Quite a year, really. First the epicentre of rock'n'roll is located in The Strokes' downtown New York basement. A couple of months later, it's moved on to the crazed pop-art-bluesman homestead of Jack White in Detroit. And right now, it's hard to pinpoint exactly, but appears to be moving violently between two remote and hitherto unnoticed towns in Sweden.
You may have heard of The Hives, Fagersta's finest, as the last men standing on Alan McGee's troubled Poptones imprint. They're the band, essentially, to make us forget how much shit he's foisted on us over the past year or so in the name of indie. And more importantly, they might save not just his company, but rock'n'roll itself.
Rarely has a band so actively encouraged and deserved unjustifiable hyperbole. For neophytes, The Hives number five, all dress in black shirts and trousers, white ties and shoes, and behave like a cross between a '60s showband and a team of suicide bombers. This is garage rock at its most rudimentary and narcissistic, played with tremendous energy and the odd knowing wink. There are hundreds of precedents, of course, most recently the revivalist thrash of Rocket From The Crypt and The Make-Up.
But the beauty of the Hives' slick, mad, incredibly fast 30 minutes is that it reminds you that nothing is more exciting than this stupid music when it's played with this much love and fury. Just look at them: frozen in their poses one minute, trashing their gear with choreographed precision the next. Look at the demented fop that is Howlin' Pelle Almqvist, a man who renders the continued existence of Mick Jagger entirely irrelevant. And listen to them, too, because 'Hate To Say I Told You So' and 'Supply And Demand' are the best excuses you'll have to jump on the heads of your loved ones this Christmas. 'Your New Favourite Band' is the name of their current compilation album on Poptones, and they may have a point.
Any more at home like that? It appears so, since the support band are, roughly, Your New Second Favourite Band. International Noise Conspiracy come from the rock Valhalla of Umea, dress in matching black Converse boots, mix up radical leftist ideology with psychotic rock'n'roll theatre and have a singer, Dennis Lyxzé, who makes Howlin' Pelle look shy and retiring. Gasp! then, at his fancy footwork, uncertain breakdancing and frankly ill-advised leaps from the speaker stacks. Cower! before their vicious thrash through The Stooges' 'TV Eye'. And fear! for their career when you spot Noel 'Kiss Of Death' Gallagher nodding approvingly on the balcony; these kids'll be as big as Proud Mary, mark my words. But my God, what a show.
