From the moment we hit record, Tim started peeling back the layers of what it means to be a front-man in 2026. Not the Instagram-filtered, “look at me” type. No. This was the man who lets the first snare hit rip open the cage of his inner beast and commands a room with a feral intensity that makes you feel like the floor might swallow you whole.
He talks about stage personas like they’re rituals—a transformation that’s equal parts catharsis and art. One moment he’s joking, riffing about banter and crowd interactions, the next he’s explaining the fine line between chaos and control, and I swear, I could feel the vibrations of those unseen guitars echoing through my skull.
Tim’s process isn’t random—it’s meticulous. He’s obsessed with immersion, lighting, interludes, textures between songs, the spaces where the crowd breathes and absorbs. Munt isn’t just a band; it’s a fucking living, pulsating organism. He’s thinking about colors, emotions, riots in the streets, how a riff can capture ambulances screaming past, and somehow, he puts it all into music that hits like a hammer made of magma.
And the album? Holy fuck. Tim insists it’s a self-portrait, but not in the narcissistic, “look at me” sense. It’s an honest, brutal snapshot of a brain that’s seen too much and refuses to flinch. He’s not looking for praise—he’s looking to give the world a mirror it might not like, and somehow, people sing back the words as if they were written on their bones.
We dove into influences, guilty pleasures (spoiler: none of them are guilty), and the strange little mental rituals that transform Tim from the man on the street to Killer on stage. He’s introspective, funny, terrifying, and real all at once. And somehow, all of that chaos is tethered to a disciplined, surgical precision when it comes to songwriting and band life.
I left that conversation feeling like I’d been through a psychedelic warzone of thought and sound, and I’m still piecing together all the fragments. The interview is below, and I swear to God, you need to watch it—not just for Tim, not just for Munt—but for that electric feeling you thought only existed at 2 a.m. in a sweaty metal venue.
Click play, strap in, and let Tim and Munt tear your head off with honesty, chaos, and unrelenting music.
This is the gospel.
I bite Crowdsurfers.
Killer.
