PICTURE the scene: a bunch of Danish would-be hipsters discover old Who, Small Faces, Creation, Stones and Brian Auger records, play them until the grooves have worn off, track down suitably vintage instruments and clothes and make up their own versions of the songs.
Their music bristles like an attack of crawling king snakes. Loud, anxious, fruity riffs career out of the speakers as singer Steffan Westmark reaches for the howl of Stevie Marriott and the boom of Howlin' Wolf, but ends up like a teenage Ian Gillan - all bluff and bluster but robust enough to carry the weight.
The Blue Van are at their best when they sound like they're pounding the streets of swinging London in 1965 or starspotting outside The Good Mixer in 1997 - Nick Churchill
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