The Hives

The Hives barter in an attention-deficit-driven musical currency of garage hysterics juiced on gasoline fumes and sugar. Similar to their previous Veni, Vedi, Vicious, Tyrannosaurus Hives clocks in at a furtive, sweaty-palmed 30 minutes, with most songs running barely past the two-minute mark. Unfortunately, the new album suggests the hyper Swedes may have blown their hurried load on the last one. The Hives surrender themselves to an admirable, failed experiment by way of the Screaming Jay Hawkins-style burner “Diabolic Scheme,” replete with a sinister string section and robot chants. “No Pun Intended” is a smart, frantic blast that almost restores faith in the band’s reckless genius. Conclusively, Tyrannosaurus lacks anything with as much force or as remotely compelling as Veni’s “Main Offender” or “Hate to Say I Told You So.” Singer Howlin’ Pelle is wont to preach The Hives as your new favorite band. Such bravado and brattiness is charming initially, but the time has come to offer the inarguable evidence.