The Hives / Ikara Colt / CDOASS
Brixton Academy, London 27 Sep 2004

After their improbably good second album and a successful stint in the annual festival circuit, the Hives have certainly been enjoying a good year. When I heard they would be playing my favourite venue, there could be no hesitation. After I snapped up the tickets the wait for the night of show was seemingly endless, but eventually it arrived. I bowled up the venue ridiculously early, only to find the streets throng with touts and the queue stretching right round the academy. It was going to be a good ‘un, I could sense it.

The stalls were already starting to fill up as CDOASS took to the stage. As is seemingly de rigueur for Swedish bands nowadays, they were immaculately suited and booted, and the lead singer burbling unintelligibly into the mic. Here the similarities to the headliners ended, however, as the sound was more like Joy Division or very early Happy Mondays. I heard them likened to Kraftwerk by one slightly bemused member of the crowd. Admittedly hindered by poor sound balance, CDOASS and their distinctly experimental music left me cold, to say the least. Credit where it’s due though, they were surprisingly generously received by the audience … proper adulation in fact, so maybe I’ve got shit in my ears or something.

By the time Ikara Colt came on, the Academy was heaving. Good job as well, as I would pity anyone who missed this amazing band. This band has got the lot - energy, charisma, attitude, talent and a whole load more besides. These art punk garage rockers cranked out their set with a swagger, and without messing around. They played as if the valued every second they were allowed up there, regaling us with breakneck beats, bumping bass and growling guitars. The vocals were dead good too, unfortunately I can’t think of alliteration that does them justice. I spent most of the set transfixed by guitarist Claire whose charmingly vulnerable appearance belied some brutally militant axe wielding that would easily bear comparison to the likes of Jack White. I probably shouldn’t say what I was thinking as I watched her right arm moving up and down at speed.

Few bands could have avoided being upstaged by Ikara Colt that evening, such was the power of their performance but the night was always going to belong to the Hives. They are, quite frankly, the dog’s bollocks. In the year that yet another Ramone has met a tragically untimely demise it seems appropriate that their mantle should now be passed on. While Americans may possibly argue that Green Day are more worthy recipients, for me only the Hives are worthy to step into Da Bruddas’ battered sneakers. The similarities speak for themselves – the uncomplicated but engaging songs, dynamic and powerful live performance, and the uniformed appearance – not to mention the misconception among the ignorant that they are some kind of a joke or novelty act. I only hope the Hives don’t have to start dying before they get the respect they deserve.

They just strode onto stage and started playing. Damn, it was good! They hurled out all the best songs from the new album mixed up with all the old favourites, only pausing for breath it seemed just when my legs were about to crumple beneath me and my lungs collapse. I doubt many amongst the audience had much idea what singer Howlin’ Pelle was saying to us in between all the modern day punk rock anthems, but we shouted back in the right places. Feeding off the band’s obvious enthusiasm and madcap craziness, the atmosphere in the moshpit was like some kind of Gladiatorial love in: young and old tearing it up together, without any of the sidelong sniggering I have experienced before amongst a younger crowd.

The highlight of a highlight-packed set was ‘a.k.a I-D-I-O-T’ - a mental rendition of a mental anthem by the undeniably, utterly mental (and proud of it) band. Hail the all conquering Hives! May their psycho-serious punk rock reign be long and unabated!

words: Harry Harris