Antoine Mikhtarian, known for his project MikhMakh, has a reputation for making music that is meant to be felt, not just heard. The Gothenburg-based artist is a frontman who performs and confronts simultaneously. As a singer, guitarist, and creative director, he creates work that rattles bones and probes at subjects we would rather leave buried.
“The Boss,” the final track on his latest release Flash Sale, is a perfect example of MikhMakh at its most raw. The song is a chaotic mix of satire and self-examination, all set to grinding riffs and a rhythm section that sounds like it’s trying to break free from the speakers.
At first, “The Boss” presents itself as an anthem for the man who has life perfectly managed. The lyrics are sharp and almost playful, “Grind beans, beard trim, I can’t lie / Just look at me I’m the perfect guy.” You can easily picture the montage of a curated morning routine, complete with tight jeans, clean sneakers, and a fancy watch. It’s a sharp parody of productivity culture and the kind of masculine perfection that fills social media feeds.
Mikhtarian doesn’t leave the critique there. Just as you get the joke, the song’s foundation collapses. The confident mask slips away, revealing a profound hollowness. “All boxes checked / There’s nothing left / Only productive frenzy / Everything’s there / But I don’t care / Why do I feel so empty?” This sudden shift from swagger to despair is what makes the track so devastatingly real.
The music itself mirrors this tension between groove and disorder. The riffs are heavy yet nimble, locking into Olle Sohlberg’s powerful drumming with an insistent urgency. There’s a physicality to the sound that you can feel, but it avoids becoming simple noise. Mikhtarian thrives in the narrow space where control and chaos wrestle, refusing to let either one dominate completely.
The production follows the lyrical unraveling. The track begins tight and polished, reflecting the “perfect guy” image, but it starts to fray as the song spirals downward. By the time he sings about caviar, cigars, and sports cars crashing into a “white light,” the music feels like it is coming apart. You can almost hear the denial in his voice cracking under the pressure.
The final line, “Who is the boss now?” hangs in the air after the music stops. It’s no longer a brag. It’s the haunting question from a ghost who has lost control. For anyone tired of metal that avoids risk, “The Boss” is essential. The song is heavy in every sense of the word, emotionally and existentially.
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