The Raveonettes

The Raveonettes are SEX.

From the first minute to the last, they offer languorous Velvet Undergroud sleazevibes on a bed of Jesus and Mary Chain reverb and dark atmospheric. Like the Dandy Warhols in their finer moments, but dirtied up like BRMC... even though this sound is shared by many bands, they somehow stand out, don't feel like Just Another Current Copycat.

Maybe it's the perfect mix of velvetine male/female vox, just above audible volume, that fixes you into a dreamlike state from the onset. Or maybe it's the high spirits of the guitar noise, just waiting to overspill into the next note. Or the fact they seem ultracool and at the same time totally unaffected and normal.

They paint a good picture, too: from singing with eyes closed to the right of stage (guitar/vox), having a rock'n'roll frenzy in middle front and back respectively (guitar and drums) to seductive swaying to the left (bass/vox), they have the crowd completely transfixed. Cocky self-assuredness ("Thanks. Yeah, we are the Raveonettes. And, well, you are _not, hah!") suits them as well as the innocent Scandinavian smiles they flash straight after. It is the singer/bassist's birthday ("and there should be presents at birthdays"_) so CDs get given out with giggles. What a nice band, you think. Then the next wave of feline noise-seduction hits you and you fall unconscious to the ground of your soul.

40 minutes later, and this is one of the few bands that make me wanna shout "Noo..." when they annouce their last song. By closing time most bands will have satisified all your cravings, but you just can't help wanting more of this one, like a drug - no, much better, in fact... like I said:

The Raveonettes are sex.

Don't say I didn't warn you...