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Some Words

No More Gods was never supposed to be recorded, let alone released.

As Enoch approaches its thirtieth anniversary — the band was born in 1998 — I found myself haunted by a simple realization: something was still unfinished.

Through the years, the line-up changes, the arguments, the clashes between my ego and the people who shared rehearsal rooms and stages with me, we probably left behind ten or fifteen songs that deserved a proper recording.

I still have the evidence. Old tapes — actual fucking tapes. Recordings made on mobile phones. Half-forgotten rehearsal takes. Even a semi-professional demo.

If you dig deep enough on YouTube, you'll find unreleased material played during Enoch shows. Some other songs survived on the rehearsal CD and tape we sold at gigs from 2018.

But most of it simply never happened.

Then there were these songs.

These songs, and no band.

This will probably be the last release under the name Enoch. I am, for all practical purposes, the last man standing.

Some people I considered brothers are no longer with us. Some walked away. Others, I suppose, eventually had enough of my endless delays and disappearing acts.

At the same time, I no longer feel particularly connected to the mythology and ancient themes that shaped Enoch's imagery for so many years.

More importantly, I am no longer depressed — something that, strange as it may sound, was once an essential part of writing and performing this kind of music.

Still, I felt the need for one final journey.

Digging through these songs meant revisiting places inside myself that I thought were long abandoned. It cost time, energy and, at times, more than a little health.

Whether there will ever be another Enoch album, I honestly don't know. Right now, I doubt it.

Everything eventually reaches its end. Bands, friendships, obsessions, entire chapters of life. You probably know what I mean.

I hope you'll spend some time with these songs. Maybe you'll even decide they're worth releasing.

I'm a grown man with a daytime job. I'm not looking for money.

Like most musicians who came from the underground, I simply want the music to travel. I want someone, somewhere, to listen to it. Maybe write a few words back. Maybe trade a record. Maybe keep a connection.

Keep the underground alive, my friends.

It's all we have left.

Lorenzo - Still the voice and the louder guitar of Enoch