The Hives
+ Clamm
Enmore Theatre, Sydney
Wednesday, 23 July 2025

In these austere times, a full Enmore Theatre midweek sounds as unlikely as an affordable round of drinks in a Justin Hemmes-owned pub, but there you go: If the joint is full to the gills by 8pm on a Wednesday, it must be a Hives show.

Dunno about you but I’ve been following The Hives since they formed in Sweden in that eruption of Scandi Rock at the start of the ‘90s. The six albums are all top-shelf fun but the live experience had somehow evaded me. So, it’s off to the Enmore on a school night that I must go.

The urgings from people like The Celebrity Roadie not to miss this were still echoing in my tinnitus-scarred ears as I sipped my first beer. The Barmaid had even feigned interest by asking if the band would sing in English (not that she was going) but, really? It’s a self-evident truth that The Hives speak fluent Rock and Roll. Their dialect is universal.

First, the support, and the two songs I catch from Melbourne three-piece Clamm are a struggle nto get the head around. They sounded like Ohsees cast-offs with angst dialed in. It wasn’t enough to judge them on but the singer-guitarist bemoaning that their next Sydney show in a week’s time had only sold three tickets sounded self-pitying. 

The arrival of the headliner bang on time at 9pm was a relief.  Let’s set the scene: The band's name is painted on giant, Chinese-styled light fixtures and hoisted across the back of the stage. Their road crew are dressed as Ninjas.

The stark lighting array has plenty of deep colour washes and a heap of white backlighting. Unusually for a rock show, the band can see us as well as we can see them. It’s symbolic of the relationship between The Hives and their audience. The band are just better dressed. 

The Hives' brand of garage rock has most of the sharp, protruding bits left intact. Their songs are short and sharp, verse-chorus-verse air raids. They’re the ultimate “Nuggets” band for people who've likely never heard that collection. If they dug it, however, they can draw contentment from a pre-show mixtape that includes Roky and The Amboy Dukes.)

There were a noticeable number of patrons wearing Turbonegro colours on their denim jackets in the foyer before the show (and Norway isn’t far from Sweden, is it?) but no visible displays by followers of The Nomads, who really are The Hives' spiritual forefathers. Regardless, this is 100 percent a Hives crowd and from the opening crunch of “Bogus Operandi” the band has 2,500 people by the scruff of their collective neck.

The Hives also have one-speed of motoring and that’s flat-chat. Hook-laden riffs and minimal lyrics, often not about much (“Come On”, “Tick Tick Boom”). Admittedly, there’s a bit more to a song like “Legalize Living” but many of them are a-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-lop-bam-boom. Onomatopoeia is writ large in their music.

Each song sticks in the mind only as long as the next short-fused, mini-anthem crashes into view and demands an audience. Hits (actual and deserved) as far as the eye can see. The Hives are more visceral than cerebral and they don't need to make any excuses for that. 

No wonder that the cover art for their forthcoming album depicts the band in regal cosplay. The Hives are Garage Rock Royalty, sitting on their throne since 1993 with just one membership change in all that time. Their music’s been in movies and game soundtracks. They have Grammys in their trophy case. They’re an arena band in their homeland.

The Hives are true professionals but without a gifted frontman, it could all fall flat. Howlin' Pelle Almqvist is equal parts salesman as he is singer. Engagement is his middle name. His stagecraft gravitates between standing on the lip of the pit and demanding an audience reaction via urgent hand gestures to planting a hand against one ear to show he’s listening. 

Roger Daltrey patented the microphone twirl-and-catch a million years before him but Pelle has it down to an art form, with an inordinate level of trust in the power of gaff tape to hold the most reluctant lead in place. His vocal range might have a limit but his motormouth - and energy reserve - know no bounds.

He’s constantly on the move, a perpetual motion prowler seeking approval but never taking himself, or rock and roll, too seriously. He's also funny as all fuck. 

The Hives work hard. Maybe it's because they are from an industrial town in Sweden with a population about five percent of that of Wollongong. They wear suits with massive shoulder pads that obscure the blue collars beneath. They started in a  garage as a combo containing two brothers (that’s Pelle’s sibling Nicholaus Arson on one of the two guitars) but have evolved into a finely-oiled, precision machine with no visible signs of fatigue. 

And the big moments keep coming. Midway through “Hate To Say I Told You So”, a girl is invited from the crowd to take over bass duties from Dr. Matt Destruction. Take a bow, Jemma from Adelaide. You came in a bit early after the bridge but handled your promotion to the A-Team well.  

It’s the sort of gig where the boundaries between performers and crowd are blurred. Late in the night, Pelle commands the crowd to split down the middle and take a few steps back and of course they comply. One side of the dance floor sits, the other stands. Like Moses navigating the Red Sea, The Howlin’ One jumps down and strides the length of the channel (well, as far as his mic lead will allow).

His foray onto the floor recalls another recent Sydney visitor in Frank Carter and if Pelle doesn’t throw himself into his work the same way as the Sex Pistols’ ring-in it's not an issue. The crowd spontaneously throws up a surfer of its own to be passed around overhead, and a couple of circle pits spring up without needing anyone's encouragement.

It’s all good-spirited fun - if a bit roughhouse for anyone on borrowed time and/or re-built knees. It underlines all those theories about energy feedback loops connecting committed bands to their audiences.   

And yes, as Pelle reminds us, the encore is inevitable. Finale “Tick Tick Boom” gives him scope for wordy band introductions. 

Nobody went home unhappy. 

Set list:
Bogus Operandi
Main Offender
Rigor Mortis Radio
Walk Idiot Walk
Stick Up
Enough Is Enough
Go Right Ahead
Try It Again
Hate to Say I Told You So
Trapdoor Solution
I'm Alive
Paint a Picture
Come On!
Countdown to Shutdown

Encore:
Legalize Living
Smoke & Mirrors
Tick Tick Boom