The Hives
Tonhalle, Munich
FOUR STARS

Was (Not Was)
Boo!
Rykodisc, out tomorrow
THREE STARS


This review should have come from Budapest, but the Hives cancelled
their show there, giving no reason and not even bothering to update
their website. Elsewhere on the web, it was assumed that the problem
was poor ticket sales.

It's not the first time they have let their fans down: in 2002, they
pulled out of an Australian tour citing security fears after 9/11,
even though there was only limited evidence that Al Qaeda were going
after up-and-coming garage-rock bands.

In Munich, however, the show goes on – and goes off like a firework.
You can forgive the Hives a lot when you see how they hurl themselves
into playing live. Not for them the indie bands' habit of turning up
in jeans and staring at their shoes. They wear suits and ties – school
uniform with a gangster twist – and they really perform.

The drummer often gets to his feet, the twin guitarists and the bass
player swagger, and as for the frontman... Howlin' Pelle Almqvist
doesn't just howl. He yells, and moans, and flirts, and pouts, and
preens, and squirms, and brags, and points, and jumps, and struts, and
even stands stock still.

At one point he claims to have stopped the rain outside with 'an
anti-rain dance', evidently unaware that it has in fact turned to
sleet. Later, he starts reviewing himself, declaring that 'this is a
top-ten show for the Hives, ever'. Arrogant, boastful and
self-absorbed, he is a right pain and a classic frontman.

The band are Swedish, the crowd mainly German, the words English and
the sound American. The Hives' brand of rock, very fast and very
tight, has been described as punk, but punk was never this
well-organised. It's rock'n'roll, distilled: short, sharp,
guitar-driven songs, which don't have tunes so much as blasts of
melody.

For a man using his second language ('my first is rock'n'roll'),
Almqvist is formidably articulate, with a sly wit that shines out of
titles like Square One Here I Come. In mid-set, on the rousing Won't
Be Long, he even gets philosophical, singing 'You've become what you
hate, or hate what you've become'.

The Hives' schtick is a limited one and they don't outstay their
welcome, playing for just 50 minutes before climaxing with a storming
version of their greatest hit, Tick Tick Boom, which adds a layer of
theatricality to the amphetamine rush. They play five nights in
Britain from April 14.

The latest reunion album comes from Was (Not Was), the Eighties
funk-rockers who are back together after being 'semi-dormant', as they
put it, for 16 years. They haven't been idling: the twin brains of the
band, Don and David Was, have been in demand as producers, even among
elderly superstars accustomed to producing themselves, like the
Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan.

Was (Not Was) had two distinct identities - as an art-rock band who
happened to be funky, and then a funk-pop band who happened to have
been arty. In their first incarnation, they appealed largely to
critics and clubgoers; in the second, they had hit singles.

Boo! leans more to their populist side but also evokes the early days.
Snappy and highly varied, it encompasses funk, soul, pop, blues-rock
and spoken-word tracks. Every song has character, from the clever
opener, Semi-Interesting Week, to the appealingly eccentric finale,
Green Pills In The Dresser, declaimed, with great relish, by Kris
Kristofferson.

The Wases don't sing, so lead vocals are swapped around between Sweet
Pea Atkinson, Sir Harry Bowens and hired hands. At one end of the
spectrum is Kristofferson's stentorian clarity, at the other the sweet
soul tones of the mystery guest who sings From The Head To The
Heart, a story song so slow and orthodox that you can imagine it being
covered by Leona Lewis.

One track, Mr Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore, is co-written with
Dylan, though you would never have guessed. It's a regulation
funk-rock track with plenty of punch but little spark.

The soul swings, especially on Crazy Water, which has the feel of the
Temptations and the wit of Chuck Berry, and most of the funk rocks, especially on Forget Everything, with its James Brown horns. It's a diverting, well-crafted album, which may not sell heavily but should be much cherrypicked on iTunes.