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ALT-ROCK
The White Stripes, "Icky Thump" (Warner Bros.)
Critic's rating:
There's a great moment in the middle of "Rag and Bone," the ninth track
on the eagerly awaited sixth studio album from the White Stripes, that
perfectly sums up the Detroit duo's aesthetic. Guitarist-vocalist Jack White
and his ex-wife and drummer Meg are surveying the unspecified treasures in a
mysterious mansion, which may or may not be set upon a hill. "They're just
things that you don't want?" Jack asks in amazement. "I can use them! Meg
can use them! We can do something with them! We can make something out of
them!"
Blues, folk and other American roots musics have
little resonance in underground rock today, at least outside the
alternative-country sphere. But to the White Stripes, these are not only the
influences that led to everything that followed, from Led Zeppelin to
Shellac, but also enduring sources of emotional catharsis that remain the
most vital and vibrant sounds in a musician's arsenal, and these dedicated
minimalists continue to twist them into more tuneful, creative and exciting
shapes than do any of their peers.
This is hardly to say that Jack and Meg have
gone more purist here, though "Icky Thump" does return to the more harshly
minimal guitar, drums and vocal basics after the textural experiments of
"Get Behind Me, Satan" (2005). But Jack wants as few distractions as
possible when wailing a tuneful personal lament such as "You Don't Know What
Love Is (You Just Do as You're Told)" or an angry political diatribe like
the title track, which should be embraced as an anthem by the immigrants'
rights movement. ("Well Americans, what, nothin' better to do?" Jack
sings. "Why don't you kick yourself out? You're an immigrant, too!")
In terms of sonic invention and hidden pop
hooks, the White Stripes are still topping themselves after six discs built
from the most Spartan of ingredients. But the reason they're one of the best
rock bands today is that whether they're incongruously merging mariachi to a
male-bashing feminist screed ("Conquest"), sarcastically exploring the
connections between Celtic balladry and country ("Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly
Worn") or unexpectedly segueing from there to a postmodern tape-noise
pastiche ("St. Andrew (This Battle is in the Air)"), they never play with
less intensity than as if their lives depended on it.
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