The White Stripes: love or hate it, their sound is distinctly their own
News of an imminent sixth album from the White Stripes was a joyous surprise.
With the unveiling of the Raconteurs last year, the notion that the duo's dynamic had reached exhaustion seemed worryingly plausible. Get Behind Me Satan, a brilliantly sharp record that swings between anger and melancholy, sounds at times like a heartfelt farewell. The lyrics, while characteristically enigmatic, communicate a painful disenchantment. The 13 songs contrast each other so finely that the record creates the sense of a perfected formula. Hearing it, I felt that the White Stripes had made their great record, done fitting justice to their muses, and that further developments were unlikely.
In reflection, such thoughts have circulated since White Blood Cells brought them widespread attention. Nay-sayers have frequently depicted the band as a one-trick act whose crude sound and lack of musical ambition would soon condemn them to the dustbins of rock-history. Five albums deep and as defiantly idiosyncratic as ever, yet another great album would surely be enough to banish such cynicism. I am as intrigued to learn that Icky Thump took three weeks to record (the longest of any White Stripes album to date) as I am to hear that bagpipes may feature. There is little doubt in my mind that the results will yet again astound and endure.
Reviewing the five records released so far, I cannot help but think of a refreshingly frank assessment Beck made of contemporary rock'n'roll. He described the genre as a worn-out pack of cards with which musicians must struggle to come up with captivating new tricks. There is certainly no shortage of bands that can play a convincing homage to past glories. The space between being inspired by former greats and serving as a slick update is becoming ever more indistinct. White Stripes albums always elude this grey area. Love or hate it, their sound is distinctly their own and doesn't lean heavily on influences. When you hear Seven Nation Army you may detect the shadow of a Ron Asheton riff but the song has enough character to distinguish itself.
This feat seems remarkable when you consider the band's taste in vintage equipment and recording methods, and their love of truly bygone American music. Even when they cover Blind Willie McTell (Your Southern Can is Mine) or Son House (Grinnin' in Your Face) they imbue the songs with enough jagged force and wild-eyed strangeness for you not to tune out and play the originals instead. Producing credible covers of these extraordinary songs alone proves that there is talent here head and shoulders above most of what we have heard in recent years.
What is it that sets the White Stripes' sound apart and prevents it from becoming stale? Many credit the simplicity and stripped-down nature of the songs. The De Stijl-inspired ethic of self-imposed limitations is undoubtedly integral to the band's make-up. Songs are limited to the three elements of vocals, guitar and drums or vocals, piano and drums. All imagery appears in the same three colours. Lyrics often portray childhood as a moment of unaffected creativity and imagination. But simplicity in itself does not explain the power and appeal of the music. As with Detroit forefathers the Stooges, I think the calculation and determined aim in what the White Stripes do is often overlooked in favour of the primitive quality. But this canniness is really where they have the edge on many contemporaries. For Jack White, I don't think it would be enough to borrow bits and pieces of sounds and images from favoured bands and offer the resulting collage as something new. I suspect he may have concluded early on that if anything exciting were to be extracted from the old pack of cards it would require a methodically organised and highly personal vision.
Fortunately (with no disrespect intended to Meg White) I think he had the talent to pull this off. The songs are surreal concoctions of American roots music and rock'n'roll. They are brash, fun and defiantly untouched by whatever is happening outside the distinctive and mysterious world of the White Stripes. Belying their raucously improvised tone there is a strong sense of control and purpose. Whenever I have seen the band in concert I have been impressed with the use they make of rock'n'roll as spectacle. The shows are not Kiss-style pantomime but neither do they resemble static, mundane indie outings. Instead, there is just the right amount of the outlandish and strange to remind you that rock'n'roll should be enigmatic and thrilling. It is a rare thing to have a band around whose records you can consistently look forward to with genuine anticipation. As long as the White Stripes are going strong, we have one.
