The Hives
The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons
DISQUES HIVES
Not many bands could get away with self-mythologizing as much as The Hives do. But then again, not many bands are The Hives. Bursting onto the garage rock scene on a tidal wave of endearing hubris (the compilation released to introduce them to the rest of Europe was titled Your New Favourite Band) the Swedish group claimed they’d been brought together, and that their songs had all been written by, one Randy Fitzsimmons.
It was all tongue-in-cheek playfulness, but it’s also a façade they’ve kept up ever since. Now, with their sixth album The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons, the band are citing the (fake) passing of their (fake) Svengali as the reason there’s been over a decade between their last record (2012’s Lex Hives) and this one. If the title wasn’t enough, the album cover is from Randy’s point of view, looking up from his coffin as the five members stand over him holding shovels.
While the band might not be quite as adept at mic swinging these days as they were two decades ago, on record they’ve got as much gusto, energy, and attitude as they did on 1997’s debut Barely Legal. Much of that comes down to the charisma of vocalist Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist, one of very few singers whose stage presence can actually be captured on and translated to record. His tongue-in-cheek chutzpah sizzles and scorches on each song, whether it’s the fizzing oomph of “Smoke & Mirrors,” the raucous, bluesy, Screamin’-Jay-meets-Tom-Waits stomp of “Stick Up,” or the ridiculously fun, deliberately dumb “The Bomb,” which manages (presumably intentionally) to be so annoying that it breaks through to becoming genuinely enjoyable.
Of course, fun-and-dumb rock music has always kind of been The Hives’ modus operandi, and it’s something they’ve always excelled at. Perhaps the best case in point on this record is “Rigor Mortis Radio,” a swaggering, slick quiff of a song that somehow manages to make the lyric “I got your emails / Delete, delete” not just work against all odds, but become something you want to sing along to. This isn’t the band’s best album, but it’s nevertheless a rock ’n’ rollicking good time—a party that you perhaps didn’t want to go to because you were too tired, but now can’t tear yourself away from. It seems that Randy Fitzsimmons might not be dead and buried after all.
