The Hives - London, UK - Summer 2007
By: Christiana Spens
It's a dry July dusk and I'm chain-smoking with the Hives in Hoxton Bar + Kitchen. We all smoke Marlboro Lights but theirs have the smoking warnings written in Spanish because they're just back from playing a festival there, before that Lithuania, before that Norway, before that everywhere else, for the past fifteen years of nomadic wanderings in the name of rock 'n' roll.
They met in High School in a small Swedish town two hours North of Stockholm, and from those beginnings went on to tour the world, record three albums, find wives and girlfriends, grew up, had children, and incredibly stuck together the whole time. Now they're all around thirty and some of the youth has faded from their eyes and disposition. They're serious now, they're working hard, playing a bit less, apart from when on stage when they give as much energy as ever.
"In the beginning it was fun. Much fun," says Dr Matt. Destruction (a. k. a Mattias Bernvall). "We started when we were thirteen - fourteen - years old. And we just did it because it was fun. We'd go out to gigs and swap CDs and play - and it was so much fun. That was why we did it. When we had our first tapes pressed - because in those days it was still cassettes - it was fun."
"And now?"
"It's still fun, but we've been doing it so long. It's like having three lives," says Matt - "The performing life, then recording, then home... It's very hard to balance... After a time, you have played so many places and met so many people that the whole thing becomes like a machine... In the beginning it was a free road, nothing to stop us, nothing to do but have fun. After a while you realize you have to start watching you don't go over the edge."
"It must be difficult with relationships", I say...
"Yeah - especially with all the traveling... I mean we're always working. We play in the week days and record and write at weekends. Sometimes I just can't be there enough for my family. Sometimes even the strongest relationships can be destroyed."
I notice his wedding ring. "But you're married."
He smiles and nods yes.
"It must be a really strong relationship."
"It is a strong relationship," he agrees, then he pauses, taking a drag of his Marlboro,
"But difficult," I suggest,
"Yes."
All the wives and girlfriends of the band are on the road with them. Later on I stand with them as the Hives play a packed and intimate gig to an adoring audience at the Hoxton Bar and Grill. They drink beers and play with each other's hair like sisters, all beautiful and close and very natural together. They have been on the road for years as well, a continuous chain of gigs and hotels and planes and trains and a nomadic highly charged life. Together these couples and their children count about twelve or thirteen - the youngest is one year old, and she's at the gig as well, with blonde ringlets and ear muffs. They come across as a very close extended family, somehow balancing family life with a jet set life - a rider of lager and nappies, Marlboro Lights and baby bottles.
"Are you playing any British festivals this year then?"
"No, not this year," he says,
"I guess you've played all over the place already..."
"Yes, so many places in the past... Last year we played V,"
"Oh yeah, I'm going this year hopefully."
"Great," He notices the wristbands I haven't taken off yet from Latitude and Lovebox,"
"Which one did you like best?" he asks,
"Well Latitude this year was really fun - so I'll probably go again next year too... You should play there too, they even have a children's arena so you could take the kids,"
"Sounds good,"
"I'd love to go to Glastonbury too, I've never been,"
"Neither have we. We were asked to play last year but one of the band had a child [well, his wife was due to give birth] And the bookers just didn't understand. They fell out with our promoters a bit... But then they wrote and asked to put us on the Glastonbury compilation CD..."
"I hope you said yes,"
He smiles, "We did."
At the beginning of the interview I asked Chris and Matt to do drawings - I brought some felt tip pens and white card - and at the end of the interview we chat over them. Chris has drawn a bass guitar and a moustache - portraying Matt. And Matt has drawn Chris drumming, with a red background, lightning from the drum sticks, a mansion and a red car, to portray Chris.
Chris has to leave first so I get a chance to talk to Matt alone. I ask him about Chris's expression in the picture: "Is he smiling or frowning?"
"He's focused." He takes another drag of his cigarette, a calm and pensive man. "He's very focused. He's one of the best drummers in the world. And he knows it," he smiles, "He's controlled," he says more seriously, "He has equal control over the drums as he does the car - and the house."
"Is that a lot of control? Or not much?"
He pauses, because it's not that simple, then points to the car, "Sometimes the car drives too fast; sometimes the house - it shakes."
I'm starting to understand the brooding seriousness of Chris, his jaded blue eyes and straight manner. I point to the drawing of the mansion,
"You should have festivals in that mansion,"
He smiles, "Actually we just threw a big party for our assistant... It was great... There's a lot of space to play..."
"Lots of drum kits?"
"Yes, a whole section of the house - boxes and boxes line the walls - drum kits everywhere..."
It's that sort of organization that gives the Hives a quirky sort of distinction: they're as rock 'n' roll as can be, but they value the home as much as the music and life on the road. They're growing up now. The drums only take up a quarter of the house. The kids take up the rest of it.
"You have to balance a lot then," I ask Chris, "What advice do you have on multi-tasking?"
He's quick and expressionless: "Don't think."
But there's a lot of thought going on within the Hives family. There's a lot of thoughtfulness for one another and hard work to provide for their families and fans alike. I've never met a rock band so responsible, so mature, so normal. There's no tormented artist act going on, there's no raging rebellion - just a group of people trying to keep going and keep working and keep playing music.
It's time to go, we've been talking beyond the time limit, but as he stubs out his cigarette and I collect together the drawings I remember how he said he liked drawing and didn't get enough time to paint or write, so I ask Matt, "Do you want to keep the pens? You can do more drawing later..."
He replies shyly, "Don't you want to keep them?"
"No it's fine, you can take them if you want."
He smiles, "Well actually it would be great if we could take some pens and paper, because we have the kids us..."
"Oh sure, yeah - here," and I give him the extra card as well,
"That's great, thank you."
Later I'm standing with the wives and girlfriends and daughters in the midst of the gig and the edge of the crowds. The five-year-old is dancing on a ledge, her blonde ringlets bouncing, her mummy sipping beer, watching her family rouse the crowds to rapture, watching London welcome her father back after a short stint of paternity leave, dancing better than anyone else, though it's way past her bedtime.
As Matt said before, "Sometimes the car goes too fast; sometimes the house - it shakes." And yet here they all are, in London again, the original children of the revolution have grown up a bit, but their kids are learning quick that although it's past bedtime, the night is very young.
Artists in this article: The Hives