Here are the album reviews I wrote for the July issue of EL Magazine, which was distributed in Tokyo last week.

Lazaretto
-Jack White (Third Man/Sony)
Turn Blue
-The Black Keys (Nonesuch/Warner)
It’s safe to say that classic guitar rock—blues-based, loudly melodic, often distorted—has survived the various challenges to its hegemony over the past three decades and is now more prevalent and vital than ever. If you want to credit Jack White with that development you won’t get an argument from me, though as with all pop music classifications guitar rock tends to withstand artistic pigeonholing. Since dissolving the White Stripes White has become more than a musical force. He’s a cultural lightning rod, the man who says what he means and has the talent and vision to make his pronouncements worthy of attention, regardless of how prickly or narrow-minded thay sound. His second solo album isn’t much different from his first one, only weirder, which makes it all the more interesting since blues rock exhausted most of its potential to surprise by the time Led Zeppelin recorded their fourth album. In fact, the record Lazaretto most resembles, as least tonally and thematically, is Zep’s third. The earnest folk touches are highlights rather than distracting filigree, and when things get bombastic the contrast is all the more thrilling. It’s also unabashedly accomplished. The chops on display revive the once derided image of the blues guitarist as virtuoso, but White makes sure that he’s showing off for a reason. The playful interaction between riffs and lyrics on “The Black Bat Licorice” is hilarious and scintillating. The complaint that the album is over-produced, with lots of incidental aural touches that White wouldn’t have countenanced on a White Stripes record, is off-base, since the whole point of White’s solo career is ambition, another hallmark of classic guitar rock and one everyone seems to have forgotten. But not the Black Keys. In fact, the main problem with the duo’s hotly anticipated followup to the best-selling El Camino is that Dan Auerbach seems to have run out of ideas on which to pin his ambition. This aspect of the group’s public image only serves to highlight their workmanlike approach to rock. Auerbach is no less talented than White, and may be a better singer, but his conception of blues rock sounds more like pastiche than White’s does, and while it was unfair of White to dis the Black Keys publicly for what he saw as them ripping off his style—Jimmy Page is too nice a guy to say the same about White—Auerbach does sound as if he’s still trying to get at something the White Stripes did ten years ago, which was to create an original voice in one of pop’s most overly exploited genres. The Keys do little more here than broaden their sound (“Weight of Love”) and goose their hooks (“Fever”). Auerbach also regresses into meathead male desperation. His obsessions about bad women are a leitmotif, and one that could be mistaken for editorializing rather than a tribute to the blues and soul shouters who once made such obsessions compelling. Continue reading










