Krokus' Headhunter: The Swiss Metal Machine's Strike for the Big Time
Album Description:
1983 didn’t whisper. It stomped in wearing spandex, perfume, and an attitude problem, and the air was thick with bands begging for a hook that could survive daylight. Then Krokus dropped "Headhunter" and suddenly the Swiss weren’t “surprisingly good,” they were loud enough to be unavoidable.
This is the moment where their bar-room grit stopped living in small rooms and started craving bigger walls. Not because they got polite—because they got focused. The riffs lock in, the choruses aim for the back row, and Marc Storace sounds like he’s singing with his teeth clenched, which is exactly the correct mood for this record.
The credits on the page tell you the muscle behind it: produced by Tom Allom (with Butch Stone listed too), recorded at Bee Jay Studio in Orlando, Florida. You can hear that discipline—guitars stay sharp, drums hit like a shove, and nothing turns into that vague “metal mush” that eats lesser albums alive.
The title track "Headhunter" comes out swinging, no warm-up, no handshake. "Screaming in the Night" is the one that sticks—part menace, part rally-cry—while "Eat the Rich" grins as it throws elbows. "Ready to Burn" doesn’t pretend it’s subtle either. Good. Subtlety is overrated when you’re trying to level a room.
The funny thing is how this album still behaves like a weapon on vinyl. Turn it up and it doesn’t “sound nostalgic,” it sounds present—like the speakers are being asked to do a job. I’ve played it on quiet nights when the house is asleep, volume kept “reasonable,” and it still feels like it’s pacing the living room, annoyed at my good manners.
No, it’s not wall-to-wall speed. It’s weight. Even the cover of Bachman–Turner Overdrive’s "Stayed Awake All Night" fits the vibe: not a novelty, more like Krokus saying, “We can steal your song and still make it sound like our boots.”
The page also nails the blunt truth about its impact: "Headhunter" hit hard enough to earn Gold status in the United States. That’s the line between “cult band you defend” and “band you suddenly hear everywhere,” and Krokus crossed it with riffs, not manners.
Plenty of records from this era feel like props now—hair, hype, and a flimsy chorus. "Headhunter" doesn’t. It still bites. And if that makes it unfashionable in polite company, well… I’ll live.
