Swervedriver

Ten thousand guitars were grooving real loud: That’s how Eric Burdon envisioned rock nirvana in his 1960s reverie, “Monterey.” We’re not sure if he ever heard Swervedriver, a band that always achieved the same state of sonic utopia with instruments numbering in the single digits and a concept that wasn’t so much groove as, maybe, a kind of feedback-choked gargle.

Owning a record by the outfit from tweedy Oxford, England, was the mark of insider savvy during the 1990s, when the epic roar of its U.S. debut, Raise, helped numb the pain of anyone who missed Hüsker Dü or lamented the erratic path of the Jesus and Mary Chain. Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine were the reigning avatars of arty guitar drone and spuzz, but those acts had their own peculiar chemistries. If anything, Swervedriver was more accessibly melodic and less self-conscious about its hipster cred.

On its lost 1995 album, Ejector Seat Reservation, the band sounds shockingly like R.E.M. from a parallel universe, given to seductive guitar swirl, choral harmonies and a musical spectrum that bridges influences from the Velvet Underground to the Beach Boys.

The quartet has been missing in action since 1998’s 99th Dream and its last American tour in 1999. Now, much like former Creation labelmates MBV, they’ve reunited to excite a new generation of fans catching up on their rock history. Shoegazers? Never. Ass-kickers? More like it.