If there’s one word you’re guaranteed to encounter when reading and hearing about Norway’s Man The Machetes it’s ‘Kvelertak’. Yes, comparisons and points of reference are important for increasing exposure and alignment to potential audiences, but to define this Bergen/Oslo-based quartet simply by comparison to their compatriots does both a disservice; MTM don’t ‘sound like they play naked’ for starters.
Although both effuse the sort of mangled results of a head-on collision between hardcore and balls-to-the-dancefloor rock’n’roll, where Kvelertak juggle chaotic spasms indebted as equally to black metal as classic rock, Man The Machetes’ attack is of a whole other, darker and blisteringly more precise nature.
There’s a drive and desperation to Maktesløse that’s oddly reminiscent of the more controlled elements of Refused – helped by the production skills of Cancer Bat’s cohort Eric Ratz – and the anguish in Christopher Iversen’s vocals, during the rousing penultimate Sudan especially, revels in righteous indignation as much as party instigation.
