A vintage TV crackling with static. Mangled branches. A lone car drifting down a rural road. And then, a woman in a wedding dress hangs from a tree — blindfolded, the fabric caked in blood, a red jewel placed in her open mouth. Who is she? Who did this? And why?
This isn’t any old crime drama. It’s the opening installment of How Long Is Forever?, a video series created by Ohio alt-metal upstarts ASAVA. Frontman Liam Brocious — who also directs, edits and stars in the project — conceived it as a visual companion to their 2025 debut, Mantras, an attempt to match the cinematic intensity of the music and give their rapidly growing audience more immersive layers to be swept up in.
That first episode of How Long Is Forever? is set to “Rue,” a meditative slow-burn that detonates into a thundering climax. The album mirrors that wide-screen scale, threading modern atmospherics, progressive riffs and twisting, shimmering melodies into moments of heart-shattering catharsis. There’s a dark, ominous beauty to it, inviting comparisons to scene heavyweights like Sleep Token or Bad Omens — and if the meteoric rise of those bands is any indication, ASAVA may be next in line.
Brocious and Co. are looking to build on that momentum. A second album, Mahjong, is on the way and will serve as part two of a larger vision. But the path that led here has been far from straightforward. It began at a point when Brocious felt he had nothing left to lose, because, in many ways, he believed he’d already lost everything.
ASAVA — currently comprised of Brocious, bassist Greg Cochran, drummer Spencer Cindia and guitarists Zach Rusher and Garrett Gump — have existed in some form for nearly a decade. A few years ago, just as their ascent was accelerating through a handful of singles and festival slots at Aftershock, Louder Than Life and Inkcarceration, the band began to splinter. Members left. Momentum stalled. Away from the band, Brocious felt as if his personal life was also shrinking, watching friendships fade and familiar faces drift away. Between these simultaneous implosions, a drained Brocious wondered if he even had anything left in the tank to use for music. The only constants in his inner circle were his wife and his brother — and unexpectedly, his wife became his creative north star.
“I was like, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know the kind of stuff that she likes,” he recalls. “So I thought, I’m just gonna make stuff for her.”
This is how the framework for Mantras was built. Despite Brocious’ own uncertainty about the exact direction he was heading, he still found a way to anchor himself. The singer admits he hasn’t always had the healthiest ways of processing emotion, but songwriting has long been his outlet — even if that devotion borders on obsessive. “I’ll lock myself in my room for three days, not even showering,” he reveals, “just because I keep trying to work a song out, because I’ve got other shit in my head to work out.”
On Mantras, he sounds like someone reintroducing himself to himself, gritting his teeth through the painful transitions of adulthood as his twenties ended and his thirties began. It’s an identity shift marked by frustration, ego and reluctant self-awareness. “I hate you sometimes,” he sings in “Confidence,” as if he’s looking at himself in the mirror. “But I’m learning to love from the inside.”
Mikey Rogers
Despite ASAVA’s modern metal sheen, Brocious didn’t grow up steeped in heavy music. Before the band, he gravitated towards the moodier textures of trip-hop. In his own writing, he simply follows wherever his emotions take him. “The songs are not made by any means to be popular or please any sort of sound, or anything,” he says. “If it’s aggressive, it’s because I’m fucking angry.”
Music isn’t Brocious’ only creative outlet. His love of film may be just as significant, if not more so. “We have more technical training in videography and film than we do in music. Nobody took music lessons or anything like that,” he says. Away from the band, he works as a freelance videographer and editor, a practical side hustle that fits neatly around band life while keeping the cash flowing in. At one point in our conversation, he quizzes us on our favorite films — a quick way, he explains, of getting to the core of someone’s being.
The idea for How Long Is Forever? took root after a binge of HBO’s True Detective sent Brocious tumbling down a rabbit hole of bleak, psychological crime noir.
“I unintentionally watched this movie called Prisoners right afterwards, which was also another dark detective noir. Then I started doing my thing, obsessing, watching Seven, The Silence of the Lambs and Longlegs….” That’s when the question formed: “How do I make my own version of fucked-up detective stuff?”
At the time, he adds, “I had nothing to lose, neither did anybody in the band.” So, they committed. Brocious cast himself as the detective at the nucleus of the story — driving from house to house in search of the truth, pinning evidence on a board, brandishing a pistol.
The gamble worked and people took notice. But ironically, as Mantras gained traction and the videos racked up views, Brocious found himself struggling again — this time with success. “The record started doing well, and so much started happening. I was not dealing with it well, personally,” he admits. “Even though all this stuff was good, I was kind of falling apart a little bit. It was enough for people I haven’t talked to in years to text me and know they’re only hitting me up because [ASAVA’s] becoming somewhat popular in this niche metal world. Then my age became a part of it, realizing I’m resentful of the world about it all. Now I’m 30, where was it all before?”
Brocious’ frustration has now softened into perspective — and, at times, peace. “I’ve realized how uncool that is to think and how illogical it is to feel that way,” he says. “Your time is your time, and you’re not in control of any of that stuff, whatever your pursuit might be. There’s a freedom in accepting that you can’t control shit.”
For ASAVA, that surrender has translated into forward motion. And their forthcoming Mahjong will act as a purposeful next step. “It’s like a part two, rather than leftovers,” says Brocious. “Kind of like a movie — the Dune: Part Two to Dune, or something.” Meanwhile, new episodes of How Long Is Forever? remain in production, pushing the story even further into the darkness Brocious has created.
Ten years in, ASAVA are no longer fighting to exist. They’re building something larger — a universe of sound and image shaped by obsession, reinvention and the hard-earned clarity that sometimes losing control is the first step toward finding it.