THE DUNGBEETLE CONSPIRACY

There is something strangely appropriate about choosing the dung beetle as the symbol of a band.
It pushes forward against resistance, carrying a burden that appears disproportionate to its size, yet persistence alone is not enough.
For Swiss Heavy Alt Rock quartet The Dungbeetle Conspiracy, the philosophy behind their name also requires knowing when to let go, learning from failure and continuing forward rather than allowing a setback to become the end of the journey.
Their simple creed, ‘Let’s Roll‘, consequently becomes much more than a slogan.
That balance between opposing forces runs throughout the band’s self titled debut.
Darkness exists beside light, heaviness beside melody and deeply personal experiences behind lyrics that deliberately avoid explaining everything to the listener.
For Serge Morattel, writing can transform grief, fear and memory into something poetic and open to interpretation.
Nowhere is that more personal than ‘The Grief Unseen’, inspired by losing his mother to ALS, or ‘The Dungbeetle Trilogy’, which grew from his brother’s battle with cancer and ultimately turns the band’s central metaphor into a story of recovery, energy and determination.
Musically, The Dungbeetle Conspiracy draw naturally from the sounds Serge grew up with, particularly the Seattle scene, without approaching those influences as something that needs to be reconstructed.
Songs emerge spontaneously before being transformed by the personalities of all four musicians, while the band’s control over recording and production allows them to preserve both power and atmosphere.
In this interview by Fok ‘bs‘, Serge Morattel, vocals and guitar with Swiss Heavy Alt Rock quartet The Dungbeetle Conspiracy, talks about persistence, grief, family, rumination, darkness and light, musical freedom, the importance of letting go and why there will probably always be another hill to climb.
A dung beetle survives by pushing something considerably larger than itself forward against resistance.
It is a great metaphor for persistence, but also potentially for refusing to let go.
How do you recognise the difference between determination and stubbornly pushing an idea that should actually be abandoned?
“This metaphor is both an image and a mantra a reminder never to forget your dreams, and of the mental and physical strength required to achieve them while keeping that essential faith alive. In practice, this mantra doesn’t work if you don’t learn to let go. Our slogan, ‘Let’s Roll’, is actually quite liberating: ‘Okay, we failed this time?’ That’s fine. Let’s roll, keep going, and learn from our mistakes.”
Your debut carries the band’s name, which often suggests a statement of identity.
Did you call it ‘The Dungbeetle Conspiracy’ because these songs define who the band is, or because you wanted the first album to establish a starting point from which you can later escape?
“Finding a band name is never easy. When I decided to start a group again, I wanted to do it with friends who shared the same vision. Pascal Jean, the drummer, and I have known each other since we were four years old and have worked on many projects together. Jeremy Morret, our lead guitarist, lives in the same village and shares my courtyard; I watched him grow up, take his first steps on the guitar, and instantly spotted his incredible virtuosity. As for Adrian Hirt, we played together in the band CLAW – what an incredible bassist and human being. When I proposed forming this band and suggested the name, they all gave a resounding ‘YES’. I knew then it was the right choice. It is clearly the band’s identity. but we also decided on an eponymous album title because it’s the starting point for The Dungbeetle Conspiracy.”
The influence of the Seattle scene can clearly be heard in your music, but nostalgia can easily become a comfortable prison.
When writing, what tells you that a riff carries the spirit of something you love rather than simply repeating a musical language somebody else created thirty years ago?
“Being from the same generation as the musicians of that era I’m 58, born in 1967 I naturally share similar influences. When I discovered those bands in the early ’90s and saw how they translated their music into images, it felt like an absolute given. That language was mine. I already had the background; I explored that toolkit yet: open tunings, guitar technique used without becoming a flashy flex, and letting raw emotion take over anger as much as deep sadness all backed by a massive guitar sound. So when I write, I don’t ask myself questions. I’m not trying to sound like anyone else. I play for my own pleasure, and usually, an idea just lands under my fingers when I least expect it. Then, as a band, everyone brings their own ideas and influences. It’s a very spontaneous process.”
There is a recurring tension on the album between heaviness and melody, almost as though one is constantly trying to pull the other in a different direction.
Do those two sides represent different personalities within the band, or are darkness and beauty inseparable for you?
“I don’t think our personalities within the band are radically different. We all have strong characters, but also a good dose of hypersensitivity. I’d say darkness and light are inseparable in our music – they are two ends of the same day, or the same life, leading to these sensations of heaviness and lightness. The point isn’t to get stuck on one side or the other, but to live with both. The melancholy of a starry night or a sunset can lead us toward tender melodies, while a stormy night or a scorching hot sunny day brings power and heaviness.”
‘In Circles’ is an interesting title because repetition can mean being trapped, but it can also mean returning to something until you finally understand it.
Which of those ideas comes closer to the song, and are there things in your own lives that you seem destined to keep encountering in different forms?
“Yes, this image of going in circles fits the concept of rumination, which is really the central theme of this track. I know that state of mind all too well. Over the years, I’ve learned to step back and detach myself from it because no matter what we do, the clock keeps ticking. We might as well use that time to be confident and happy, knowing that if we couldn’t get it right today, we’ll surely do better tomorrow.”
The album contains titles such as ‘A Poem To The Gate Of Hell’, ‘The Grief Unseen’ and ‘Hangman’s Game’, yet the record never seems interested in darkness simply for theatrical effect.
What makes a dark subject worth turning into a song rather than keeping it private?
“For me, writing is a form of release a way to express personal things that touch me deeply without resorting to literal, first-degree oversharing. I love the idea of writing lyrics that feel poetic, abstract, or imagery-driven, making the listener ask, ‘What does this actually mean?’ Everyone can form their own interpretation, even though it stems from a personal experience or a topic that inspired me. Take ‘Cries of the Loons’, for example: I wrote it for my two sons. It’s actually a very positive song about pushing them to take flight!”
‘The Grief Unseen’ suggests something particularly difficult, suffering that exists without necessarily being visible to anybody else.
Is music capable of expressing certain forms of grief more truthfully precisely because it does not have to explain them literally?
“You hit the nail on the head regarding what I wanted to convey. I lost my mother to a terrible illness, ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis). Her body gradually shut down while her mind stayed fully intact until the very end. It was heartbreaking to watch her leave us that way. Yet, she showed such immense resilience that I kept my grief locked deep inside myself out of respect. That is what inspired the text.”
You wrote, recorded and mixed the album, which gives one person enormous influence over its initial DNA.
When the other three musicians enter that process, at what point does a Serge Morattel composition stop belonging to Serge and become a Dungbeetle Conspiracy song?
“When I write a track, I’m already thinking about what the other members will do with it. Once the song is brought to the band, everyone naturally finds their space and brings their own ideas to turn it into a collective Dungbeetle Conspiracy song.”
Because you recorded the album yourselves at REC Studio, you had considerably more control than a band simply arriving at somebody else’s studio.
Can having too much control become dangerous, because there is nobody outside the band willing to say, ‘stop, the song was finished yesterday‘?
“I was a bit worried about that at first because I am extremely demanding with myself when working with client bands. But I managed to let go, especially during the final mixing phase. I worked quickly and without second-guessing myself too much!”
You use ‘Whispers’ and ‘By The Fire’ as interludes rather than maintaining constant heavy impact.
Do you see silence, space and anticipation as another form of heaviness, something that can make the next distorted guitar feel more powerful precisely because it was temporarily absent?
“The idea for these interludes was also designed with the live stage in mind we actually have others during our sets. There’s nothing worse than the awkward heaviness of silence between songs while musicians are tuning up! I view them as a calm before the storm. An interlude sets up the next track perfectly, whether it’s heavy or quiet, by establishing the atmosphere.”
Geneva is hardly the first place people internationally associate with dark, heavy alternative rock.
Does being geographically removed from the places that originally shaped this musical language give you greater freedom, because there is no local mythology you are expected to obey?
“Well, our small country has always had its share of dark, heavy rock bands that exported brilliantly. Take Celtic Frost, a major reference for Dave Grohl (who invited Tom G. Warrior to sing on his Probot project), or Coroner, Tommy Vetterli’s incredible band. Right here in Geneva, we have the singer/guitarist from The Young Gods a band that heavily inspired Soundgarden. Kim Thayil is a huge fan and often wore their T-shirt on stage, and you can find interviews of Chris Cornell talking about them! So, while these aren’t traditional ‘alternative rock’ bands, there has always been a strong, authentic inspiration here a very personal style balancing darkness and light that influenced musicians in Switzerland and abroad. In that sense, we feel completely free and entirely legitimate, right here in Geneva.”
The album ends with ‘The Dungbeetle Trilogy’, after the listener has already travelled through circles, loons, grief, whispers, fire and a hangman’s game.
Does that final piece explain the conspiracy behind the band’s name, complicate it, or deliberately leave the listener with more questions than answers?
“This song came from the story of my brother, who recovered from a serious battle with cancer. Back when he was still in the hospital, it made a deep impression on me. He’s an outdoorsman, a river fisherman, someone who can build a campfire like no one else. The first part of the trilogy was written to support him, as if to say, ‘Listen to this song, maybe it will ease your pain’. Part two imagines him regaining his vital energy and running breathlessly through the forest. Then in part three, he spots dung beetles in the distance, follows them, and adopts their creed!”
Imagine the dung beetle from your name finally reaches the top of the hill after years of pushing its burden.
What would be more frightening for The Dungbeetle Conspiracy, discovering another hill ahead, or discovering that there is suddenly nothing left to push?
“The life of a band and of a musician is made of ups, downs, and sheer determination, which is everything the dung beetle symbolizes. So we certainly aren’t afraid of facing a new hill to climb, and it’s almost a given that there will always be something left to push. So go, ‘Let’s Roll!'”
The Dungbeetle Conspiracy may have chosen an unusual creature to carry their identity, but Serge Morattel’s answers reveal how completely its symbolism fits the band.
Persistence is important, but persistence without the ability to let go can become its own trap.
Failure can be accepted, rumination can be escaped and darkness can exist without overwhelming the light beside it.
Even the band’s heavier music operates according to that balance, allowing melody, silence and atmosphere to carry as much emotional importance as sheer volume.
Behind those ideas are experiences considerably more personal than the band’s imagery might initially reveal.
Serge writes about people he loves, about watching his mother retain extraordinary resilience while ALS gradually took control of her body, about supporting his brother through cancer and about wanting his sons to find the courage to take flight.
Yet those experiences are rarely explained literally within the songs.
By turning them into images rather than instructions, he leaves enough space for listeners to discover meanings of their own.
That makes the dung beetle more than a visual identity for a debut album.
It becomes a philosophy about movement itself.
There will be difficult climbs, burdens that seem too large, moments when something must be abandoned and others when determination is the only thing capable of carrying you forward.
The Dungbeetle Conspiracy do not appear particularly interested in reaching a final summit.
As long as there is another hill and something worth pushing toward it, the journey continues.
by Fok ‘bs‘