Mikhael Paskalev

There’s nothing but the North Sea between Ålesund, the city from which Mikhael Paskalev hails, and the Arctic Circle. I can’t help but think that Paskalev’s chirpy, self-effacing rock-pop – the inspiration for which he says comes from Twin Peaks and Hello! magazine – is a kind of defensive reaction to growing up in country made largely of hard rock. But there are still major seams of rock coursing through this pop.

Paskalev comes on stage at Howler alone, in a black pork pie and a tight cotton shirt. Genders are evenly mixed, but the throng of first-year university girls boils over. Most of them have only seen him on YouTube. They’ve seen him get a hot haircut in the clip to ‘Come On’. They’re not disappointed. A girl pushes in front of me, eyes only for him, flicks her long hair back in my face, shoves her heeled boot up on the stage, and grinds.

‘I love you!’ she screams.

Paskalev smiles and laughs. ‘I love you more,’ he says.

He moves into the first track, ‘Suzie’, plucking and tapping his guitar, frowning out the lyrics, contorting his face as if he’s squeezing a lemon and drinking it at the same time. He’s good at it. He’s loving it. Then the band comes on – artist Billie Van, guitarist and producer Joe Wills, whom he met in his current HQ of Liverpool, among others – and now there’s a sense of melodrama, big fun, and an emotional switch stuck on high. They bang out ‘What’s Life Without Losers’, the title track to Paskalev’s debut album, with so much pump that they’re almost making fun of themselves.

For Billie Van, whose vocals are stunning, ‘Jailhouse Talk’ is a whole body song; she thrashes her percussion instruments up and down like blunt objects on a kill. She moves like it’s her serious and odious task to groove. It’s a compelling argument. Her lap steel is sublime. They harmonise; its kind of anthem-y. Beautiful. Other songs, like ‘Brother’, and ‘Woman’, are a little boring. Is it possible to be badly influenced by The Beatles?

An odd playfulness with tempo persists throughout the whole set: dreamy slow swing, lulling the crowd to sleep, punctuated by high flung choruses that rip them awake. ‘Come On’ is next up, and fixes everything with its bold Hawaiian pendulum and Tarantino vibe, as does ‘Sayonara Saigon’, in which Van again shines. Paskalev admits a lyrical reference to Christopher Walken. None of us are surprised. 

Paskalev brings out the harmonica, and ‘I Spy’ lifts the roof off. They’re amazed at the response. (Grind-y girl leaves straight after this.) ‘Bad Boy’ is show-off rock, and the band is sweating now, hurling it at us. Happy. Polite. Playful. Serious moments of Supergrass and Brit Pop, uncanny The Shins moments.

Paskalev bookends the show with a solo encore, but the set is too short. He’s an artist with a forward momentum, and enough thrust to keep it going. And that should define him more than any reference to the Vikings, or fellow Scandos, Benny and Bjorn.