Music

Institutionalized

The Hives Big Shtick Wears Thin

by Jennifer Maerz

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Mark Todd

I think it may be time to start seeing other people. Something's changed. The energy's there but it feels more like the ghost of momentum than something happening right now. I think we've both gotten a little lazy, going through the motions--the Hives keep saying they're the best band in the world and I keep forgetting I no longer really believe that. But old crushes die hard--especially when they're dressed in matching Oreo-cookie-colored outfits.

I first fell for the Hives by chance. Trekking through Europe in 2000, I stumbled into a Paris bar on the recom- mendation of a French newspaper promising a "punkrockandroll" show. The Hives were brash Swedish upstarts (who'd already been nominated for a Swedish Grammy and basked in the budding glory of being the British press' current boy toys). They were hungry for affection and sure they were gonna get it by the end of the set. And they did. Between songs like "Die, Alright!" and "AKA I-D-I-O-T" and frontman Pelle Almqvist's voice breaking every time he hit a high note, the band was a fireball of bratty tantrums, except with recklessness in place of rage and a sense of humor to stand in for sex appeal. And, most obviously, they had a shtick.

Actually, they had shticks--all of which continue to linger. They still wear the same suits (only the ties have changed). They still claim that a mysterious Svengali, Randy Fitzsimmons, put the band together and helped write the songs. And they still tell you how much you love the Hives, over and over and over. All of which was a lot of funny hot air to American audiences back then--except that it worked. Due to their not-so-subliminal messages, interest in the band spread like a communicable disease, and soon they were our favorite band--the "we" being garage and punk fans as well as the Rolling Stones and Spins of the world, especially since the latter group was busy congratulating itself for finally giving coverage to breaking underground acts like the White Stripes and the Strokes.

The Hives rose to that vaunted position of Your New Favorite Band--above popular garage-scene acts like the Hellacopters or the Dirtbombs--because they had the insane pop hooks while sounding as brash and messy as the best of them. But they were also shameless about their self-promotion, a risky posture rarely taken up in that world. It's not often that you witness such flashy demonstrations of self-aggrandizement coming from a band whose core aesthetic is all about keeping it real and raw. Like only a few others, the Hives cracked the code, stomped on its remains, and wound up on top.

But staying on top often means more pop and more polish. And on the Hives' first new record since people Stateside found out who the hell they were, Tyrannosaurus Hives, they almost turn their backs on garage rock. Most of the errant snap and rash rushes of hotheaded emotion have been refined. Sure, the album starts out strong--"Abra Cadaver," "Two-Timing Touch and Broken Bones," and "Walk Idiot Walk" recall vintage Hives. And later, "See Through Head" gets gold stars for its wry boasts, strained vocals, and double-stepped timing. But when you endlessly claim to be the shit worldwide, and then you become that shit, you've gotta do a hell of lot more than keep your formulas clean. You should bust open the rulebook and detonate a whole new kind of "Hate to Say I Told You So" on the world. And, well, the Hives haven't done that. Tyrannosaurus is more of the pretty good same, which is not nearly enough to justify the hype that precedes it.

Maybe it's me, though. Maybe I've changed--or, to be more specific, maybe I haven't. My passion for rock bands that sound hungry as a grizzly post-hibernation hasn't diminished in the slightest. The Hives no longer have the starved-artist swagger--there's no irony in their bluster. What you hear now is the sound of a rich and famous band with very competent songwriting skills and a knack for nominally stirring shit up. They're an institution. So while I don't want to break up with the Hives completely just yet, I think it's time for me to find my New Favorite Band.

jennifer@thestranger.com

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