Some puns are too perfect to pass up. That’s exactly how Bloodywood rapper Raoul Kerr felt after he and his New Delhi-based bandmates came across an Instagram story about one of their hard-hitting shows, where a fan excitedly proclaimed that “Nu Delhi was in the house.” The double entendre speaks, of course, to the deep sense of pride Bloodywood feel about their homebase and their musical roots.
The groundbreaking band — who have been mixing nu-metal grooves with South Asian rhythms since 2016 — all grew up listening to Linkin Park and Slipknot before putting their own unique stamp on the heavy-music scene. The social media post ended up being a prophetic and defining moment for the sextet.
“When we saw it, we couldn’t unsee it. It clicked for all of us at the same time,” Kerr recalls. “We used to say [our music] was ‘metal tikka masala,’ or a sensory overload that’ll leave you wanting more — a lot of different ways, but nothing quite hit the spot. ‘Nu Delhi’ became the perfect way to describe our sound.”
Indeed, the borrowed turn of phrase is the lynchpin of Bloodywood’s uproariously cross-cultural single “Nu Delhi” — the title track of their sophomore full-length, which also marks their first album for Fearless Records.
The song bounds through the speakers with seven-string guitar intensity and classically nu-bruising beats, bolstered by hypnotically booming Chaal counter-rhythms batted out on traditional dhol drums. Kerr waxes magnetic on the mic, rapping in English about growing up in the “wild, wild East,” while co-frontman Jayant Bhadula’s Hindi vocals blend a mellifluous, Indian folk-style vibrato and a lion’s roar as he weighs in on the varying “saints and sinners” thriving within their vibrant metropolis.
It’s a fun and heavy-as-fuck travel brochure that highlights both Bloodywood’s genre-blending sound and the eclectic streets that raised them. But even before this latest banger, the act’s cross-cultural appeal was turning heads around the globe.
Bhadula and guitarist-producer Karan Katiyar first met in New Delhi’s metal scene when their respective bands played on the same bill, and they officially teamed up as Bloodywood nearly a decade ago.
They first found viral success across a series of YouTube videos affixing metal heaviness to Indian standards, as well as through heavy parodies of songs by Post Malone, Nirvana and more. Kerr, a local rapper who had been developing a solo career, eventually linked up with Bloodywood for their cover of folk song “Ari Ari.” In 2018, they delivered their first original single, a more serious-themed piece on mental health called “Jee Veerey.”
As they expanded their songbook, Bloodywood also broke out of their local scene and began hitting the international circuit. They blew away crowds on headlining U.S. club tours with Wargasm and Vended, and delivered must-see main stage appearances at Wacken, Hellfest and more. Their 2022 single “Dana-Dan,” from debut album Rakshak, has ratcheted up multiple millions of streams online. The song received an additional boost in 2024 after showing up in actor-director Dev Patel’s action-thriller, Monkey Man.
And this year, Bloodywood are poised to take over the world on their joint tour with Japanese kawaii-metal faves BABYMETAL, whom they teamed up with on Nu Delhi’s “Bekhauf,” a tri-lingual smackdown of English, Hindi and Japanese about conquering your fears and achieving your true potential. (There’s also a follow-up collab called “Kon! Kon!” on BABYMETAL’s upcoming Metal Forth album.)
But even as Bloodywood prepare to push their boundaryless music harder than ever before, the band’s collective heart remains firmly with New Delhi. Its various members — likewise including drummer Vishesh Singh, bassist Roshan Roy and dhol player Sarthak Pahwa — all grew up in the vast diaspora of Delhi, a city of roughly 33 million citizens.
Kerr describes his home to Revolver as a “melting pot where you see a mix of ancient and modern side-by-side.” Bhadula says he often slides elements of Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi and English into conversations, reflecting the free-flowing dialects within the city. The diversity of the region’s food scene is celebrated on Nu Delhi’s “Tadka,” an ode to how you can find impeccable flavors wherever you turn, from “the streets [to] the five-star.”
“The things that had the biggest impact on me were the amounts of different kinds of people here, the cultures that they brought and how their natural coexistence seemed so normal to me,” Kerr says with a sense of wonder. “The fact that it could be a microcosm of the world… It’s magical in that sense”
Bhadula, meanwhile, says that the resounding positivity they bring to “Nu Delhi” and “Tadka” is also a way to counter false global perceptions of his hometown as a “dirty” place full of “people shitting in the streets.” As de facto ambassadors of the heaviest order, Bloodywood are determined to set the record straight.
“What is being portrayed outside [of New Delhi] — by racists or people that’ve formed this [mental] imagery per what the internet tells them — this is not where we live,” says Bhadula. “So, we wanted to give everyone a glimpse of what we go through, and what this city and nation is all about.”
Bhadula, a third-generation resident of New Delhi, grew up attending an Air Force academy, where he got his musical start singing military anthems, folk songs and Bollywood standards in the school choir. He enjoyed performing, but he also felt like he wasn’t a very good singer. That all changed shortly after a visit to his uncle’s house, when a cousin introduced him to Nickelback, Rammstein and Amon Amarth. His taste in music — and perception of how to use your voice — was changed forevermore.
Bhadula was hooked and started making regular trips back, armed with stacks of blank CDs to burn as many metal tracks as possible. A new, scream-heavy world opened up to him, and as he fell for the sounds of Linkin Park and Lamb of God, it became clear — his choir days were over. “I was like, ‘Fuck singing like a human! How do I make these T-Rex sounds?’”
The young musician began locking himself in his bedroom to build up his beastly screaming voice — to the bewilderment of his family. “My parents didn’t know what I was doing,” Bhadula exclaims with a laugh. After getting a bunch of bad growls out of his system, he says he fully mastered the art of screaming while working through Slipknot’s “Psychosocial.” He’s been howling ever since.
Co-vocalist Kerr, meanwhile, didn’t have much musical ambition growing up. He was, however, a huge Linkin Park fan — especially drawn to the mic style of their rap-centric co-vocalist, Mike Shinoda. Kerr explains that the nu-metal group’s 2003 sophomore album, Meteora, was his gateway to both rap and metal.
Though he’d memorize verses and spit them out for his school friends, he never really took it beyond that. While he still cites Shinoda’s flow as the guiding light in his journey to becoming an MC, Kerr only began to see rapping as a viable career path after watching a freestyle video from an unlikely source: Justin Bieber.
“Back then I didn’t like him for all of the wrong reasons — you know, toxic masculinity — but that’s changed now. I can appreciate him as an artist,” Kerr confesses. “But my point is, back then I remember being like, Damn, if Justin Bieber can rap, what am I doing not trying? It was born out of such a dumb thought, but I was like, Hell yeah, let me take a shot.”
Years later, Kerr and his Bloodywood cohorts are still swinging big. Nu Delhi features their most monstrous grooves, but the rapper also loves howthey’re juxtaposing the heaviness of “Tadka” with the fun-and-flavorfulfood puns. Elsewhere, “Hutt” mixes progressive-djent bombast with Kerr’sbars about battling online negativity. While the rapper says the response toBloodywood has mostly been great, he knows it’s impossible to completelyescape the hate.
“Typical stuff, man. People will be like, ‘This isn’t real metal. Why is there a rapper? It’s a gimmick.’ And hate for India, in general,” he says. “People are going to talk shit about you. Despite that, you’re still going to take a risk. It’s easy to ignore it because of the love and support we get.”
Bhadula has experienced a ton of highs in his time with Bloodywood, from bonding with his bandmates in Katiyar’s home studio to performing around the world. But he admits he sometimes gets feelings of imposter syndrome as his band gets bigger. Nu Delhi’s synth-and-soaring-guitar collab with BABYMETAL, “Bekhauf” (which translates to “Fearless”), acts as a pledge to conquer those anxieties. And backed by the bold sound of his Bloodywood bandmates, Bhadula is better able to tap into his Nu Delhi state of mind.
“There are days where I’m like, Hey, how the fuck am I [getting to do] this job which 90 percent of the world is not able to,” he says. “But then the other side of my brain is like, Because you put in the effort, you bitch! You’ve been working at this since you were 13.”
Revolver caught up with Bloodywood in their hometown, where they generously took us on a tour of some of their favorite local haunts.
JAYANT BHADULA My grandfather used to take me to Chidambaram’s when I was really young. They do some Chinese food, but obviously the main specialty is South Indian cuisine. There’s only one thing I get, a masala dosa. I’ve had it since I was a kid.
Chidambaram’s is located in Khanna Market, and it is fucking awesome. It’s always busy. You gotta stand outside for 15-20 minutes to be seated. There’s always people waiting. You’ve gotta be a little sly and say, “Hey, I was here first!”
RAOUL KERR I’m eating a plate of idli, which is like fermented rice cakes. It’s a very simple dish. Very fluffy, and fun to bite into, but it also has this slightly sour aftertaste to it. You mix it with the chutneys. There’s a coconut chutney and a tomato one. I think the other one is coriander-based, so it has extra zing to it because it has some chili in it.
I’m drinking a nimbu soda, which is an aerated lemonade — a mixture of [fresh] lemons and soda. Some people have it with sugar. I have it with rock salt, which gives you a salty, fizzy, lemon-flavored drink. It’s great with Indian food.
BHADULA Devan’s is a place near my house where you get good coffee beans. I don’t go there frequently, because it’s a little expensive for my tastes — but they have one of the best coffees I’ve had in my life. The barista makes you a great fucking Americano. I really love Americanos, espressos less so. I don’t want to [order] a triple espresso shot and then have a heart attack.
BHADULA Khanna Market is huge, with 101 shops. It’s a great fucking place to just eat, buy clothes and whatnot. That is one of my memories of growing up [near there]: “Oh fuck, I can get street food — and buy clothes and CDs?”
KERR The market we’re sitting next to is a super posh place called Khan Market. When Karan and I started hanging out, we didn’t have money to keep going into stores. So, we sat outside under this lamppost because there was a tobacco store nearby.
We used to smoke some cigs and listen to music on a set of headphones. We were listening to my debut [2018 solo] album [No Flag] and I was introducing him to my music and ideas. He was talking about all the stuff he’d done. We went there regularly to hang out and talk about music, our goals and life in general.
BHADULA Azam’s is at Khan Market. I used to come here when I was in school. Me and my friends would bum classes and come here to eat rolls — generally just a roti with either a kebab [or] chicken. But there’s also lots of vegetarian options.
KERR I go there for the food and the environment. Khan Market does have stores and all, but it’s more about the cafes and the restaurants. It creates good vibes.
KERR Sometimes we let the city take over. Back with [2018’s] “Ari Ari” video, a guy was setting up a wedding. There was a garden, and the place where the bride and groom stand. He thought what we were doing was cool and was like, “You’re shooting a video? None of the guests are here, just hop in and do your thing.” And then a horse and a camel presented themselves randomly, unplanned, on the streets of Delhi.
So, the city comes to life and helps you do your thing.
BHADULA I take an auto-rickshaw — which is basically the same thing as a rickshaw bike, but motorized — every day. Generally, I am going to Raoul’s place, because from there he drives to Karan’s house, where the studio is based.
I don’t own a car because I am shit when it comes to driving. I used to drive a cruiser bike. I was really fond of it. But then I had an accident, so I stopped driving — because I don’t want to die this young!
KERR Karan’s studio is actually in a [city] outside Delhi called Noida. It’s up-and-coming, so you’ll see a lot of different sides of their economy: a small village here and then high-rises and all the most modern stuff [over there].
Karan lives in an apartment building that’s Egyptian-themed. On the same street where you see auto-rickshaws and all these modern cars, you’ll see this gate with a massive Sphinx next to it. But people won’t even look at it twice. It’s like, “Of course that’s here.” It’s very beautifully Indian, in that sense.
BHADULA We started off recording at Karan’s place. Even the Rakshak album was all done here. It’s a safe haven — a place where I feel more creative than usual.
For this album, Nu Delhi, we did dabble with another studio to do vocals in, but it just did not work. I did not feel confident. I didn’t have that usual back-and- forth with Karan. This is the dojo where we brawl and come up with ideas.
BHADULA The Delhi Metro is the busiest place you’ll ever visit, but it was not open to the general public when we shot the “Nu Delhi” video. It closes at 12 in the morning, and it starts again at five. So, we had five hours — but we finished everything in three hours and 50 minutes. I was actually checking the time because it was very expensive to shoot there.
KERR It was the middle of the night, and it was fucking hot. But our friends and family showed up and everyone headbanged [until] their necks were sore. You couldn’t ask for anything more. That’s the sense of community and family you find in Delhi.
You’re also allowed to run-and-gun with your camera here. For “Nu Delhi,” I was running though Chandni Chowk, one of the busiest markets, weaving through rickshaws and around people carrying stuff on their heads. There was livestock — all this insane shit coming at you. It’ll give you those magical shots that you just can’t script.
KERR That’s Subir Malik, one of the founding members of Parikrama — one of the first Indian rock bands that everyone [in Bloodywood] really knew about. They were doing a lot of covers, but [seeing] Indian guys playing these rock classics was a big deal for us growing up. It probably subconsciously influenced us to be like, “Of course making music is a possibility.”
BHADULA Karan and Raoul are my closet friends. If I have any troubles in life, these two guys are the ones I go to. All of it revolves around us three. We’re comfortable with each other. And it started with the process of creating music.