The Hives

Of all the "The" bands swearing devotion to the Sonics/Stones/Stooges holy trinity of garage rock, the Hives have always seemed to have the most fun. Unhindered by the Strokes' penchant for rock-star cliché or the White Stripes' Machiavellian creepiness, the Hives reveled in the simple pleasures of three chords, a...

By Rachel Devitt

July 22, 2004

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Of all the "The" bands swearing devotion to the Sonics/Stones/Stooges holy trinity of garage rock, the Hives have always seemed to have the most fun. Unhindered by the Strokes' penchant for rock-star cliché or the White Stripes' Machiavellian creepiness, the Hives reveled in the simple pleasures of three chords, a bare-bones snare and front man Howlin' Pelle Almqvist's caterwauling on 2000's Veni Vidi Vicious. True, that formula wasn't particularly innovative to begin with, and Tyrannosaurus Hives' quick, rat-a-tat detonations of sound (12 tracks in just less than 30 minutes) don't add anything all that new to either the Hives' repertoire or the garage rock canon. But who cares? When they rip through "Abra Cadaver" with little more than a single chord like some kind of rowdy, Saab-driving gang of hellions, or when "Love in the Plaster" shifts from a throbbing, neo-garage heartbeat into surf-guitar overdrive at Almqvist's bellowed cue, I defy you not to nod your freaking head.

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