1. In the age of glossy, overproduced sap that oozes from the radio like some sugary nugget, The Hives remind me of the intense energy that comes from the less-is-more camp. Furiously rocking along with virtually no flashy effects and definetely no DJ scribbling away in the background, The Hives have a sort of urgency (and humor) that has been lacking, really, in music for a bit.
2. The lead singer has a decidedly Jagger-like presence on stage. Their live act is certainly no exception, with such affirming banter as "We're the Hives, and we love you, and we KNOW you love us!". I'm sorry, but when the band can flaunt egotistical attitudes with a smirk and a wry sense of humor about the whole thing, that's just rad.
3. The lyrics are just great. We don't have love ballads here (although I like those, too), but rather shout-alongs like "You are crime, and the Hives are law!" or "I got the money so I might as well die!". I suppose the charm of the whole band is that they're not hyperpolitical or drenched in "where'd the girl go" angst. They just want to have a good time. And they do!
Now, this was mainly written as a rebuttal to Catherine's thumbs-down and slight face of disgust when I flashed her a piece of paper from across the class which read "Hives? Strokes?". However, before I left class, I found that she did, in fact, have a slice of appriciation for the Strokes and White Stipes. Citing that it's essentially the lesser of evils, as it's either "everyone listen to the White Stripes" vs. "Everyone listen to a white guy with dreadlocks growl about how much he hates his dad while drop-D guitars chug along with the same riff over and over mmmm numetal!", I suppose I could agree with that. Then again, considering that some parts of my evening are saturated in Bjork, trip-hop, or acoustic songs about how they Miss The Girl, I think there's also room for a good, old-fashioned rock band. A cup of coffee and rock is a fine legal stimulant.
My people in my aesthetics class most likely think that I'm nuts, though, as I'm usually so hopped-up on espresso that I can barely sit still. Then again, my cohorts from Italy rarely saw me when I didn't have about half-a-gallon of raw espresso beans in me. Virtually all of the poems to Laura skittered out of my pen with the help of two+ shots. Maybe this is a problem. Maybe I need help.
Nah. I can quit whenever I want.
Today, though, it's the French Vanilla blend. Can... can I just say something? Of course I can - what are you readers going to do - stop me right now? OH, THIS POWER.
When various pots of coffee are made here at the fine UMC building on campus, they frequently have the "Flavor of the Day" as well as two other "exotic" blends. The flavor of the day can usually be assumed to be something with the word "columbian" in it. I tend to think more of an economy fueled by cocaine and Shakira instead of quality coffee beans when I think of that country, but whatever: it's still a selling point. Then there's the flavorful exotic blends. As said, today is French Vanilla. They also have Mocha Almond, Dark Chocolate, Chocolate Rasberry, and Hazelenut. Want to know a secret?
THEY ALL TASTE THE SAME.
I wouldn't lie to you people. And I want so badly to take a taste of coffee and say "why, you can really taste the swirl of rasberries in this! Where did you say they picked them? The mountains of Spain?! Heavens, they're tasty!" Just once, to turn down a cup of Dark Chocolate blend because it's "too rich" for me. I'm positive that you could switch the labels to the vats of coffee they have and no one would be the wiser.
Maybe mass-produced vats of coffee designed for consumption by students isn't the beating heart of the coffee industry, of course, but I've been to other places where coffee is rumoured to be far more aggressive. Germany's coffee is more assertive. Italy's coffee wins. But the main thing is that in Italy, drip-coffee is virtually non-existant. Italians may take life at a relaxed pace, but they don't mess around with their coffee. You get espresso thats practically chewing through the cup when you order it. The "flavor"? It tastes like espresso, and damn good espresso, at that. None of this "French Vanilla Coconut Froth Slight Touch Of Blueberry With A Dash Of Cinnamon" crap.
Today, my coffee card was finally filled and I was allowed to get a free cup. But apparently, the "free" bit doesn't work for espresso, so I had to get drip-coffee. I got "French Vanilla". It tastes like coffee. If this is the French's idea of vanilla, then I don't care if they side with us in the war or not. Hear me, Frenchies? I'm still not visiting your damn country until you get at least basic flavoring to a more proficient level. Until then, you can keep your damn crecent rolls and Eiffel tower keychains and eat your terribly-flavored "vanilla" foods. A vanilla cake must taste like tofu there. In Italy, if you order a chocolate milk, they practically melt a block of chocolate in your cup.
I seriously didn't mean to rage against the French in this post. Had the coffee been called "Somalian Vanilla", Somalia would be getting a verbal thrashing right now. I guess I'm just full of misguided anger and frustration. Poor me. I have no choice but to listen to nu-metal until I can rest in the comfort that my discontent has been sucessfully marketed into a demographic marketing blitz.
Uh, I think I've had too much coffee again. heh. I... I should go. Please don't look back. I hate long goodbyes.
The Hives = rock rock rock,
Jared