‘This Is Who We Are… We’re Not Going Anywhere’: Alien Weaponry Won’t Stop Taking Māori Culture to the World

“We’re not teenagers anymore.”

It’s not the most brutal lyric on Te Rā, the thunderous third album from Alien Weaponry, but it might be the most important sentiment. For a band that went viral in their teens with 2018’s “Kai Tangata” – blending furious thrash, haka, and lyrics in te reo Māori – shaking off the novelty tag has been part of their evolution.

“Lewis [Raharuhi de Jong] has been 16 for eight years – at least, that’s what the internet thinks,” bassist and backing vocalist Tūranga Morgan-Edmonds laughs. “This album is us saying, ‘Hey, we’re men now.’ And with that comes a more mature outlook on life, which reflects in the lyrics and the music.”

That evolution pulses through Te Rā – a towering, groove-heavy statement co-produced by Josh Wilbur (Lamb of God, Gojira, Megadeth) that reclaims Alien Weaponry’s foundational sound while expanding its emotional and political scope.

“This was about finding middle ground,” Tūranga says. “The first album had that catchiness people loved, the second was more technical – so this time, we brought them together.”

There’s a new intensity to Te Rā, lyrically and sonically. Themes of disenfranchisement, mental health, and cultural erasure cut deep – as does the record’s heaviest track, “Taniwha”, featuring none other than Randy Blythe of Lamb of God.

While it may seem like a producer hookup – Wilbur has long produced Lamb of God – the collaboration began months earlier when Blythe privately messaged Tūranga after seeing one of his Māori culture posts on social media.

“I was sitting in my car listening to demos and thought, ‘This song needs something… it needs Randy,’” he says. “I didn’t tell anyone in the band in case he said no.”

He didn’t. In fact, Blythe contributed his own lyrics — even the Māori ones — and recorded his blistering verse in his own living room. “It wasn’t just a name-drop moment,” Tūranga says. “It felt like a real, meaningful collaboration. Lewis, who worships Lamb of God, was over the moon.”

Ironically, Blythe was originally slated to appear on “Hanging by a Thread”, but producer Josh Wilbur nixed the idea due to its overlap with the lyrics on Omens’ opening track, “Nevermore”. Instead, Blythe’s powerful spoken-word and scream-heavy verse found a perfect home on “Taniwha”, a song rooted in Māori lore and layered with menace.

And while Alien Weaponry’s lyrics carry a weight that’s both political and cultural, their process is anything but calculated. “We don’t really sit down and go, ‘The album needs to talk about these things.’ It’s just kind of how it falls into place,” Tūranga insists. “We feel whatever resonates with us at the time and get it down on paper.”

For a band from Aotearoa, singing in a language most of the world doesn’t understand, you’d expect Alien Weaponry to have quite a niche following. The opposite has happened: the band’s commitment to using te reo Māori as a vessel for education and resistance has struck a primal chord worldwide.

“There’s something in it that triggers the monkey brain,” Tūranga explains. “It’s like when people watch haka and say, ‘I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m moved.’ That same energy flows through our music.”

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From German festivals to Spanish mosh pits, crowds have learned the words – in te reo Māori. “We’ve had 15,000 people in Spain singing our lyrics back to us,” he says. “That’s powerful. That’s something we bring home to Māori people who’ve been told their language and culture don’t matter. It helps them feel that pride again.”

That global resonance also helps counter the narrative that Māori culture is somehow irrelevant or inaccessible. “We grew up in this country being told that nobody would care about your language, your people, your culture,” Tūranga says. “Now we’re taking it to the world and proving just how wrong that idea is.”

Nowhere is that reclamation more visible than on Tūranga’s face. The moko he wears — a traditional Māori tattoo — is the subject of the track “Mau Moko”, a “pride anthem” about choosing to carry cultural identity on your skin, despite the assumptions that come with it.

“It’s changed my life – in both beautiful and challenging ways,” he shares. “It’s about being visible. I used to blend in, because I have quite a pale skin tone really, but now people see me and go, ‘Oh, he’s Māori.’ That can bring judgement. But it also sparks pride, inspires others, and opens conversations.”

He acknowledges the stigma tied to moko due to its reintroduction through gang culture during times of poverty and cultural suppression. “They kept it alive, in a way. But now it’s time for us to reshape the narrative,” he says. “This isn’t about fear. It’s about heritage, legacy, and pride.”

There’s also a nuanced perspective on how moko is received, both at home and abroad. “Overseas, I don’t expect people to know what they’re seeing,” he says. “But in Aotearoa, the lack of understanding can be more disheartening. We’ve got more work to do – in our own backyard.”

Alien Weaponry’s album closes with “Te Kore”, a haunting, atmospheric track detailing the Māori creation story from nothingness to light. Written entirely by Tūranga, it’s more than an outro – it’s a spiritual reawakening.

“It was a way to end the album with hope,” he says. “You’ve been through this dark journey, then suddenly there’s light. It could even become the intro for album four.”

Earlier, on “Crown”, the band tackle colonialism’s chain reaction: from displacement to poverty to overrepresentation in justice systems. “It’s not just a Māori issue. It’s a global issue for Indigenous people and minorities everywhere,” Tūranga says.

Songs like “Tama-Nui-Te-Rā” and “Ponaturi” dive into Māori legends and cosmology, tapping into a collective ancestral memory that many listeners, Indigenous or not, instinctively feel. “These stories help explain the world through our lens,” he says. “They aren’t just myths – they’re maps.”

“These stories, not only are they cool stories, but they teach you some of the core elements that make Māori culture, Māori culture,” he adds. “There’s lessons to be learned, and it helps explain the world through the eyes of our people – not a Western perspective.”

And in between those two poles – despair and hope, history and future – lies Te Rā: an album about reckoning and resilience.

Their decision to work with Wilbur also marks a symbolic maturation. “We’d worked with the same producer – Lewis and Henry [Te Reiwhati de Jong]’s dad – on our previous albums. But there’s always that father-son dynamic. With Josh, it was a clean slate. No pushback. Just focus,” Tūranga says.

That shift speaks to the band’s growing confidence and clarity of vision. “We know what we want now,” he says. “And we know the kind of energy we want around us to make it happen.”

So what keeps them going? The reaction back home.

“If all you’ve been exposed to is a country telling you that your people don’t matter, your language doesn’t matter – that’s a hard thing to get out of. But if we can help change that, even just a little, that’s what keeps us going,” Tūranga says.

As the band continue touring Te Rā across the globe, they carry more than their instruments – they carry a message. A challenge to colonisation. A reclamation of culture. And an open invitation to listeners everywhere: come feel the fire.

“We’ve always said: this is who we are. We’re not going anywhere,” Tūranga says. “And if our music helps one disconnected kid back home feel proud to be Māori, then we’ve done our job.”

Alien Weaponry’s Te Rā is out now via Napalm Records.