KVELERTAK go wild for an electrifying live stream.

ARTILLERIVERKSTEDET, HORTEN, NORWAY

Easter Friday. Everyone’s itching to flout quarantine and celebrate thebabyjesus™ – got to stay put for the Kvelertak show, though. Streaming in lieu of their aborted EU tour, the Norwegian six-piece festoon an empty venue with plastic owls, red eyes piercing the darkness. Then harsh purple light. Kvelertak stand comically far apart, adhering to social distancing.

Rogaland’s opening chords summon vocalist Ivar Nikolaisen, the visage of

Iggy Pop and Axl Rose’s Scandinavian lovechild, screaming into the camera l ike it’s been bulk-buying loo roll. He’s so cool, it’s inconsequential that his one-way stage patter sinks like a hefty turd. Bulging with songs from new record

Splid, the set’s reliably tight – punky black metal meets rock’n’roll in unholy union. But tonight shines for three reasons. One: it’s amongst the slickest sound and camerawork of any quaranstream thus far. Two: Ivar isn’t Kvelertak’s ‘new’ singer – he’s just Kvelertak’s singer. Three: someone needs to give them a proper production budget.

Bråtebrann closes the main set, fire consuming the backline after Ivar ignites a bin with a massive flaming stick. This is what every Kvelertak show should look like: raw power flanked by pyrotechnic drama. Then the fire alarm abruptly ends everything. Fy faen, lads.

ALEC CHILLINGWORTH