#16
Baffling & Beautiful
Another brief hiatus, another exceptional piece of work from adenoidal wunderkind Jack White and unlikely drumming superstar Meg White. Please welcome back The White Stripes.
Jack’s previous masterpiece was an eponymous one-album side project with Brendan Benson known as The Raconteurs, who served up divine pop-rock hookier than one-hundred fishing rods. Before then, he delivered five solid-gold albums of garage-rock and blues that remained in my CD player for up to six or seven months on end. Elephant from 2003 and De Stijl from 2001 still get regular spins to this date. Perhaps even after this review, should the spirit take me.
Icky Thump is the latest masterwork from Meg White and Jack White who remain faithful to their spurious brother/ sister relationship, although most people seem to have dropped the interest nowadays. Their bond as musicians has managed to override all behind-the-scenes shenanigans and their homes are on opposite sides of America anyways.
The bizarre title of this album hails from an old Northern English expression, and was a catchphrase popularised by seventies comedy duo The Goodies – a slapstick troupe overshadowed by Monty Python with an axe to grind these days on the subject. It would appear just to be an exclamatory expression whenever something goes awry. Someone in 1970s Yorkshire might bang their foot on a coffee table, for example, and shout: “Iiiiieeeee! Icky Thump!”
Glad I made that clear. Little has changed since Get Behind Me Satan from 2005 in terms of the presentation and stylistic approach from the duo. Except perhaps a conscious decision to push their sense of humour to the fore after the affected poses on the previous album cover. Inside the album the red, white and black motifs are still used and the grainy B&W cover of them dressed as a pearly king and queen in a random snapshot pose is just a slice of fun, and retains the down-to-earth personae that makes them such a universally appealing group.
There is also another nonsensical essay from Jack White in the opening sleeve that sounds pretentious at first, but then lapses into goofiness towards the end just before people view him as some chump who just can’t find a comb. Still… he ain’t bad on that guitar.
Icky Thump (4:14)
In terms of the musical approach, the emphasis is on the eclectic and experimental side of the band this time around. In this respect it has more in common with the ebullient jerks and twists of De Stijl than it does the electrifying hard rock of Elephant.
This tune is probably the most haywire piece on the album, with its evil electric organ opening followed in quick succession by the menacing staccato stomps of the guitar and drums. The lead guitar line pulls the listener into a brief state of calmness and familiarity before the organ returns for some truly freakish twinkles that suggest something bad is about to go down. The points of reference band-wise are all over the map – The White Stripes have the canny knack of sounding like fourteen different bands within the space of one solo.
Jack White booms from three speakers swathed in echo, his nonsensical lyrics about ginger senoritas and one-eyed dead lassies almost holding one by the neck in some sordid Mexican bar. Whatever this song is all about is irrelevant – the duo here are back on electrifying form and the music registers in one’s gut in that special way their previous material did all them years ago. All the experimental stuff is just manna.
Bone Broke (3:14)
The flat-out rockers on the album, as always, steal the show and this tune from the vaults of 1998 is of the head-banging crowd-pleasing variety with a marvellous lead hook and staggering rock howl from Jack. The production on this album is less centred around old-fashioned equipment, and the guitars sound fresh and thunderous instead of the preserved, crackle-thunder from previous records.
We can hear each nuance of his stellar guitar work as it should be heard and Meg’s powerhouse drumming is again used to provide some support or control over his lone guitar going pleasantly haywire. This memorable tune moves through a celestial chord sequence that gives Jack the chance to snarl and bite in equal measure, and warm tingles travel through my bones as he sings: “Look another way girl I’m telling ya, God gave seven minutes right to ya.”
Little Cream Soda (3:44)
This is the standout rocker on the album, and a candidate for the one of the most eye-popping tunes ever recorded by the group. It is a storming piece of rock showmanship that rattles and croaks through its distorted lead hook channelled through squealing ascending-descending feedback solos into a bouncy bridges where the tune takes a breath to stop and look around. The most sensational aspect of their music is that the listener has no idea in which direction it shall head next.
Ominous guitars simmer here with imminent violence, before exceptional blues lyrics are deployed in the tense respite: “Well every highway that I go down seems to be longer than the last one that I knew about, oh well.” The vocals here are perched on the edge of genuine terror but are so jaw-droppingly slick I cannot help but grin like a fool whenever I hear them. These exhilarating verses are also enhanced with his use of “oh well, oh well” before the mushed guitar solo, proving that Jack White is a first-rate rock dramatist as well as exceptional guitarist. This tune is reason enough to seek out the record. I know… but I mean it.
Rag and Bone (3:46)
This gem begins like Back Door Man from The Doors before it twists into a cocky piece of surrealist spoken-word blues with a chorus that drags the listener into hooks he never saw coming. Jack once again sounds like a musician able to fuse elements of music from three separate decades and the strange banter that makes up the verses is not too cutesy but more manic and edgy.
Meg once again sounds lighter, as though she has grown into her vocal parts, which were once a little pedestrian for me. Although she does little noticeable singing on this album (which is for the best). The music here is quite similar to the short rave-up Let’s Build A Home from De Stijl or indeed Broken Bricks from their debut album, but has a far more frantic (and frankly much better) climax.
Jack sounds like some possessed hobo as he rattles out the third verse: “Lots of place we ain’t been to yet, east side, southwest side, middle east, rich house, dog house, cat house, halfway homes, old folks homes, down in the catacombs!”
Catch Hell Blues (4:19)
Their mastery of the blues is what The White Stripes made so wonderful on previous albums and this tune begins with a series of blues licks that gently tantalise before the tune bounces into action. Fans of the breakneck blues numbers from De Stijl such as Little Bird or Death Letter (most mortals) should find this piece to their liking. It has less of a structure to it at times and seems more of an excuse for Jack to demonstrate his damned fine guitar playing (which is hardly a bad thing). The vocals here are indeed ancillary to the virtuoso guitar work, fill-in-the-blanks at times, but the brilliance and tension of this tune is impossible to fault.
Horses & Cockneys
You Don’t Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You As You’re Told) opens with a razor-sharp guitar stomp that almost sounds off-kilter infused with the bouncy pop melody and more involved organ backing.
The tune, at the risk of shifting into Raconteurs territory, gels at the bridges where Jack squeals out three or four guitar solos through the galloping din of the music. Meg White is in there somewhere as well, sounding enthusiastic as usual. 300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues is a leisurely piece that twists from the soft acoustic guitar and drum syncopation of previous triumphs such as Take, Take, Take before it cuts into noisome electric guitar solos that sound stitched at the production desk but do not diminish its enjoyment value.
For the sake of balance, however, I would have to admit this is the weakest piece on the album. It wavers between the delayed excitement of Ball & Biscuit and the bluesy dreariness of A Boy’s Best Friend and ends up more the latter. Got to love that closing line, however: “One thing’s for sure in that graveyard, I’m gonna have the shiniest pair of shoes.”
Conquest is an actual cover (gasp), and for once not of the blues variety. Instead it is a song written by Corky Robbins and popularised, I believe, by Patti Page. It makes use of hilarious mariachi trumpets that are a genuine surprise at first, then ludicrously theatrical vocals which help diminish the shock.
To keep proceedings even more strange, the harmonies are pushed through the speakers and the trumpets are allowed to jam with the squalling guitar. The bizarre pre-chorus parts even sound like synthesisers which makes this by far the most experimental and enthralling record by the duo on instrumentation alone.
Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn wins the best title award, as well as the award for the most audaciously experimental and rewarding piece here. The White Stripes in this tune manage the impossible, which is to make the tuneless drone of the bagpipe fit into a jaunty acoustic ditty. This is in itself an incredible achievement, especially for those such as myself who have grown up with this horrible instrument. What could have been an embarrassment is an enjoyable detour – the Caledonian cousin to Little Ghost perhaps.
Although it must be said the attempted Scots accent from Jack in the last verse was a bad idea, but I’m prepared to offer some benefit of the doubt. St. Andrew (The Battle Is In The Air) sounds like an absolute mess at first, and remains so, but is such a delirious distraction it is impossible to resist. What is even more bizarre is that Meg White seems to have a different voice to the one she used on previous albums; it has a sweeter, more girly edge to it more in common with Scottish indie rock bands like Belle & Sebastian. She sounds like Isobel Campbell, in fact. Which was perhaps the idea.
I’m Slowly Turning Into You makes use of a stop-start electric organ, drone-guitar and drum rhythm that almost grates until the sensational electric guitar gives way to a delectable pop chorus with a melee of whispery voices and twinkling solos from up above. The remainder of the tune has an improvisatory feel which is an utter thrill, and it builds to a sing-along chorus which is almost as sky-high as those Raconteurs numbers some of us loved so much.
I’m A Martyr For My Love For You is the sole ballad on the album that manages to side-step the tedium of the previous piano-led efforts on Get Behind Me Satan that made the record a little tough to wade through at times. The organ here works well over the acoustic guitar and soft vocals from Mr. White. This one is more reminiscent of the noisy balladry from White Blood Cells and conjures up the delicate work displayed on tunes such as The Same Boy You’ve Always Known and suchlike. OK, enough back referencing!
Effect and Cause is a light-hearted piece on the acoustic guitar in the manner of previous fun-filled album closers. I will not name them. No more back references. Mr. White dusts off his country voice for this one and it boasts the cleverest lyrics and neatest wordplay to fall from his pen, which is probably why he sniggers mid-verse. Thus ends another miniature masterpiece from the triumphant twosome.
Yes, Yes…
Icky Thump is impossible to resist. It is a five-star album since it is very very light on imperfections and I was bowled over by all of these tunes when I first spun it. Since then, all of these wonderful pieces have clicked to become bona fide White Stripes classics and this is another utter triumph from start-to-finish. We would expect nothing less from thee band of the noughties. It is a far more experimental, heavier rocking and ultimately superior record to Get Behind Me Satan and is a bold step forward that also capitalises on what is so great about the band in the first place.
The ad-hoc garage-rock feel is retained despite the vast riches they have amassed, and infused with a fearless eclecticism. All their genius from 1997 to the present day is to be found somewhere on this album and I have a strong feeling it shall take residence in my CD player for months and months to come. So ignore the daft title once again, and surrender to the music.
Rating: 9/10
Baffling & Beautiful
Another brief hiatus, another exceptional piece of work from adenoidal wunderkind Jack White and unlikely drumming superstar Meg White. Please welcome back The White Stripes.
Jack’s previous masterpiece was an eponymous one-album side project with Brendan Benson known as The Raconteurs, who served up divine pop-rock hookier than one-hundred fishing rods. Before then, he delivered five solid-gold albums of garage-rock and blues that remained in my CD player for up to six or seven months on end. Elephant from 2003 and De Stijl from 2001 still get regular spins to this date. Perhaps even after this review, should the spirit take me.
Icky Thump is the latest masterwork from Meg White and Jack White who remain faithful to their spurious brother/ sister relationship, although most people seem to have dropped the interest nowadays. Their bond as musicians has managed to override all behind-the-scenes shenanigans and their homes are on opposite sides of America anyways.The bizarre title of this album hails from an old Northern English expression, and was a catchphrase popularised by seventies comedy duo The Goodies – a slapstick troupe overshadowed by Monty Python with an axe to grind these days on the subject. It would appear just to be an exclamatory expression whenever something goes awry. Someone in 1970s Yorkshire might bang their foot on a coffee table, for example, and shout: “Iiiiieeeee! Icky Thump!”
Glad I made that clear. Little has changed since Get Behind Me Satan from 2005 in terms of the presentation and stylistic approach from the duo. Except perhaps a conscious decision to push their sense of humour to the fore after the affected poses on the previous album cover. Inside the album the red, white and black motifs are still used and the grainy B&W cover of them dressed as a pearly king and queen in a random snapshot pose is just a slice of fun, and retains the down-to-earth personae that makes them such a universally appealing group.
There is also another nonsensical essay from Jack White in the opening sleeve that sounds pretentious at first, but then lapses into goofiness towards the end just before people view him as some chump who just can’t find a comb. Still… he ain’t bad on that guitar.
Icky Thump (4:14)
In terms of the musical approach, the emphasis is on the eclectic and experimental side of the band this time around. In this respect it has more in common with the ebullient jerks and twists of De Stijl than it does the electrifying hard rock of Elephant.
This tune is probably the most haywire piece on the album, with its evil electric organ opening followed in quick succession by the menacing staccato stomps of the guitar and drums. The lead guitar line pulls the listener into a brief state of calmness and familiarity before the organ returns for some truly freakish twinkles that suggest something bad is about to go down. The points of reference band-wise are all over the map – The White Stripes have the canny knack of sounding like fourteen different bands within the space of one solo.
Jack White booms from three speakers swathed in echo, his nonsensical lyrics about ginger senoritas and one-eyed dead lassies almost holding one by the neck in some sordid Mexican bar. Whatever this song is all about is irrelevant – the duo here are back on electrifying form and the music registers in one’s gut in that special way their previous material did all them years ago. All the experimental stuff is just manna.
Bone Broke (3:14)
The flat-out rockers on the album, as always, steal the show and this tune from the vaults of 1998 is of the head-banging crowd-pleasing variety with a marvellous lead hook and staggering rock howl from Jack. The production on this album is less centred around old-fashioned equipment, and the guitars sound fresh and thunderous instead of the preserved, crackle-thunder from previous records.
We can hear each nuance of his stellar guitar work as it should be heard and Meg’s powerhouse drumming is again used to provide some support or control over his lone guitar going pleasantly haywire. This memorable tune moves through a celestial chord sequence that gives Jack the chance to snarl and bite in equal measure, and warm tingles travel through my bones as he sings: “Look another way girl I’m telling ya, God gave seven minutes right to ya.”
Little Cream Soda (3:44)
This is the standout rocker on the album, and a candidate for the one of the most eye-popping tunes ever recorded by the group. It is a storming piece of rock showmanship that rattles and croaks through its distorted lead hook channelled through squealing ascending-descending feedback solos into a bouncy bridges where the tune takes a breath to stop and look around. The most sensational aspect of their music is that the listener has no idea in which direction it shall head next.
Ominous guitars simmer here with imminent violence, before exceptional blues lyrics are deployed in the tense respite: “Well every highway that I go down seems to be longer than the last one that I knew about, oh well.” The vocals here are perched on the edge of genuine terror but are so jaw-droppingly slick I cannot help but grin like a fool whenever I hear them. These exhilarating verses are also enhanced with his use of “oh well, oh well” before the mushed guitar solo, proving that Jack White is a first-rate rock dramatist as well as exceptional guitarist. This tune is reason enough to seek out the record. I know… but I mean it.
Rag and Bone (3:46)
This gem begins like Back Door Man from The Doors before it twists into a cocky piece of surrealist spoken-word blues with a chorus that drags the listener into hooks he never saw coming. Jack once again sounds like a musician able to fuse elements of music from three separate decades and the strange banter that makes up the verses is not too cutesy but more manic and edgy.
Meg once again sounds lighter, as though she has grown into her vocal parts, which were once a little pedestrian for me. Although she does little noticeable singing on this album (which is for the best). The music here is quite similar to the short rave-up Let’s Build A Home from De Stijl or indeed Broken Bricks from their debut album, but has a far more frantic (and frankly much better) climax.
Jack sounds like some possessed hobo as he rattles out the third verse: “Lots of place we ain’t been to yet, east side, southwest side, middle east, rich house, dog house, cat house, halfway homes, old folks homes, down in the catacombs!”
Catch Hell Blues (4:19)
Their mastery of the blues is what The White Stripes made so wonderful on previous albums and this tune begins with a series of blues licks that gently tantalise before the tune bounces into action. Fans of the breakneck blues numbers from De Stijl such as Little Bird or Death Letter (most mortals) should find this piece to their liking. It has less of a structure to it at times and seems more of an excuse for Jack to demonstrate his damned fine guitar playing (which is hardly a bad thing). The vocals here are indeed ancillary to the virtuoso guitar work, fill-in-the-blanks at times, but the brilliance and tension of this tune is impossible to fault.
Horses & Cockneys
You Don’t Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You As You’re Told) opens with a razor-sharp guitar stomp that almost sounds off-kilter infused with the bouncy pop melody and more involved organ backing.
The tune, at the risk of shifting into Raconteurs territory, gels at the bridges where Jack squeals out three or four guitar solos through the galloping din of the music. Meg White is in there somewhere as well, sounding enthusiastic as usual. 300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues is a leisurely piece that twists from the soft acoustic guitar and drum syncopation of previous triumphs such as Take, Take, Take before it cuts into noisome electric guitar solos that sound stitched at the production desk but do not diminish its enjoyment value.
For the sake of balance, however, I would have to admit this is the weakest piece on the album. It wavers between the delayed excitement of Ball & Biscuit and the bluesy dreariness of A Boy’s Best Friend and ends up more the latter. Got to love that closing line, however: “One thing’s for sure in that graveyard, I’m gonna have the shiniest pair of shoes.”
Conquest is an actual cover (gasp), and for once not of the blues variety. Instead it is a song written by Corky Robbins and popularised, I believe, by Patti Page. It makes use of hilarious mariachi trumpets that are a genuine surprise at first, then ludicrously theatrical vocals which help diminish the shock.
To keep proceedings even more strange, the harmonies are pushed through the speakers and the trumpets are allowed to jam with the squalling guitar. The bizarre pre-chorus parts even sound like synthesisers which makes this by far the most experimental and enthralling record by the duo on instrumentation alone.
Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn wins the best title award, as well as the award for the most audaciously experimental and rewarding piece here. The White Stripes in this tune manage the impossible, which is to make the tuneless drone of the bagpipe fit into a jaunty acoustic ditty. This is in itself an incredible achievement, especially for those such as myself who have grown up with this horrible instrument. What could have been an embarrassment is an enjoyable detour – the Caledonian cousin to Little Ghost perhaps.
Although it must be said the attempted Scots accent from Jack in the last verse was a bad idea, but I’m prepared to offer some benefit of the doubt. St. Andrew (The Battle Is In The Air) sounds like an absolute mess at first, and remains so, but is such a delirious distraction it is impossible to resist. What is even more bizarre is that Meg White seems to have a different voice to the one she used on previous albums; it has a sweeter, more girly edge to it more in common with Scottish indie rock bands like Belle & Sebastian. She sounds like Isobel Campbell, in fact. Which was perhaps the idea.
I’m Slowly Turning Into You makes use of a stop-start electric organ, drone-guitar and drum rhythm that almost grates until the sensational electric guitar gives way to a delectable pop chorus with a melee of whispery voices and twinkling solos from up above. The remainder of the tune has an improvisatory feel which is an utter thrill, and it builds to a sing-along chorus which is almost as sky-high as those Raconteurs numbers some of us loved so much.
I’m A Martyr For My Love For You is the sole ballad on the album that manages to side-step the tedium of the previous piano-led efforts on Get Behind Me Satan that made the record a little tough to wade through at times. The organ here works well over the acoustic guitar and soft vocals from Mr. White. This one is more reminiscent of the noisy balladry from White Blood Cells and conjures up the delicate work displayed on tunes such as The Same Boy You’ve Always Known and suchlike. OK, enough back referencing!
Effect and Cause is a light-hearted piece on the acoustic guitar in the manner of previous fun-filled album closers. I will not name them. No more back references. Mr. White dusts off his country voice for this one and it boasts the cleverest lyrics and neatest wordplay to fall from his pen, which is probably why he sniggers mid-verse. Thus ends another miniature masterpiece from the triumphant twosome.
Yes, Yes…
Icky Thump is impossible to resist. It is a five-star album since it is very very light on imperfections and I was bowled over by all of these tunes when I first spun it. Since then, all of these wonderful pieces have clicked to become bona fide White Stripes classics and this is another utter triumph from start-to-finish. We would expect nothing less from thee band of the noughties. It is a far more experimental, heavier rocking and ultimately superior record to Get Behind Me Satan and is a bold step forward that also capitalises on what is so great about the band in the first place.
The ad-hoc garage-rock feel is retained despite the vast riches they have amassed, and infused with a fearless eclecticism. All their genius from 1997 to the present day is to be found somewhere on this album and I have a strong feeling it shall take residence in my CD player for months and months to come. So ignore the daft title once again, and surrender to the music.
Rating: 9/10
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