From the murky corridors of Gothic Alt-Rock to the Cinematic expanses of modern Progressive storytelling, Damien Cain has crafted a career marked by both shadow and light. Emerging in the late 1980s with his Progressive Art-Rock project Celtic Crypt, Cain soon became a figure of underground reverence. His 2000 single with Cain, “Age of Darkness,” cemented his legacy, selling over 250,000 copies and earning an Impala Diamond Award. Over three decades, he has collaborated with artists as diverse as Sir Christopher Lee and Wayne Hussey, shaping a sound both poetic and emotionally intense. Now, based in Co. Laois, Ireland, Cain returns with “Standarte,” a deeply personal album that revisits past themes while exploring new sonic territories. In this exclusive interview, he shares insights into his creative journey, influences, the making of “Standarte,” and reflections on the evolving Alt-Rock landscape.
Damien, looking back at your career, from Celtic Crypt to CAIN, how would you describe the evolution of your musical identity over the decades?
Looking back, I see less a series of stylistic breaks and more a continuous line shaped by curiosity and emotional honesty. “Celtic Crypt” was my formative phase, where progressive structures and poetic ambition mattered more than genre boundaries. “CAIN” refined that into a darker, more focused language, emotionally direct but still layered. With “Standarte”, I feel I’ve come full circle: the complexity is still there, but it serves clarity rather than excess. My musical identity has matured from searching outward to listening inward.
What early experiences or artists shaped your distinctive blend of Gothic undertones, Alt-Rock, and Cinematic storytelling?
Literature came first. Writers like Shakespeare, Poe, Bram Stoker and even Stephen King – and later surrealists such as Salvador Dali shaped how I think in images and symbols. Musically, bands like The Mission, Fields of the Nephilim, and early progressive acts like Dream Theatre taught me atmosphere, while artists outside the Gothic spectrum, in all seriousness from a 1970ies Chris de Burgh via Marillion to Queensryche, showed me the power of narrative. I was never interested in darkness for its own sake, but in what it reveals emotionally.
Can you walk us through the genesis of “Standarte”? What sparked the idea for this deeply personal album?
I didn’t go looking for music, it simply found its way back to me. At some point, I felt that the time had come to make music again. Several years had passed since my last album Moonstruck. My move to Ireland, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, created many moments of stillness and (positive) solitude. That became the source of inspiration, and I simply knew I had to start writing again in order to capture it. That this time the material became more personal is a direct result of that situation: I had the time and the perfect space to reflect, to process experiences and thoughts, and to transform them into lyrics and music in a more structured way. What began as sketches and fragments eventually turned into songs, admittedly quite different in nature, but for me it was far more important to be honest in terms of content than to be stylistically coherent.
The title-track revisits themes from Wallenstein and your early work. How did you approach reinterpreting those ideas with the perspective of three decades of experience?
When I wrote “Wallenstein” in my early twenties, protest was raw and absolute. With “Standarte”, the anger is still there, but it is tempered by reflection. I’m less interested in shouting at power structures and more focused on questioning complicity, silence, and moral comfort zones. The imagery remains surreal, but the perspective is more nuanced. Lyrically, “Standarte” feels like a conversation between who I was and who I’ve become. And musically, the song “Standarte” is certainly easier to digest than the seven-minute progressive version of “Wallenstein”, but that, too, reflects who I am today: I consider musical complexity for its own sake to be outdated.
In your lyrics, there’s often a subtle interplay between darkness and reflection. How do you balance poetic storytelling with emotional authenticity?
For me, poetry is not an escape from authenticity or honesty, but a tool to reach it. Direct statements can sometimes flatten emotions. Metaphor allows space for ambiguity, and that’s where truth often hides. I try to write lyrics that feel emotionally precise, that underline the moment or the thought, I try to capture. And if a line resonates because it
feels true, even without full clarity, then it has done its job.
You’ve worked with a remarkable international collective of musicians on “Standarte.” How did these collaborations shape the album’s sound and atmosphere?
The music on “Standarte” was created without a traditional band setup, unlike my earlier work. This time, I allowed myself the freedom to approach artists I genuinely wanted to collaborate with. Each of them represents certain stylistic directions that I personally connect with, and I see that as a real enrichment. That’s how the album’s different sonic
worlds came into being, from rock ballads with a distinctly post-1980s feel, through Nu Metal, Gothic, and Emo influences, all the way to more anthemic tracks like “Standarte.” Working this way helped me avoid locking myself into a single musical identity, and it allowed me to create in a much freer and more uncompromising way.
Musically, “Standarte” spans Alt-Rock, Soft Rock, Darkwave, and Melodic Hard Rock. How did you approach blending these genres into a cohesive record?
Committing myself to a single, clearly defined genre would have meant the death of certain songs if I had forced them into the “wrong” framework. Each song dictated its own language. The cohesion comes from voice, atmosphere, and emotional intent. I trust listeners more than algorithms: if someone listens to the album as a whole, the shifts feel
like chapters. I believe that variety turns into coherence when the emotional core remains intact.
Your previous works like “Age of Darkness” achieved commercial success while remaining underground at heart. How do you navigate between accessibility and artistic integrity?
I don’t think that accessibility have to mean compromise. “Age of Darkness” connected because it was honest, not because it was designed to succeed. I still believe that if you communicate something sincerely, people will find their way to it. Integrity, for me, means not diluting intent to chase relevance. Ironically, that often makes the music more accessible, not less.
The album includes remastered versions of earlier CAIN tracks alongside new material. How important was it for you to connect past and present in this release?
It was essential. “Standarte” is meant to function as a continuum. Revisiting those tracks allowed me to place my origins in context and to understand why certain themes continue to resurface. Including three new CAIN songs for the 25th anniversary felt like closing a circle — for me, there were still a few loose threads I wanted to pick up and carry forward,
or finally bring to an end. Past and present feed each other, and I wanted the album to reflect that dialogue as clearly and honestly as possible.
Can you share any particular moments from the recording or production process at Hellfire Studios that were especially meaningful or challenging?
Working with Ivan Jackman at Hellfire Studios was grounding, inspiring and liberating. One of the most meaningful moments was realizing when to stop refining. Perfection can be the enemy of emotion. There were points where the technically “better” option felt emotionally wrong, and trusting that instinct was crucial. Letting imperfections breathe
gave the album its humanity.
As an openly gay artist, you sometimes weave subtle queer perspectives into your music. How do these elements interact with your broader artistic themes?
Queerness, for me, is part of lived experience. It naturally influences how I write about longing, loss, intimacy, and identity. I don’t feel the need to label songs explicitly, but I also don’t hide those perspectives. Especially in genres that traditionally avoided vulnerability, I see honesty as a quiet form of resistance.
With “Standarte” potentially marking the end of a long chapter, how do you see your future as a musician? Are there directions or ideas you hope to explore next?
I see Standarte as an ending that allows for beginnings. It closes the CAIN narrative in a meaningful way, but it opens space for exploration without legacy pressure. I’m still writing, still curious. The future feels less about proving something and more about following instincts wherever they lead. Actually, a handful of songs are already in the works, probably a bit darker again…
Do you perform live as a solo artist, or with collaborators? Could you tell us about your approach to translating this complex, layered music into a live setting?
At the moment, live performance isn’t fully mapped out. The album’s international collaboration makes a traditional band setup challenging. That said, the desire to perform live is very much there. I am aware, that live versions will most probably sound pretty different to the album versions, or I’d need very expensive stage setups. But I’m open to unconventional formats, so I’d say, it’s a “yes, maybe…” 😉
Are there any memorable live experiences, anecdotes, or audience reactions that have stayed with you over the years?
Hearing “Age of Darkness” played in a club for the first time without knowing it was on the playlist was a defining moment. It’s strange and humbling to watch people connect to something you created in complete independence from you. Those moments stay with you far longer than chart positions or awards hanging n the wall. And of course, the gigs themselves, that direct connection with the audience, that feeling is addictive to me. Once you’ve tasted that moment when a room reacts to something you created, when applause turns into a shared energy, it’s incredibly hard to let go of it
completely.
Looking at the current Alt-Rock and Gothic scene in Ireland and globally, where do you see your work fitting in, and what excites you about the genre today?
You have to look hard to find a club in Ireland that plays Gothic music, but there are a few. Still, this country triggers all the right feelings and ticks all the boxes: ancient cemeteries, ruined churches, endless lonely beaches, and an almost overwhelming sense of quiet. Maybe the recent success of “Bambie Thug” will change things a little in the near future (fingers crossed). Gothic rock is, of course, a part of my youth and an extremely important part of my sense of self: the interplay of light and shadow, the emotions, and, again, the melancholy that inspires me personally and creatively, from the bands I grew up with to the music I make today. I see my work on the periphery of genres, which is where I feel most comfortable. What excites me now is the erosion of rigid categories. Artists are allowed to be emotional, heavy, melodic, and reflective at the same time. That openness creates space for work like “Standarte” to exist without apology.
Beyond music, “Standarte” carries themes of reflection, protest, and personal growth. How important is the conceptual or narrative side of your work to you?
It’s fundamental. Even when a song stands on its own, it’s part of a larger emotional landscape. I’m drawn to albums that feel like journeys. The narrative doesn’t have to be linear, but it should feel intentional. That’s how music becomes a companion and not just a product.
Finally, is there a message you’d like to leave with listeners diving into “Standarte,” or a sentiment you hope your audience takes away?
I hope listeners allow themselves time. I wouldn’t say “Standarte” is designed for instant consumption. If it offers anything, it’s permission to feel without rushing toward resolution. Melancholy isn’t something to escape from; sometimes it’s something to sit with, to listen to, and to learn from. At the same time, even within all that melancholy (which for me has never been a negative state) there should also be room for light. Moments of joy, of happiness, even of celebration matter just as much. Happiness is an emotion too, and it deserves to exist alongside introspection and shadow. Even if you’ve been labeled a Gothic artist, you shouldn’t be confined to darkness alone. If “Standarte” leaves listeners with anything, I hope it’s the feeling that embracing the full spectrum of emotion can open unexpected inner spaces: places where reflection and release quietly coexist.
Damien Cain’s journey through three decades of music is a testament to the enduring power of emotion, atmosphere, and narrative in Rock. With “Standarte,” he not only revisits the shadows of his past but also illuminates new paths forward, blending vulnerability and defiance into a sound uniquely his own. This album stands as both a reflection and a declaration—a culmination of stories lived and lessons learned, carried on a cloud of melancholy and melodic intensity. We extend our sincere thanks to Damien Cain for sharing his time, insights, and reflections with us at Progressive Rock Journal. His openness and candor provide a rare window into the mind of an artist whose work continues to challenge, move, and inspire.
I’d like to sincerely thank you for the thoughtful questions. It was a genuine pleasure to reflect on these topics and to respond. I appreciate the space you gave me to articulate ideas and experiences that are important to me, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to share them with your audience. Cheers, Damien
Stream to the album: https://push.fm/fl/standarte
Purchase “Standarte” here: https://elasticstage.com/damiencain/releases/damien-cain-standarte-album