In Jack White v/ Black Keys: Let the Rock do the Talking
In a difficult turn for scandal hounds and celebrity ambulance chasers the feud between Jack White and The Black Keys is now laid to rest at the alter of rock.
Because as much eighth grade bitchiness as spills into the sewer to be gobbled up by TMZ, these are not professional gutter snipes we're dealing with. Jack White and The Black Keys are, respectively, musicians. And the music does talking, far better than talk could ever hope to do the rocking.
My personal preference runs toward the spacious balls-out rumble and squeal of White's Lazaretto. The rhythmicaly double stepping herk and jerk work like barbed wire and thorns on my brain's pleasure ceters, it hooks and it's useless for me to struggle. And eventhough I think the video and the world in general could've done with less obligatory slo-mo car porn footage, the overall concept and execution is spot on and noticeably badass.
Meanwhile the Black Keys continue compressing their sound, attempting to make the psychedlic blues this blog has proved so fond of into a single undifferentiated element, with facets but no audible interplay between parts. It's effective to a point and the material is strong. But I forget how much I miss that old school spacing until Lazaretto kicks in and you can hear the blues start to breath.
False conflict and meaningless sniping aside, I am willing to declare that Jack White wins this round purely on basis of rocking.
