Mando Diao

This Swedish garage-rock combo’s debut arrives at North American retail just late enough to be officially filed under B for bandwagon. The formula is as simple as it is familiar: gritty production, alternating ’60s-inspired hooks and melodies played on fuzzed-out guitars and delivered with energy and attitude to spare. Throw in a couple of Brian Jones haircuts and a round of black turtlenecks and you’ve got the perfect plastic coaster to tide suckers over until the next Hives album is ready. Mando Diao attempts to mask the odour with its own occasional fragrance of sappy, easy-listening la-la-la fare, but the set reeks far too much of predictable, knee-jerk A&R flatulence. Lyrically, the band brings exactly nothing remarkable to the table, either. The band’s press material includes self-proclamations of superiority to the Kinks, Small Faces and the Who, ultimately proving there’s no shortage of powerful, reality-distorting drugs in Scandinavia.