the Hives are back!

So I went and saw the Hives play last night. The set contained select hits from their previous three albums as well as some unfamiliar songs from the new album, out in a week. The new material went over well with you dress up for armageddon and you got it all...wrong highlighting the show. Wrong, in particular, had the most danceable melody I've ever heard from the Swedish five-piece. It was a hook-filled raveup recalling classic sixties girl group pop on amphetamines that had me shaking. The New York Dolls stuck to a similar formula before self-destructing. But unlike the Dolls, who told tall tales of low life and didn't give a shit better than anyone, the Hives involve the crowd and revel in their own pomp and circumstance. While the whole thing is very tongue-in-cheek, they're still convincingly incredulous when the crowd doesn't dance and scream to their undeniably catchy garage punk. Last night though, the boys worked the all-ages audience into a frenzy. The band was as tight as ever, a well-rehearsed and well-oiled touring machine that only missed a beat once, when Nicholas Arson broke a guitar string at the beginning of no pun intended.

Howlin' Pelle has perfected his persona and worked the stage like a traveling preacher, converting the unsure and winning new fans town by town (although he had Portland wrapped around his finger the second he strutted onstage). Tugging at his lapel for added emphasis between verses and inciting pandemonium with every wide-eyed stare into the crowd, Pelle prowled the stage like Mick Jagger, dropped to his knees like James Brown, and whipped the microphone around like Roger Daltrey. Arson spit in the air and punished his telecaster, making it squeal intermittently to punctuate supply and demand and main offender. Dr. Matt Destruction, on the bass, held down the low end and had his moment in the sun during the break in hate to say I told you so when he stepped to the front and grimaced in rock and roll agony. The sweat poured off his shiny bald pate before Pelle let out a primal scream and the band came back, crashing down around him. Drummer Chris Dangerous was flawless as usual and guitarist Vigilante Carlstroem, sporting a mustache, provided some much-needed background shouting. Taking cues from the polished acts of 1960s American soul revues, the Hives are indeed showmen of the highest caliber. And they put on one hell of a show. So after a three year break, it can now be proclaimed: "the Hives are back!"