Erlend Hjelvik is a beast of an unpronounceably named man. He’s Kvelertak’s kutte-wearing, fur-chinned shouter. His mission: spitting whiskey-soaked gravel directly into your ear drums. If he doesn’t induce fifth-degree whiplash, his duded-up platoon of punk-sucking metal-trash do. Their song titles alone sprint like Rottweiler barks. Fossegrim. Bruane Brenn. Snake Plisskenist. These Rottweilers also have circular saws for teeth.
Interview: Kvelertak (HEAVY Mag #8)
Oh dem cray-cray Norwegians. I'd show you the spread my "hectic, hairy and oh, so huge" Kvelertak interview appeared on, but their bludgeoning rock force blurred the JPEG. Next time use TIFF files, dawg! I that's what you get for using 16th Century technology to "communicate ideas." But it's in HEAVY Mag #8 if you wanna read it. Cor blimey.