you about the difference between great ambition and genuine artistic maturity?

That question made me smile, because the whole of Flame of Rebellion was one big step outside our comfort zone. We bit off an enormous amount. We recorded at The Barn studio and then flew all the way to Sweden to work with Andy LaRocque at his Sonic Train Studios, where we worked on the mixing and mastering together until we were happy with the result.

Andy was friendly and completely professional with us. He gave us lots of advice and did everything he could for the record. It was an incredible experience. But if you ask what pushed me furthest outside my comfort zone, I wouldn't single out one comment. It was the entire journey and everything we took on with that album.

On Lioness, I think you can hear our original untamed wildness most clearly. With Flame of Rebellion, we began thinking about songwriting differently. It was like cooking and starting to choose your ingredients more carefully and explore how they fit together. It brought a stronger focus on the overall concept, and we're very proud of the album. At the same time, we became more concerned with the outcome and with reaching more listeners. Looking back, I feel we may have restrained some of that original freedom too much.

I've only fully understood the difference between ambition and artistic maturity with hindsight. Caring for art and caring for your own ambitions are two different things. That whole period taught me to ask how much energy I was giving to the music itself and how much to my idea of where it should take me. Part of maturity, for me, is recognising when I'm helping the music grow and when I'm simply projecting my expectations onto it.

Purnama is often classified as death/black metal, yet your music also has strong melodies, atmosphere and an emphasis on meaning. Where do you draw the line between brutality and melody so that neither weakens the other? Does the genre label help you stay on course, or does it sometimes limit you?

I used to care much more about genre classifications. I tried to place our music somewhere, which is why we adopted the death/black metal label. These days we don't want to impose those boundaries on ourselves. We'll play what we feel and what we like. Whether it's black metal, death metal, progressive, melodic or not melodic isn't decisive. What matters is that the music reflects who we are right now.

I think the balance between the different elements mainly comes from the chemistry within the band. We're learning to keep our eyes open, look at music from different angles and appreciate contrasts. Our music needs speed and slowing down, power, brutality and moments of uplift. Each can strengthen the other and give it greater meaning. By staying open to different possibilities, we have a better chance of not getting trapped in one way of creating.

We'll simply play metal as Purnama and share our emotions, attitudes and messages with people who want to listen. Some will like it, some won't. Take it or leave it. Over the years we've learned that trying to please everyone leads nowhere. At the same time, we want to remain open to criticism. I don't need to convince everyone, but it can be interesting to hear why someone experiences our music differently from us.

Your Balkan tour, Within Destruction Tour with Nahum and Innersphere, Gothoom, Masters of Rock and a show in the Netherlands exposed you to very different audiences and conditions. Which international or festival performance most challenged your ideas about how a metal band should operate, and what did you take from it into Purnama's everyday life?

I don't think I can choose one show that completely overturned our ideas about how a band should work. Each brought us something. But from the beginning I've held on to one principle: it matters less how many people are standing in front of us than who those people are. If there's someone listening, experiencing our music and feeling something because of it, then giving everything we have makes sense.

We always play at full intensity, whether there are three people in front of us or hundreds. We've even played a show with just one paying audience member, whose reaction gave us enormous strength. Moments like that remind you why you do it. Every person in the audience has their own world, and through music you have the chance to connect with it for a little while.

In that sense, I don't distinguish between small and big shows. They're simply shows. Of course the conditions and stage sizes differ, but that isn't how I measure their value. We can enjoy a small club just as much as a major festival. What we bring back into Purnama's daily life is above all gratitude for the chance to play and the determination to give every performance our all.

Purnama's concerts also feature a striking visual dimension, including demonic figures and members of your team onstage. How do you develop the show's dramatic structure, and where is the point at which the visuals might distract from the music? Does every visual element have a specific meaning, or is its main purpose to heighten the emotion of the moment?

When we first started working on the visual side of our concerts, I took it very seriously—perhaps too seriously. Everything had to have a clear meaning, a place and choreography. That was connected to the pressure I mentioned earlier. These days it makes more sense to me to let this side of the show unfold more freely and give space to the people around us who enjoy doing it.

Everyone can express themselves differently. Some play an instrument; others become part of the concert through visuals, movement or a demonic character. I want those people to enjoy it in their own way and bring their own ideas. They give our performance another face and another life.

Naturally, it should fit the music, lyrics and what we're trying to convey. I don't think we'll suddenly have pink unicorns running around onstage... although who knows! (laughs) But I no longer need every gesture to have a precisely predetermined meaning. The important thing is that it strengthens the emotion and the concert experience.

Our most recent show confirmed that beautifully, because we played it without any of those effects. Partly we wanted to try it that way, and partly circumstances made the decision for us: the club didn't allow flames, and transport complications meant we couldn't bring all our show equipment. It was just us and our music.

And the audience reaction was fantastic. For me, it mattered to see that the music alone could carry the experience. We enjoy the visual side, and it has its place in Purnama, but the foundation is still the music. Everything else is the icing on the cake.

With the song Pamatuj na smrt, you switched from English to Czech for the first time in more than a decade, addressing the modern world, personal responsibility and the inevitability of the end. Why did this message need to be expressed in your native language, and what could you say more openly in Czech than in English?

For me, switching to Czech is mainly a path towards being more natural. And Pamatuj na smrt deals with a very personal subject. The more I accept that life could end at any moment, the more meaningful it becomes to live here and now. I feel something similar about the band: knowing that Purnama might not last forever paradoxically gives me the strength to carry on and appreciate what we're experiencing together right now. I can express that most naturally in my own language.

My English isn't good enough for me to express myself with the same precision and feeling as I can in Czech. We originally chose English partly because other bands sang in it and we wanted to sound international. Today I think that if we ever reach the wider world, we can reach it in Czech too. Creating in Czech feels good to me, and I feel I can communicate my emotions more authentically.

I had actually been thinking about Czech since the band's earliest days. I was just afraid for a long time to make myself that vulnerable. Singing in your mother tongue means exposing yourself in a particular way. English was like a garment I put on, one that made me feel things sounded right. In Czech I feel much more vulnerable. Especially in music this heavy, there's a risk that something will sound unnatural or even a little embarrassing.

It makes me think much more carefully about every word and how I pronounce it. When I scream something, I need to feel that the message really calls for that kind of expression. The content of the lyrics has to match the colour and intensity of the voice. With Pamatuj na smrt, that also led me to vocal ranges I hadn't used before.

I really want people to understand me. Even through screaming, growling and all the harsh vocal styles, I want them to hear what I'm actually saying. I want the words and the emotions behind them to reach people. I'm curious to see how I develop this approach and how others respond to it.

You created much of the sound and visual material for Pamatuj na smrt yourselves. What did having complete control over the result give you, and where did it become dangerous? How do you know when you are truly finishing a song and video rather than endlessly correcting your own doubts?

With Pamatuj na smrt, we took the sound and the filming into our own hands. Our guitarist at the time, Daniel Seibt, handled the sound, and we shot the footage ourselves on a phone. Jakub Šuryken from Decadent Records then turned that footage into the finished video.

We wanted people to see us a little differently from how they see us at concerts or in our previous videos. It was connected to the whole move towards Czech and a more natural form of expression. Just as I wanted to open up in the lyrics, we wanted to let people a little closer to us through the visuals too.

So I'd slightly correct the idea of 'complete control'. Another person's perspective still played an important role. The danger, as I see it, is when caring for a song turns into a need to keep fixing and controlling everything. You can chase perfection for so long that you start losing the original feeling that made you create it in the first place.

And sometimes it's quite funny to look back at your own work with some distance. Something you originally considered a mistake suddenly sounds like an interesting moment that belongs there. Other times you discover that something you never questioned is exactly what you'd do differently today. I think music is a wonderful space for imperfection too. I want the human element to remain in it.

What matters to me now is whether we can feel in the finished work what we wanted to express, and whether we can all stand behind it. You could always find another adjustment to make. But a song also captures who we were at a particular moment. Once we release it, it can begin living with the people who listen to it. That means more to me than holding on to it endlessly out of fear that it still isn't perfect.

After Lioness and Flame of Rebellion, the move under the wing of Black Hornet Productions and your first Czech-language song, Purnama stands at the beginning of another chapter. What must the new material or the band's next major step contain to be a genuine leap forward rather than merely a continuation of the past? And will Czech have a greater place in the future, or remain a special tool for exceptional themes?

We're preparing our third album entirely in Czech. So Pamatuj na smrt opened a path we want to continue along. At the same time, I'd like to reclaim something from our beginnings: genuine enthusiasm and the desire to create without outside pressure. Not to go fifteen years back in time, but to combine that freedom with the experience we have today.

We're all fathers now. We have families, we see the world differently, and each of us has interests outside the band. We're looking for a way to keep Purnama going within everyday life so that it has its rightful place there. All of that naturally finds its way into the new material. We don't have to invent ways to be new. If we're honest, that evolution will be audible in the music.

And when will the album be finished? When we feel it has matured. We want to give it the time it needs and enjoy the journey itself. I'd love listeners to hear a living band with something to say, a band that still loves playing together. If we can preserve that joy and pass it on, that will be real progress for me.

Finally, the floor is yours, with no restrictions. What would you like to say to Purnama's loyal fans, those who are only just discovering you and the readers of Rebel Sound?

I'd like to say that each of us has the power to influence what we let into our lives, what we pay attention to and what we give our energy to. We all have our own stories and circumstances, but a lot also depends on how we approach things—whether we nurture the good in ourselves or the bad. It reminds me of the story of the two wolves: the one you feed more grows stronger.

To all our loyal fans, people who are only now discovering us and readers of Rebel Sound, I wish that you do things you enjoy and find happiness in. Don't be afraid to step outside your comfort zone sometimes and venture into the unknown, because that's where you may discover new possibilities life has to offer. I truly hope you enjoy life as much as I do right now, and that you find something that brings you the same joy I find in playing with Purnama.

If our paths cross somewhere, I'll look forward to meeting you. I'm curious about who I'll meet next and what we might share with each other. It's wonderful to meet different people, listen to their opinions and discover their interests and perspectives. We don't have to agree on everything to enrich one another. Those are the encounters I look forward to.

The interview with Jakub Viták offers much more than a look back at the fifteen-year history of a metal band. It is a reminder that behind every album, concert and striking stage show are people who learn to work together, overcome their own expectations and find a balance between ambition and the simple joy of making music. Purnama have experienced both success and lineup changes along the way, but it is precisely these experiences that enable them to speak openly today about what truly matters for the band's future.

Helping others also holds a special place in this story. Metal for Hope has shown that even heavy music can bring people together around profoundly human causes. The same honesty can be found in the decision to create new music in Czech: rather than trying to meet other people's expectations, the band has chosen to put words, emotions and a message they genuinely believe in first.

Purnama are thus entering a new chapter without feeling the need to promise grand gestures or set firm dates. The new album will be given time to mature, and above all, the music is meant to remain alive. Perhaps that is the greatest strength of the entire interview: it reminds us that real progress does not necessarily mean playing faster, louder or in front of a bigger audience. Sometimes, it means finding your way back to what brought you together in the first place. And if that energy reaches the listeners too, metal still has plenty to say.

Acknowledgements

Our sincere thanks to Jakub Viták for his time, openness and thoughtful, honest answers. We wish Purnama continued strength, inspiration and, above all, joy in creating music and sharing it with their fans. Thank you also to everyone who supports the band and the wider metal community. We hope to see you at a show soon!

Denča