A lot has changed in the garage rock world since the Hives last suited up for 2012's Lex Hives. If the aughts were the genre's wildest high since the '60s, the 2010s were its comedown: revival peers, such as the Strokes and the White Stripes, either slowed down or stopped completely; Orange County label Burger Records briefly soared, then crashed like a failed rocket launch; prolific garage rockers like Ty Segall and Osees rose in popularity as psychedelia mutated their sound. It would be apt to say that garage rock has morphed into a different beast, but to believe that its ancestors have willingly settled into extinction is a notion the Hives have returned to disprove.
At least their absence comes with an alibi. After a couple of singles in 2019, including the cheekily titled "I'm Alive," their momentum seemed to be stifled by the pandemic, but the Swedish band claims it was due to something more cryptic. Randy Fitzsimmons, the fictional Svengali of their career — perhaps a nod to Marcus Tybalt, a similar character of '60s garage icons the Seeds — had been pronounced dead after a mysterious disappearance. As the band dug up his grave, the man himself was missing — yet left behind an album's worth of demos.
As foretold in the lore, after more than a decade, the Hives are back in their signature black-and-white stage attire, but they're far from dressed for a funeral; the eighth notes and lightning bolts emblazoned on their suits may as well signify that they've galvanized themselves back into action. On The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons, the Hives have at long last revived their livewire brand of garage rock, asserting they've been alive this whole time, just waiting to light the fuse.
And the "Tick Tick Boom" that exploded in 2007 sets off once again, making vocalist Howlin' Pelle Almqvist's proclamation that "I done it before / And I can do it some more / So what you waiting for?" equally relevant sixteen years later. Comeback track "Bogus Operandi" aims for the jugular with a riff fit for a wrestler's entrance theme, accelerating as Almqvist spits "shit, damn, overslept! / I go to work." It feels like Almqvist reasserting his presence and a first-person account of "foul play, DNA" intrigue in Fitzsimmons' death, its wordplay title suggesting that the glue holding The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons together is calculated chaos.
Though not quite a concept album, a morbid miasma seeps through The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons, each chant of "tune in to Rigor Mortis Radio!" a winking jingle for memento mori. If "Bogus Operandi'' hints at murder, its ferocious successor "Trapdoor Solution" spends a minute of panicky punk cleaning up the blood, where any problem (or dead body) can be shoved beneath the floorboards. Blink and you'll miss Chris Dangerous's impressively fast hi-hat eighth notes and fuzzy chords that squeal to a stop like slammed brakes. Equally punky "The Bomb" is the Sonics gone supersonic, and harkens back to 2012's crowd rouser "Come On" as repetitions of its title rise in intensity between mindfuck double negatives ("what don't you wanna not don't wanna not do?... / Not get up!"). While the frenetic moments of Randy Fitzsimmons point to their punk roots, the Hives aren't looking to indulge in lazy nostalgia — though if you're looking for maturity or reinvention, you're not going to find it here.
"Rock 'n' roll can't grow up, it's a perpetual teenager," says Almqvist, and as the Hives age into their mid-forties, it's clear they have no intentions of aging their music. Guitarists Nicholaus Arson and Vigilante Carlstroem are literally "Two Kinds of Trouble" as they playfully trade biting riffs, Almqvist sneering how he "never walked a single step in nobody else's shoes," yet knows "the truth about the world." Its immaturity only heightens its satire, and the Hives never sound juvenile — only youthful. Even the scathing "What Did I Ever Do to You?" is undeniably cheeky. A synth-and-drum setup and tough guy ramblings bring to mind fellow Swedes Viagra Boys, and its kiss-off of "it doesn't fit.. but at least it's a shoe!" positions their bravado as being built on pure fun. Psychobilly barn-burner "Crash Into the Weekend" wields hedonism like a threat, with fiddle and handclaps that summon a devil-dance stomp akin to the Cramps' "Cornfed Dames." No shame in crashing in a world that's crashing harder.
The Hives don't intend to soften their punch, just perfect its aim and intensity, and they get in a few jabs at the suits in charge while they're at it. The swinging, bluesy "Stick Up" peers down the barrel of a gun as '60s girl group percussion and a dizzying guitar solo up the drama; it paints Fitzsimmons' death as a film noir, the cause perhaps a "slippery slope… all for money." "Countdown to Shutdown" seethes against impending financial collapse as aggressively as The Johan and Only's rolling bassline, Almqvist listing off "this guy, Maslow" and "my guy Ponzi" with intensity and an eye roll. "What's the view like from up there?" — intoxicating, apparently. With handclaps and a call-and-response chorus by brothers Almqvist and Arson, "Rigor Mortis Radio" is vintage garage rock that gets brattier with each key change. Almqvist calls himself "a star, baby, ever since the dawn of man" with "people eating out of the palm of my hand" to shut down swindlers who try to sway him. Perhaps he's just echoing Fitzsimmons — but have you ever seen the two in the same room?
In a modern climate of rock music that favours humble vulnerability, Almqvist's self-aggrandizing sense of humour may seem brash, but who can blame him with a comeback as strong as The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons? Many a cynic has called rock 'n' roll a young man's game, yet age has only made the Hives sound tighter, giving them time to master an electrifying energy that few others harness. Staying relevant by staying true to yourself is impressive in an era of "eras," where constant reinvention is rewarded — it's a reminder that the power of punk and garage rock lies in its simplicity. After a decade-long break, the Hives haven't dug their own grave, just set the stage for their resurrection.
(Disques Hives)At least their absence comes with an alibi. After a couple of singles in 2019, including the cheekily titled "I'm Alive," their momentum seemed to be stifled by the pandemic, but the Swedish band claims it was due to something more cryptic. Randy Fitzsimmons, the fictional Svengali of their career — perhaps a nod to Marcus Tybalt, a similar character of '60s garage icons the Seeds — had been pronounced dead after a mysterious disappearance. As the band dug up his grave, the man himself was missing — yet left behind an album's worth of demos.
As foretold in the lore, after more than a decade, the Hives are back in their signature black-and-white stage attire, but they're far from dressed for a funeral; the eighth notes and lightning bolts emblazoned on their suits may as well signify that they've galvanized themselves back into action. On The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons, the Hives have at long last revived their livewire brand of garage rock, asserting they've been alive this whole time, just waiting to light the fuse.
And the "Tick Tick Boom" that exploded in 2007 sets off once again, making vocalist Howlin' Pelle Almqvist's proclamation that "I done it before / And I can do it some more / So what you waiting for?" equally relevant sixteen years later. Comeback track "Bogus Operandi" aims for the jugular with a riff fit for a wrestler's entrance theme, accelerating as Almqvist spits "shit, damn, overslept! / I go to work." It feels like Almqvist reasserting his presence and a first-person account of "foul play, DNA" intrigue in Fitzsimmons' death, its wordplay title suggesting that the glue holding The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons together is calculated chaos.
Though not quite a concept album, a morbid miasma seeps through The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons, each chant of "tune in to Rigor Mortis Radio!" a winking jingle for memento mori. If "Bogus Operandi'' hints at murder, its ferocious successor "Trapdoor Solution" spends a minute of panicky punk cleaning up the blood, where any problem (or dead body) can be shoved beneath the floorboards. Blink and you'll miss Chris Dangerous's impressively fast hi-hat eighth notes and fuzzy chords that squeal to a stop like slammed brakes. Equally punky "The Bomb" is the Sonics gone supersonic, and harkens back to 2012's crowd rouser "Come On" as repetitions of its title rise in intensity between mindfuck double negatives ("what don't you wanna not don't wanna not do?... / Not get up!"). While the frenetic moments of Randy Fitzsimmons point to their punk roots, the Hives aren't looking to indulge in lazy nostalgia — though if you're looking for maturity or reinvention, you're not going to find it here.
"Rock 'n' roll can't grow up, it's a perpetual teenager," says Almqvist, and as the Hives age into their mid-forties, it's clear they have no intentions of aging their music. Guitarists Nicholaus Arson and Vigilante Carlstroem are literally "Two Kinds of Trouble" as they playfully trade biting riffs, Almqvist sneering how he "never walked a single step in nobody else's shoes," yet knows "the truth about the world." Its immaturity only heightens its satire, and the Hives never sound juvenile — only youthful. Even the scathing "What Did I Ever Do to You?" is undeniably cheeky. A synth-and-drum setup and tough guy ramblings bring to mind fellow Swedes Viagra Boys, and its kiss-off of "it doesn't fit.. but at least it's a shoe!" positions their bravado as being built on pure fun. Psychobilly barn-burner "Crash Into the Weekend" wields hedonism like a threat, with fiddle and handclaps that summon a devil-dance stomp akin to the Cramps' "Cornfed Dames." No shame in crashing in a world that's crashing harder.
The Hives don't intend to soften their punch, just perfect its aim and intensity, and they get in a few jabs at the suits in charge while they're at it. The swinging, bluesy "Stick Up" peers down the barrel of a gun as '60s girl group percussion and a dizzying guitar solo up the drama; it paints Fitzsimmons' death as a film noir, the cause perhaps a "slippery slope… all for money." "Countdown to Shutdown" seethes against impending financial collapse as aggressively as The Johan and Only's rolling bassline, Almqvist listing off "this guy, Maslow" and "my guy Ponzi" with intensity and an eye roll. "What's the view like from up there?" — intoxicating, apparently. With handclaps and a call-and-response chorus by brothers Almqvist and Arson, "Rigor Mortis Radio" is vintage garage rock that gets brattier with each key change. Almqvist calls himself "a star, baby, ever since the dawn of man" with "people eating out of the palm of my hand" to shut down swindlers who try to sway him. Perhaps he's just echoing Fitzsimmons — but have you ever seen the two in the same room?
In a modern climate of rock music that favours humble vulnerability, Almqvist's self-aggrandizing sense of humour may seem brash, but who can blame him with a comeback as strong as The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons? Many a cynic has called rock 'n' roll a young man's game, yet age has only made the Hives sound tighter, giving them time to master an electrifying energy that few others harness. Staying relevant by staying true to yourself is impressive in an era of "eras," where constant reinvention is rewarded — it's a reminder that the power of punk and garage rock lies in its simplicity. After a decade-long break, the Hives haven't dug their own grave, just set the stage for their resurrection.
