Every time rock music’s obituary is written, an act arrives with enough vitality to make the genre feel alive again. Swedish indie rock is in relatively good health right now, and one of the main reasons is Terra. Since their 2016 debut “Terrarism”, they’ve moved forward with a rare kind of endurance. A band that has held fast to its collective, almost defiantly uncynical way of working, where empathy for those who didn’t get the best hand has always been an undercurrent. They haven’t become widely beloved by sanding down their rough edges or moving closer to the middle, but because time eventually caught up with them. In many ways, Terra remains the same band that once felt like the best-kept secret of Gothenburg’s underground: clamorous, skin-raw indie rock with exposed nerves and an energy that has always been larger than the rooms they’ve stood in. The difference is that the rooms have grown. Through years of touring — sweat-soaked clubs giving way to ever larger stages — they’ve refined their interplay without losing the friction at the heart of it, learning how to harness the force without taming it. Live, Terra still play as if everything is at stake, drawing the audience in rather than holding them at a distance, turning each show into something shared rather than simply performed. Their ambition remains what it has always been: to create a truly communal encounter. This year, Terra bring that very energy to Slottsskogen and Way Out West.