An interview with IC3PEAK, the band Putin couldn’t silence

Prague, April 2025. A red moon hovers over the Gothic architecture of the city. A throng of people are gathering at ROXY, a legendary venue in the city. Inside the space, deafening black industrial reverberations colour the room, claustrophobic screeches, followed by a volatile chaotic series of raw reddish beats. It stings, the sound of flesh being slapped and replaced with something else: Anastasia Kreslina and Nikolay Kostylev, who comprise self-described ‘audiovisual terrorist’ duo IC3PEAK, dressed as if they were goth-angels.

As one of the most visible faces of Russian counterculture, they were forced to flee the country where they grew up, victims of political persecution by the Kremlin, after dozens of canceled concerts, arbitrary arrests, and government accusations of “inciting terrorism” with their music. They’ve become the icons that embodied the pain of exile.

In Latin America, it’s said that Eastern Slavic women have an imperturbable beauty; but that night, what I saw were bones and tears under the strobe light. A group of girls clinging to each other as if it were an exorcism. Emotions aren’t lost in translation. They screamed: “Где мой дом?” (“Where Is My Home?”) with the band as if their lives depended on it.

Their screams contrasted with the band’s intimate acoustics and angelic chants, as, in front of a bare stage save for an Orthodox cross, hung a reminder: even far from Russia, the weight of their heritage follows them. “Don’t lock the door, you’re the only one who has the key. Don’t lock the door, I’ll come back someday,” begins “Where Is My Home?”

“I feel like we’ve become a rallying point,” says Kreslina, speaking to Dazed over video call a few weeks later. “I’m happy about it because it’s great if it helps someone feel at home, even for a moment.” Kostylev chimes in: “Reuniting with our [Slavic] fans always feels very natural. What’s not natural is that we’ve separated, there’s a bit of nostalgia in every show because it reminds me of those days when we could play in every city of the former Soviet Union. Now we can’t go back to Russia, and we wouldn't even if we could. It’s a shame.”

It all stemmed from a contradiction, mid 2010s: Kostylev’s dark ambient, created in his teenage bedroom in Moscow, colliding with Nastya’s intense screams, narrating the disillusionment of her generation. Unintentionally, they embodied the ultimate irony of Russian culture: its most authentic expression is often anti-Russian. Like Dostoevsky, like Shostakovich before them. Meanwhile, bouncing pianos reminiscent of the most beautiful ballets mingled with secretive whispers, operatic choruses and chilling falsettos – IC3PEAK drew from Crystal Castles, NIN, Xiu Xiu, and Aphex Twin, as well as from Tchaikovsky and Sergei Rachmaninoff.

Their success was inevitable, it arrived catastrophically in 2018 with the single “Смерти Больше Нет” (“Death No More”), and after going viral, their art reflected an uncomfortable truth for the Kremlin: the existence of a youth that recognizes itself more in rebellious art than in state propaganda. Offending those in power wasn't their goal; it was the consequence of remaining true to their reality. “I have to say, I was never a big fan of Russia,” Kostylev says, staring into the camera. “I never felt at home there.”

They’re now promoting COMING HOME, their sixth studio album released earlier this year, with a tour where screams have turned to whispers, and dense industrial sounds have given way to the organic sounds of acoustics. Wood that still bleeds, synthesizers that keep pounding. “It’s raw. It feels human in the best possible way,” says Kreslina, her eyes so wide they fill the computer screen.

But this isn’t just a tour: it’s an alternative map, drawn by those who refused to remain silent against state oppression. These are the ‘tears that fall from the sky to wash away all sins’, as IC3PEAK sing themselves in “Where Is My Home?” 

Below, Russian ‘audiovisual terrorist’ duo IC3PEAK dive deeper in to the conflicted experiences that gave way to their latest album, Coming Home. 

I know you've been thinking a lot about the meaning of “home”. 

Kreslina: Generally speaking, yes. I’m currently in Berlin, but I won’t be staying for long. I don’t live here; I’m just passing through. It’s a big question for me. What is home? A feeling, a place, a group of people, or a particular person? Can I be my own home? Is it possible to find a new one if you previously had one? I suppose many people who had to leave when the full-scale war began feel the same way. I had to leave too, fleeing the country I used to live in. Perhaps this is something we have in common with much of our audience. 

I want to know your experience of the day after the invasion. 

Kostylev: I was in Ericeira, Portugal with my family and the feeling was one of total uncertainty. The scale was completely unexpected; no one saw it coming. Later, we went to Nazaré, and there I witnessed incredible nature completely unaffected by the war. People there were probably aware of the news, but it didn’t affect them. There were kids smoking marijuana, enjoying the sun. It felt surreal. A catastrophic event was happening, with people dying and the world order in doubt, but life continued normally for all these people. That contradiction was powerful. Part of me felt it was wrong, but another part felt it was right.

Kreslina: I was alone at home when I got the news. I don’t remember my reaction, but I do remember the immediate realization that if I wanted to keep making music, I had to leave. Suddenly, everything became about escaping. It wasn’t until I left Russia that I started to feel like I could breathe, talk, and process things again. But then depression hit. I got stuck for a long time. Crying. Struggling with this heavy, irrational guilt that I knew wasn't fair to carry. 

Why did you feel guilty?

Kreslina: Because I felt like I failed. What I was doing in Russia was trying to make people notice processes happening in the country. I’m not a politician, but as an artist my mission was to talk about things that aren’t commonly discussed. I felt responsible, and I felt very angry with the Russian people for not paying attention, for being so detached from what was happening. 

So, I had to work through all these feelings. Now I see how people are recovering and realizing that, yes, there are people, yes, there is government, the two are connected, but they are not the same. You can’t influence what happens to your government, but despite that, you can still be a good person, and help. It was important for me to help the people I knew.

Going back to music helped me rediscover my meaning and find this sense of home again. Maybe now I can call making art my home. I understand that no matter where I am, if I’m doing what I love, and it gives me purpose and meaning, the mission is complete. I guess that’s part of growing up, realizing things like that. 

How is your relationship with Russia now that you’ve been away for so long?

Kostylev: I’ve felt closer to the culture. Slowly, I realized how Russian I am and how much it’s influenced what I do and how I think.  This week I went to the Orthodox Church in Athens, Greece. Even though I’m an atheist, I watched the Mass being celebrated and felt such an intense sense of belonging that I think I could say I had a real religious experience. I understood religion, how Orthodox I am, and how that has influenced what we do at IC3PEAK. I feel like the secret at the heart of the Abrahamic religions is a fundamental part of who I am. 

I saw the cross at the concert in Prague. It almost felt like a prop for a Mass. 

Kreslina: That was the idea. My mother is an opera singer and began her career in a church. She took me with her a lot when I was little. I’m not religious, but I’m fascinated by the artistic side of religion and its role in control. I like to know how religion influences how people think and feel about the things they can and can’t do. I believe in the power of art; it is, in a sense, my religion. So, bringing this cross onto the stage, into a space that isn’t usually perceived as ‘religious’, is very symbolic because, for me, any place where music is played is a religious place. People come to unite and have a common experience, a unifying experience.

You’ve said that the Orthodox Church teaches that the most valuable thing you can do is to suffer with God. Is that in your music? 

Kreslina: I guess it’s so deeply encoded in me that it’s hard to define. It’s normal to suffer in Orthodox culture. If you suffer, it’s not a big deal, it’s how it’s supposed to be. In my case, I sacrifice for art. Everything I have, I’ve invested in what I do. That’s how I’ve lived my life. So, in that sense, probably yes. But it’s also about feeling at home. Because music is my home. Art is my home. And going to church is my home too. So, bringing a large cross onto the stage is perhaps a subconscious declaration of trying to build my permanent home. 

This album isn’t just about loss and trying to find a new home, it’s not just about political issues, it’s also about the emotions you carry when you separate. Breaking away not only from the place you used to call home, but also from someone you loved. It’s about feelings. I wanted to give people the opportunity to process them. For me, that’s more important than making political statements, because I think many emotions are repressed, and it’s very difficult to talk about them. Perhaps through music we can release them and heal. 

Grab tickets to IC3PEAK’s ongoing world tour here.