OH, HOW SWEDE IT IS

KENT/THE CARDIGANS

From Sweden With Love

At The Roxy

February 6

The Cardigans and Kent-two of Sweden's most popular bands--played the Roxy on Saturday night, drawing an enthusiastic crowd in spite of an impending snowstorm. Each band was touring to promote its new album: The Cardigans' dark, complicated Gran Turismo was released earlier this fall, as was the American distribution of Kent's Isola. Taking advantage of their wider stateside popularity, The Cardigans headlined the show, leaving the lesser-known Kent to play a short opening set. But popularity was not the best predictor of performance. Kent's brilliant, lacerating set was a tough act to follow, and The Cardigans' pop melodies could only barely compete with the expansive songs of Isola.

The all-Swede lineup attracted a pleasant mix of students and amused adults to the Roxy. The sizeable Swedish contingent was easy to identify: they all had fair hair, elegant black glasses and knew all the words. Some patriots even waved small blue-and-yellow Swedish flags.

Kent, who were already onstage when the crowd streamed in, opened with a seven-song set that seemed to fly by. They performed just under half the songs from their new album, hitting all the major tunes but unfortunately omitting my personal favorite, "Bianca." They played with gusto and energy, blistering through their two crowd-pleasing singles, "If You Were Here" and "Lifesavers." With up to three guitars playing at once, they achieved deep textures on their more lyrical ballads, such as "Things She Said," "OWC," and "Before It All Ends."

Kent's music is often marked by melancholy, like Radiohead or The Cure, but they played with such spirit as to make it equally life-affirming. The epic seven-minute-and-forty-seven-second "747" was a fitting song to close on. Markus Mustonen, the drummer, began the song by quietly patting away with brushes; by the end, he was driving an urgent rhythm with drumsticks. Sami Sirvio, the lead guitarist, broke a string about five minutes into "747," but his relentless playing never skipped a beat.

Joakim Berg, Kent's singer and songwriter, strutted around the stage doing a Swedish version of the funky chicken, which involved puffing out his chest, slapping it with one palm and draping the microphone cord around his neck. Berg clearly enjoyed playing to a receptive, albeit unknown, crowd. Not one to miss a chance to connect with the audience, he dedicated the song "Elvis" to an enthusiastic fan who was wearing an enormous pair of ski goggles. Kent is an incredibly talented, charismatic band-hopefully they are only tasting the beginning of their overseas success.

After a lengthy intermission, The Cardigans began their set with a powerful rendition of "Marvel Hill," a bittersweet song about ambivalence from Gran Turismo. The sound of the new album is a welcome change from their frothy pop days. Gone are the disco guitars of 1996's First Band on the Moon and instead replaced with buzzing drones and techno beats. These qualities come out especially well in the rhythmically complex "Erase/Rewind" and the lackadaisical, sweet melody line of "Junk of the Hearts." The arrangements are sparser, the rhythms more urgent; The Cardigans' music isn't especially memorable, but like good angel cake it can be very tasty.

The Cardigans split their set about evenly between songs from the new album and the older, effervescent singles. Lead singer Nina Persson, fetchingly attired in black tanktop and leather pants, delivered the band's tongue-in-cheek takes on modern love with charming, faux naivete. Flanked on either side by guitarist Peter Svensson and keyboardist Lars-Olaf Johnasson, The Cardigans were an interesting triptych to watch: Svensson dancing about his red guitar, Persson doing her catwoman-thing with the mic stand and Johansson good-humoredly adding the dark swatches of soundscape.

But music snobbery aside, the mobs of fratboys who descended on the Roxy had probably come with only one thing in mind: Nina Persson herself. To paraphrase Garth of Wayne's World, if Nina Persson were a president, she'd be Babe-raham Lincoln. This fact was not lost on the predominantly male crowd, all clearly aiming for a peek at the infamously gorgeous Persson. But Nina would have none of their adulation. Halfway into the show, one fratboy climbed onto the shoulders of his large friend and unrolled a sign beseeching, "NINA KISS ME." After ignoring him for several minutes, Persson took a break between songs to reply, conuettishly, "I saw your sing. I don't kiss people I don't know.

Despite this rejection, fratboy and friend were not fazed. During "Lovefool," the Cardigan's paean to foolish love, they slowly inched their way through the crowd, the scrawny boy sitting atop the shoulders of the stout one, with the apparent intention of obtaining that kiss. Persson coldly avoided all eye contact. This reviewer was personally hoping they'd make it all the way, but the fratboy duo were unfortunately bogged down mere feet from the stage.

Persson's chilly delivery was emblematic of much of The Cardigans' music: poppy perfection, but seriously lacking in substance. It's nice to dance to, and especially to look at, but often emotionally distant. Kent, on the other hand, came off sounding like a brilliant, Nordic U2. Kent is a bunch to keep an eye on-maybe next time The Cardigans will be opening for them.