Born from a noisy encounter between a tank and a make-up kit, little Coverkill (approx. 370 Kg at birth) took great joy very early on in hollering night and day. A turbulent child, he was a chip off the old block: relentless heaviness, a natural tendency towards demolition and a pronounced taste for extravagance. Some thought he was possessed by the Devil. This was without taking into account that the Devil has better things to do (like going to get a pair of ear plugs for example). Others went so far as to accuse him of copying his bigger friends – Lemmy, Maiden, Judas, Kreator, Manowar for the boys; Joan, Sepultura, Metallica for the girls. They even said that time wasn't helping matters. Once again without taking into account the fact that he just let his school friends whistle his songs at recess while waiting for them to become popular.

Today, at 7 years old, this half pint doesn’t do things halfway and rains down decibels anywhere that complacent ears have guided their courageous, and often drunken owners. Yes, Coverkill doesn't (only) sing in his bathroom but also, and most often, in other people's bathrooms. Big or small, it doesn't matter because everyone knows that it's not the size that counts. No, what really counts is to see your hair twirling, your fingers raised, your tongues stretched out and your eyes bulging. To hear your savage howls and the sound of your necks cracking. And, finally, to smell the scent of the sweat and beer that sticks to the floor after the battle.

False to Death Metal !