From the non-existing cotton fields of Norway’s suburbia hell we bring you a ramblin’, whiskey-fuelled-raving maniac, armed to the teeth with a machine that not only kills fascists, but every kind of hypocrite and biggot there is.
With a name that is impossible to remember,
also containing a letter that only exist in the Swedish alphabet, this artist is completely unbrandable, making him every pr-agent’s worst nightmare. Acoustic guitars, twangin' banjos and screamin' squeezeboxes are drivin' forth simple, happy folk tunes mixed with a message of anger, despise and loathing. Uncompromising and pessimistic, Täppas is one of the metronomicon-crew’s most politicized members.