The history of heavy metal is frequently punctuated by loss, yet rarely does an ensemble transform the death of its architect into the very mortar of its restoration. When Ricardo Chica Roa, the founder and guiding spirit of Herejía, succumbed to the complications of the pandemic era in 2021, the silence that fell over the Bogotá collective seemed terminal.

Roa was more than a guitarist; he was the custodian of a vision that began in 1988, a sonic identity that had traversed the primitive aggression of death metal to arrive at a sophisticated symphonic dialogue.

The release of ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ on October 31, 2025, therefore, functions less as a commercial offering and more as a sacred fulfillment of a posthumous directive. It is a work of immense gravity, completed by the surviving members under the stewardship of keyboardist and producer Andrés Triana, who assumed the burden of translating Roa’s final compositions into a coherent reality.

Herejía’s genesis must be contextualized within the contrasting metal scenes of Colombia’s major cities. In the 1980s, Medellín became known for its “Ultra Metal,” a chaotic and raw sound born from the extreme violence related to the drug trade. Bogotá, however, fostered a different environment.

The capital’s contemporaries, like Neurosis and Darkness, leaned toward a more technical and methodical form of aggression. Herejía embodies this distinct Bogotá sensibility, moving past the brute force of their 1994 demo, ‘Extractum ex Infernis,’ to embrace a grander, more theatrical musical vision.

The independent release of this new record marks the culmination of their artistic journey, preceding a planned international physical distribution in 2026. This album is a majestic, yet undeniably dense and claustrophobic, meditation on the concept of “Memento Mori.” It is a reminder of death that does not just whisper; it roars through the powerful convergence of orchestral arrangements and distortion.

The relevance of ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ is not limited to the Colombian music scene. It represents a specific cultural synthesis where the European traditions of symphonic metal—popularized by bands like Septicflesh and Dimmu Borgir—are reinterpreted through a Latin American lens. This is not a mimicry of Old World aesthetics but a reclamation of them, infused with the specific melancholia and resilience of a region familiar with conflict.

The album stands as a powerful display of persistence, a refusal to let the silence of the grave have the final word. It is a dense, multi-layered text that demands careful study, inviting the listener to peel back the layers of orchestration, literature, and history to reveal the beating heart of a band that has survived its own extinction.

The Historical Crucible

The Bogotano Distinction

Before one can fully appreciate the sonic architecture of ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis,’ it is essential to first explore the historical foundation upon which Herejía is built. Colombia in the late 1980s was a nation under siege, not by foreign powers, but by internal strife. The violence was endemic, a daily reality that seeped into the cultural consciousness.

In Medellín, this manifested in the “Ultra Metal” movement, a sound defined by its primitivism and chaotic fury, mirroring the unpredictability of life in a city dominated by cartels. Bands like Parabellum and Reencarnación created a noise that was less about composition and more about catharsis.

Bogotá, however, offered a different vantage point. As the capital, it was the seat of political power and possessed a colder, more industrial atmosphere. The metal scene that coalesced here was no less aggressive, but it was more structured. Bands such as Darkness and Neurosis began to lay the groundwork for a scene that valued technical proficiency and thematic complexity alongside raw power.

Herejía, formed in 1988 by Ricardo Chica Roa, was a product of this environment. They were not interested in mere noise; they sought to construct a sonic edifice that could house their darker philosophical inquiries.

The band’s early output, particularly the 1994 cassette ‘Extractum ex Infernis,’ provides a crucial counterpoint to their modern sound. Although technically a demo, the band conceived it as a full-length album, complete with an intro and nine tracks. It captured the essence of early death metal—fast, abrasive, and uncompromising. Yet, even then, there were hints of a desire for something more.

The very act of treating a demo as a conceptual whole suggests an ambition that transcended the limitations of their resources. This early era established Herejía as pioneers in their hometown, sharing stages with bands that would become household names in the national scene.

The Long Silence and the Renaissance

Following the release of ‘Extractum ex Infernis,’ Herejía entered a period of dormancy. This hiatus, stretching from the mid-90s to 2015, represents a significant gap in the band’s chronology, but it was not a period of stagnation. It was a time of incubation. During these years, the global metal scene underwent radical transformations. The rise of symphonic black metal in Scandinavia, the technical evolution of death metal in the United States, and the emergence of folk metal in Europe all expanded the vocabulary of extreme music.

When Roa decided to resurrect the entity in 2015, he did not simply pick up where he left off. He integrated these new global dialects into his original vision. The result was ‘Renascentia in Tenebris,’ released in 2017. This album was more than a comeback; it was a reimagining of the band’s identity. It introduced the symphonic and theatrical elements that would come to define their modern era.

The raw aggression of the 90s was not discarded but was now tempered by a newfound focus on harmonic structure and melodic development. This evolution attracted attention from fans and media alike, securing the band a spot on several festivals and re-establishing them as a force to be reckoned with.

The Tragedy of 2021

The momentum generated by ‘Renascentia in Tenebris’ was abruptly halted in 2021. The death of Ricardo Chica Roa was a devastating blow, striking at the very heart of the project. For many bands, the loss of a founder and primary songwriter signals the end. Roa was not just a musician; he was the ‘friend, musician, composer, and teacher’ who held the collective together. However, the remaining members—Frank Tuay (vocals), Orlando Parra (guitar), Andrés Triana (keyboards), John Porras (bass), and Camilo Bautista (drums)—chose a different path.

The band, with the support of Roa’s family and former members, made the difficult choice to carry on. This decision was driven not by commercial gain, but by a profound sense of obligation. Roa’s final artistic will—a collection of unfinished tracks and lyrics—compelled them to complete his legacy.

The process of finishing ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ became a form of mourning, a way to commune with the departed through the medium of sound. Andrés Triana took on the leadership role in the composition process, working to weave Roa’s fragments into a cohesive whole. The album, therefore, is a hybrid entity, a collaboration between the living and the dead.

Visceral Theology and Visual Aesthetics

The Canvas of Decay

The experience of ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ begins before the listener engages with the audio. The band’s commitment to high art is immediately signaled by the cover artwork, a reproduction of ‘S. Matteo e l’Angelo Tetramorfo Buono’ by the Italian artist Ettore Aldo del Vigo. This choice is far from arbitrary and warrants deep investigation. Del Vigo is a contemporary surrealist whose work echoes the haunting, subconscious anxieties of Max Ernst and the baroque mastery of Caravaggio. His paintings are characterized by heavy symbolism—eggs, headless figures, and vast, desolate landscapes that suggest a world stripped of its comforting illusions.

In the context of the album, the painting anchors the listener in a specific aesthetic philosophy: the beauty of decay. The image depicts the human form in a state of submission to the inevitable, a visual parallel to the album’s lyrical fixation on mortality. Just as Goya explored the darkness of the human condition in his ‘Black Paintings,’ Herejía makes use of Del Vigo’s art to prepare the audience for a sonic experience that is equally dark and baroque. It serves as a portal, warning that what lies within is not a celebration of violence for its own sake, but a sophisticated interrogation of the end that awaits us all.

The selection of this specific piece followed an “exhaustive international search” for an artist capable of mirroring the band’s sonic narrative. This indicates a rigorous conceptual framework where the visual and the aural are treated with equal weight. The band does not view the album cover as mere packaging but as an integral component of the work.

The digital release on Bandcamp, which includes a comprehensive digital booklet, further emphasizes this multimedia narrative, ensuring that the listener engages with the lyrics and imagery as an inseparable whole.

The Baroque Sensibility

The visual aesthetic of Del Vigo bleeds into the auditory texture of the album. There is a distinctly baroque sensibility at play here, a love for ornamentation, contrast, and dramatic tension. The album does not shy away from excess; rather, it embraces it. The orchestral arrangements are dense and multi-layered, filling every frequency of the stereo field. This “horror vacui”—the fear of empty space—is a hallmark of the Baroque style, and Herejía translates it effectively into the language of heavy metal.

This engagement with high art extends to the band’s literary influences. The tracklist weaves threads of Goya’s visual darkness with canonical literature and Romantic music. This is not the anti-intellectual posturing of early thrash metal but a deliberate attempt to elevate the genre into a dialogue with the broader history of Western art. The band positions itself as the inheritor of a dark romantic tradition, one that spans from the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe to the paintings of Del Vigo and the symphonies of the nineteenth century.

Orchestrating the Apocalypse

The Symphonic Integration

The album opens with ‘Prelude to the Omniscient Sage – Death,’ an instrumental introduction that immediately establishes the symphonic scope of the record. It is here that the influence of film composers such as Hans Zimmer and John Williams becomes palpable.

The orchestration is not merely a backdrop or a sweetener for the guitars; it is the primary narrative engine. The strings swell with a tragic grandeur, setting a stage that feels less like a mosh pit and more like a cathedral during a funeral mass. This cinematic approach is a deliberate expansion of the sound the band began to explore on 2017’s ‘Renascentia in Tenebris,’ but here, the integration is seamless.

Parra explicitly identifies the cinematic grandeur of these composers as primary touchstones for the orchestral arrangements. The goal is to achieve a “symphonic covenant from the edge of the abyss,” a sound that bridges the gap between the visceral impact of metal and the emotional sweep of film scores. This is a dangerous high-wire act. Too often, symphonic metal bands allow the orchestra to soften the blow of the guitars, resulting in a sound that is bombastic but toothless.

Herejía avoids this trap by ensuring that the metal elements remain ferocious. The guitars retain their distortion and bite, cutting through the orchestral layers rather than being subsumed by them.

‘In Death We Trust’: The Core Argument

As the prelude bleeds into ‘In Death We Trust,’ the band’s core statement is delivered with crushing weight. This track, the first single, features lyrics penned by Roa following a near-death experience, transforming his personal crisis into a universal declaration. The composition, finalized by Orlando Parra and Andrés Triana, reveals a mastery of dynamic tension. The song is structured around ostinato guitar riffs that lock into a militaristic rhythm with the percussion, while the orchestral layers provide a mournful counterpoint.

One cannot ignore the subtle, almost subconscious reverence for Chopin’s ‘Funeral March’ buried within the harmonic progression of this track. It is a bold maneuver, risking pretension but achieving poignancy. Francisco Tway’s vocals are commanding, moving between a guttural growl and a declamatory roar that cuts through the dense mix.

The track serves as a microcosm of the album’s broader intent: to fuse the raw, kinetic energy of death metal with the emotional resonance of Romantic classical music. The lyrics, written from the perspective of someone standing on the threshold of the void, give the song a terrifying authenticity. It is not a fantasy of death; it is a report from the front lines.

‘Retribution is My Name’: Literary Shadows

The intellectual ambition of Herejía extends into the realm of canonical literature, most notably on the track ‘Retribution is My Name.’ Here, the band channels the claustrophobic horror of Edgar Allan Poe’s 1846 short story, ‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ The music mirrors the narrative arc of the story—the slow, methodical entrapment, the rising panic, and the final, suffocating silence.

The composition relies on a relentless, driving tempo that evokes the obsession of the narrator, Montresor. The guitars, handled by Parra, weave intricate lines that suggest the winding catacombs, while the symphonic elements provide the damp, oppressive atmosphere of the crypt.

Santiago Campos directed the music video, which visually reinforces the song’s themes of vengeance and immurement. This invocation of Poe aligns Herejía with the gothic horror tradition, which prioritizes psychological torment over graphic violence. It stands as a sophisticated acknowledgment that the deepest sense of “heaviness” in dark art often originates from the mind’s capacity for self-inflicted suffering.

‘Primal Rage’: The Indigenous Pulse

Perhaps the most intriguing deviation from the European symphonic model occurs on ‘Primal Rage.’ In a genre that often looks solely to the Old World for its classical influences, Herejía turns its gaze inward to the Andean soil. The track features folkloric percussion executed by drummer Camilo Bautista, a specialist in regional traditions, and includes contributions from Camilo Giraldo.

This is not an act of tourism or a superficial inclusion of exotic sounds. Parra explicitly states that for a Latin American band, these ancestral rhythms are inescapable and essential. The percussion creates a tribal, ritualistic undercurrent that drives the song, transforming it into an allegory for pre-Hispanic cultures.

The juxtaposition of indigenous rhythms with the symphonic metal framework creates a unique tension—a clash between the colonized and the colonizer, the ancient and the modern. It grounds the album’s lofty orchestral ambitions in the physical reality of the Colombian territory, proving that the band’s identity is not a copy of European trends but a distinct hybridization.

This track alone sets Herejía apart from their peers in the symphonic death metal genre, offering a sonic texture that is uniquely theirs.

Echoes of the Inferno and the Path Forward

‘Blackheart’: The Composition of Sorrow

Following the militaristic precision of the opening tracks (‘Prelude’ and ‘In Death We Trust’), ‘Blackheart’ functions as the album’s emotional pivot point. It marks the transition from the external observation of death to the internal, psychological experience of loss. The track is characterized by a distinct shift in tempo, abandoning the driving, fast-paced rhythms of the earlier death metal cuts in favor of a slower, more rhythmic, and almost gothic cadence.

The composition masterfully deploys silence as an instrument. The pauses between the heavy, chugging guitar riffs carry as much weight as the distortion itself. These gaps create a respiratory quality to the music—a “heaving” sensation that mimics the labored breathing of the bereaved. This use of negative space allows the heaviness of the guitars to resonate more profoundly when they do strike.

Unlike the bombastic brass sections used to evoke apocalyptic grandeur elsewhere on the album, ‘Blackheart’ makes use of a string section to convey intimacy and sorrow. The strings provide a mournful counter-melody that weaves through the guitar riffs. This juxtaposition is critical: the guitars represent the crushing weight of reality, while the strings articulate the internal “weeping” of the spirit.

The song’s lyrics delve into the spirit’s “blackening,” interpreting it not as a descent into malice, but as the weighty accumulation of emotional trauma and the decay of hope. This concept is underscored by the deep, suffocating production. The resulting sonic atmosphere is heavy and oppressive, effectively simulating the emotional numbness that arises in the aftermath of profound

‘Fallen Angels’ Serenade’: The Deceptive Respite

Positioned at the album’s midpoint, ‘Fallen Angels’ Serenade’ serves as a structural bridge and a showcase of the band’s theatrical range. It is a study in dynamic contrast and the “Beauty and the Beast” aesthetic common in symphonic metal, yet executed with a specific Bogotanian darkness.

The track opens with a melancholic piano motif. In the context of a death metal album, this offers the listener a moment of respite—a breath of clean air. However, this tranquility is a narrative trap. The piano does not lead to a ballad but builds tension, acting as the calm before a symphonic storm.

A distinguishing feature of this track is the role of the choir. Rather than serving as mere background texture to thicken the mix, the choral arrangements here carry the primary melody. They soar above the instrumentation, providing a gothic, operatic grandeur.

This operatic beauty is violently contrasted with Frank Tuay’s guttural vocals. The interplay creates a dialogue between the “angelic” and the “demonic,” or perhaps more accurately, between the idealized memory of the departed and the raw, ugly pain of the survivor.

The title ‘Fallen Angels’ Serenade’ suggests a tribute to those cast down. In the context of the album’s tribute to Roa, this can be interpreted as a serenade for the “fallen” brother—a recognition of his departure not as an ascension to a peaceful heaven, but as a tragic fall into the void, which the living must now sing to.

‘Demonology’ and the Roots of Aggression

While the symphonic elements define the album’s surface, the core of Herejía remains rooted in the aggressive death metal of their youth. ‘Demonology’ stands as the most direct link to this past. Described as a deliberate nod to the sound of 1994’s ‘Extractum ex Infernis,’ the track strips away some of the cinematic polish to reveal the raw nerve beneath. The riffs are jagged, the tempo frantic, and the aggression palpable.

However, even in this moment of brutality, the band does not abandon its new sophistication. The orchestral arrangements are still present, but they are darker, more dissonant, reinforcing the chaos rather than smoothing it over.

The lyrics explore the genesis of internal torment and external manipulation, themes that resonate with the psychological struggles Roa faced in his final years. This track proves that the band’s evolution is not a rejection of their roots but a refinement of them. They have not traded power for pretension; rather, they have learned to wield their aggression with greater precision.

‘Battlefield Ground Zero’: The Kinetic Foundation

As the album approaches its conclusion, it shifts from the atmospheric and gothic back to the visceral and aggressive. ‘Battlefield Ground Zero’ is the album’s physical engine, a strong display of the band’s refusal to let the orchestra dilute their death metal roots

This track is the primary showcase for the rhythm section, specifically bassist John Porras and drummer Camilo Bautista. Porras’s bass is described as “substantial,” a critical adjective in metal production. In many symphonic mixes, the bass guitar is lost beneath the strings and guitars. Here, it is interlocked with the kick drums, creating a physical “wall of sound” that hits the listener in the chest. This low-end solidity grounds the track, preventing the orchestral elements from making the music feel “thin” or “flighty.”

Bautista’s performance highlights the versatility required of a modern symphonic metal drummer. He navigates the jagged riffs and frantic tempo with precision, shifting between the blast beats of pure death metal and the more groove-oriented patterns required by the symphonic breaks.

The title implies a zone of conflict. The music conveys this struggle through staccato riffing and a militaristic cadence, creating a sonic analogy for the battle for survival. This may also serve as a metaphor for the band’s own fight to persist following the death of their leader. It is a track of survival, adrenaline, and “primal rage.”

‘Eternal Rise’: The Symphonic Covenant

The album concludes with ‘Eternal Rise,’ a track that serves as the thematic resolution to the “Requiem.” It is the answer to the grief of ‘Blackheart’ and the violence of ‘Battlefield Ground Zero.’ The research material connects the rhythm section’s power to the phrase ‘Arise the Son of Dawn,’ suggesting this is a key lyrical or thematic hook within this track.

This music signals a powerful upward trajectory. The strong bass and interlocking kick drums are employed not merely for heaviness, but to establish a driving, galloping momentum suggestive of an ascent. Ultimately, this track successfully achieves the band’s stated goal of creating a “symphonic covenant from the edge of the abyss.”

The orchestration swells to match the cinematic grandeur of influences like Hans Zimmer and John Williams. However, unlike a film score where the music supports an image, here the music is the image. The guitars retain their distortion and bite, cutting through the orchestral layers rather than being subsumed by them.

‘Eternal Rise’ is a statement of continuity. It asserts that while the founder is gone, the entity of Herejía rises eternally. It transforms the Memento Mori (“remember you will die”) into a Memento Vivere (“remember to live/create”). It is the final defiance of the silence of the grave.

The Rhythm Section and Production

The success of such a complex album rests heavily on the performance of the rhythm section. Bassist John Porras and drummer Camilo Bautista provide the foundation upon which the orchestral and guitar layers are built. In tracks like ‘Arise the Son of Dawn,’ the bass is described as substantial, interlocking with the kick drums to create a wall of sound that hits the listener in the chest.

Bautista’s drumming is versatile, capable of shifting from the blast beats required by death metal to the more nuanced, rhythmic patterns of the folkloric sections.

The production, led by Andrés Triana, deserves immense credit for maintaining cohesion across these disparate elements. Balancing a metal band with orchestral samples and choral arrangements is a notorious technical challenge, often resulting in a muddy or disjointed mix. Here, however, clarity is maintained.

The band achieved their creative vision without compromise, utilizing the independent release format to maintain complete control. This approach resulted in a rich audio environment where the orchestra fully envelops the mix, yet the rhythm section remains prominent, with the biting guitars and upfront vocals clearly audible.

Contextualization and Legacy

Strategic Independence

The release strategy for ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ reflects the band’s resilience and their pragmatic understanding of the global market. While the album was released independently on digital platforms in October 2025, the band deliberately bypassed their previous arrangement with HateWorks to maintain strict control over the timeline and distribution. This decision was born of frustration; previous delays had left the band touring without physical media, a logistical error they refused to repeat.

This pivot to independence, however, is not a retreat from the global stage. On the contrary, the band has successfully secured alliances to press and distribute a digipack edition internationally in 2026, ensuring the album reaches the same global markets that HateWorks was originally intended to serve.

The initial release strategy includes a strictly limited edition of fifty physical copies, creating an immediate sense of exclusivity for dedicated collectors. This two-tiered approach—an immediate digital and limited physical release followed by a wider international expansion—allows Herejía to capitalize on their current momentum while laying the groundwork for a broader campaign in the coming year.

Comparison with Past Works

Comparing ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ to the band’s previous output reveals the magnitude of their achievement. ‘Extractum ex Infernis’ (1994) was the sound of a young band finding its footing in a volatile city, full of promise but limited by the technology and resources of the time. ‘Renascentia in Tenebris’ (2017) marked the return, a tentative step toward a grander sound that showed maturity and polish.

‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ is the realization of that promise. It is the sound of a band that has mastered its tools and its identity. Where ‘Renascentia in Tenebris’ was a comeback, this album is a legacy. It stands alongside the work of international giants, not as an imitator, but as a peer offering a distinct perspective filtered through the lens of Bogotá’s grey skies and turbulent history.

The inclusion of indigenous elements and the specific cultural weight of the lyrics give it a flavor that is uniquely Colombian, distinguishing it from the crowded field of European symphonic metal.

The Philosophy of the Heretic

At the core of Herejía’s identity is the concept of heresy itself. Parra defines a heretic not as a mere contrarian, but as someone with the capacity to question their surroundings and possess critical, independent thought. This definition informs every aspect of ‘In Nomine Obscuritatis.’ The band refuses to “marry a specific ideology or belief,” instead choosing to explore the darkest corners of the human experience with an unflinching gaze.

The album is not merely a compilation of music; it is an intellectual independence manifesto rooted in this philosophical stance. Herejía distinguishes itself within a music genre and a global scene frequently characterized by a pursuit of uniformity and fleeting trends. They have built a monument to their fallen leader that is also a challenge to their listeners: to think, to feel, and to confront the inevitability of death with eyes wide open.

The Triumph of Persistence

‘In Nomine Obscuritatis’ is a demanding listen. It asks the audience to engage with complex themes of death, grief, and philosophy. It requires an appreciation for both the visceral punch of extreme metal and the intellectual nuances of classical composition. But for those willing to walk into the darkness Herejía has constructed, the reward is substantial.

This album is a solid statement to the resilience of the human spirit. It is a work born from the deepest tragedy—the loss of a brother, a mentor, and a leader—yet it refuses to succumb to despair. Instead, it uses that grief as fuel to create something enduring.

Ricardo Chica Roa may be gone, but in the dense, swirling orchestrations and the thunderous rhythms of this record, his voice is amplified louder than ever before. Herejía has not merely survived the death of its founder; they have stared into the void and forced it to sing back to them.

The album is a holistic triumph, synthesizing decades of history, personal tragedy, and artistic evolution into a singular, undeniable statement. It is the gold standard for what symphonic death metal can achieve when it is untethered from commercial expectation and driven by pure, artistic necessity.