Jani Kaunis & The Puukot / Kohtalon Rummut

It begins with a shriek — high, electric, animalistic.

Jani Kaunis doesn’t wake up. He resurrects — migraine looming, unfinished business clinging to him like smoke in his coat.

Kothalon Rummut is not a song.
It is an escape.

Fast. Restless. Thudding like a hare’s heartbeat through snowblind forests. The drums land as if the earth itself is hitting back. The guitars claw like midwinter’s sharpest frost.

There is no tranquility here — only motion.

Away — from the beast, the truth, or maybe just the gnawing fangs of one’s own conscience.

“Some stains don’t come out. Not with soap, not with time, not even with Minttu. I stopped trying.
Now I let it soak in — like winter into bones.”
– Mr. Kaunis

Where its predecessor Tappava Tie crept through shadows, Kothalon Rummut charges in steel-shod strides.

This is rautalanka without mercy.

No one waits for redemption — only for someone to pay.

“I dream of snow that never melts and blood that never dries. I wake up sweating, fists clenched, heart pounding like an old kick drum. I tell myself it was just a dream.
But I know better.”
– Mr. Kaunis

The gospel continues.
The drums do not stop.