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So the big question after the release
of Veni Vedi Vicious was: Can this batch of irony-lathered
Swedes survive the much-hyped garage revival that failed to
ignite the mainstream, as well as the multi-million dollar
payday from signing with the majors at Universal? Then came
news the album was delayed due to touring and a desire to
finish it when it was done. Next came the promises of a new
sound informed by the Sex Pistols, The Detroit Cobras and
Kraftwerk….but still distinctly The Hives? Suddenly
we’re faced with the stupidest album title in ages and
a bevy of new suits highlighted by Colonel Sanders’
bow-ties. Christ, when was the last time a band tried this
hard to stack all odds against themselves? Picture the Stone
Roses’ Second Coming minus the expectations
and a fraction of the cocaine. Fuck it, this looks like failure
on the grandest scale. Do you guys want me to hate you that
badly? Isn’t that And You Will You Know Us By The Trail
Of Mediocrity’s job? This long-winded Q-without-A is
necessary, though, because despite all of the above, the bastards
have really pulled one out.
Not only is Tyrannosaurus Hives not embarrassing,
it’s possibly the ballsiest follow-up by the garage-revival
pack. Eschewing all music industry “common sense”
was the goal and here’s an A+ for execution and effort.
It’s all here as promised. Cock-rock riffage, swagger
by the gallons, and more of the intelligence they work hard
to hide under a blanket of goofiness. If Veni kicked
off a declaration of nuclear war, opener “Abra Cadaver”
is the blast on impact, revisiting the beauty-in-selling-out
themes of “Die, All Right!” with one of the finest
homages to Raw Power since, well, Metallic KO.
Howlin’ Pelle is already in fine form, still screaming
while carrying a tune like few can. “Two Timing Touch
and Broken Bones” shamelessly utilizes the R&B swagger
of the Detroit Cobras, but doubles the speed and attitude.
Right out of the gate the album feels like Veni,
with its fast song-then-slow song (by Hives standards that
is) sequencing dynamic, but has a production all its own.
Tighter playing, and more focused arrangements have sharpened
this band to Pixies levels of conciseness. “Walk Idiot,
Walk” suddenly hits and the album begins to buckle.
Sounding like AC/DC borrowing Who’s Next riffs
at the tempo of “Hate to Say I Told You So,” over-calculation
starts to seep in. Were the odds in fact too much? “No
Pun Intended” sounds like a melodic B-side to “Outsmarted”.
Sigh. They may have lost the fight.
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