Should they be so inclined, Scandinavia's three new pop exports could put together a staggeringly good rock tribute show. Norway's St Thomas already radiate that golden Neil Young and Crazy Horse sound, while Sweden's swaggering Hives would have no trouble transforming into the Ramones. The Soundtrack of Our Lives, also Swedish, would be a little spoilt for choice: the hints of psychedelia on their new album, Behind the Music, suggest that they could equally opt to be the White Album-era Beatles or Syd Barrett's Pink Floyd. The moment they take the stage at the Astoria, however, they seem to metamorphose into the Who.
Playing a brutally brief support slot at one of the NME's series of Brat shows, TSOOL are invigorating live, a rock band who twist primal guitar riffs with swirling keyboards to create a sound that is tried, tested and still electrifying. Like the Hives, they demonstrate a knowledge of every trick in the book. The drummer has barely used his drumsticks before he is tossing them into the air. At the end of the first song, Infra Riot, the bassist and two guitarists play with their instruments' necks pointed to the sky, conjuring up hilarious visions of Status Quo. No opportunity to simultaneously leap and play a chord is missed.
Frontman Ebbot Lundberg, meanwhile, works the stage as though he is a stadium star; he vibrates as he plays a pair of maracas and throws his tambourine above his head between beats. He can't yet match the Hives or St Thomas for engaging between-song banter, but he wins gold stars for clambering into the audience to quietly sing the final - "and worst" - verse of 21st Century Rip Off. In any case, he is distinctly more cool than a portly man sporting a girl's haircut, a robust beard and what is essentially a black knee-length sack has any right to be.
The costume comes into its own during Broken Imaginary Time, when Lundberg appears to experience some kind of religious epiphany. He sings each verse gesticulating at the sky, as a priest might while giving a sermon, then spreads his arms into the crucifixion pose for the song's monumental middle section, a wave of lashing keyboards and crashing chords. It's absurdly overblown, like practically all rock music of the late-1960s to mid-1970s, but TSOOL exude such passion that you could forgive them anything - even prog indulgence.
