Rock 'n' Roll is filled with wannabes, but there are only five Wannadies in the world, and they're all gathered in a London hotel to talk about their unique brand of exuberant power-pop. Par Wiksten is the band's singer: he looks like a cross between Marc Bolan and Mickey Dolenz. His girlfriend, keyboardist Christina Bergmark, is a dark-haired punka doll; bassist Fredrik Schonfledt resembles a computer nerd, while his guitarist brother, Stefan, looks more like a docker; drummer Erik Dahlgren could blend in nicely with The Small Faces, circa 1966. They're all from the small town of Skellefte in Northern Sweden, and they've just released their fifth album, the excellently affirmative Yeah.
Think of the greatest pop group Sweden has ever produced, and just four sparkling letters come to mind: ABBA. Think of the second greatest Swedish band ever, and you might cite the silvery tones of Nina Persson and her shiny Cardigans. But for their ability to craft heavenly pop tunes out of gritty, rough-hewn metal, The Wannadies are well deserving of the bronze medal for timeless Scandinavian pop.
ABBA, of course, have long since hung up the spangly suits, and even turned down a staggering billion-dollar offer to re-form; which leaves just The Cardigans and The Wannadies in contention for the hearts and minds of Swedish pop fans. Christina, however, denies any Scandinavian equivalent of a Blur versus Oasis battle.
"Swedish people don't care about that," she insists. "That's just a UK thing where people mention us both at the same time."
"We've been around longer than The Cardigans," adds Fredrik, "so we're like their bigger brothers."
Swedish pop's elder siblings came together in 1989, drawn together by a shared love of The Pixies, The Go-Betweens, The Clash and Bowie, and also by a collective desire to party. Disillusioned by the distinct lack of action in their home town, the group converted an old warehouse into a "music factory", where they held parties every other weekend.
Their debut EP, Smile, caught the attention of Swedish radio, and the band was offered a slot on the Hultsfred Festival, Sweden's answer to Reading. Their first two albums established The Wannadies as Scandinavia's premier power-pop combo, and by the time they released their third album, Be a Girl, the UK and Irish public was picking up on their sharp-edged, sunny rock sound.
The Wannadies may not yet be a household name, but their 1996 hit, You & Me Song, will forever be synonymous with a household product: shampoo. You know the ad - shiny, happy people leaping around in the sunshine, swirling their tresses to a scrunching guitar backing. The song was also used on the soundtrack of Baz Luhrmann's movie, William Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet, giving the band a much-welcome foothold in the US music market.
"I think we go down well with the college crowd in America," observes Par. "They seem to like tunes, and they seem to like bands who can rock, which is the reason why we always thought we'd break big there first, because the UK is far too much into trends. But I'm happy with the way it's going so far in America. We were one of the top 20 most-played bands on college radio, which is pretty alright."
You can't accuse The Wannadies of being in thrall to American rock culture, because they'd freely admit to it. The new album was recorded in the legendary Electric Lady Studios in New York, and the production duties were handled by veteran US pop-rocker, Rik Ocasek, formerly of The Cars. The result is a harder, grunge-stained album which still hasn't lost its catchy pop sheen. I Love Myself, No Holiday, Don't Like You (What The Hell Are We Supposed To Do) and the new single, Big Fan, are meaty, beaty, big and bouncy, just the way we like our Wannadies tunes. Some of the lyrics are a little darker, especially on String Song, Low Enough and Ball, but there's still enough spitting, tongue-in-cheek observation, and a generous dollop of rock 'n' roll whimsy in lines such as "We are sitting on a spaceball looking smart/ Making babies, breaking hearts". They certainly won't get mistaken for Stone Temple Pilots.
Four of the Wannadies have now moved to London, and, apart from the logistical problems of having their guitarist still living in northern Sweden, are finding London life a doddle.
"Our families worry about us," says Christina, "They're afraid we're drinking too much, or not eating enough."
Northern Sweden may sound like a barren outpost for a band to develop, but The Wannadies found that boredom spurred them on to make great pop music.
"It was like, will we go to the same boring pub again, or will we go to the rehearsal room? OK, let's rehearse," says Fredrik.
"Most of the good bands don't come from Stockholm - it's too much fun there," says Christina.
I mention that the best Irish bands seem to come from blighted suburbs of Dublin, or conflict-torn towns in Northern Ireland, and the worst seem to spawn from the trendy nightclubs and coffee-shops of the city centre.
"It's a bit like that in London," says Par. "You're standing in a pub talking with musicians, and they say, oh, I'm putting some beats in with the guitars, 'cos that's what's going on. Or, I'm going in a drum 'n' bass direction, 'cos that's where the wind's blowing."
The Wannadies are not likely to bend with the prevailing breeze, but will try to stay surefooted on their path towards pure, power-pop glory. Everybody say Yeah.
The Wannadies play the Temple Bar Music Centre tonight at 8 p.m. Their new album, Yeah, is out now on RCA
