#390: The White Stripes' Elephant

One could be forgiven, I suppose, for rolling his eyes at a white boy from Detroit (not Livonia, Bloomfield or Sterling Heights, mind you; Jack White - nee John Anthony Gillis - grew up in Southwest Detroit's Mexicantown) with the nerve to cover Robert Johnson... That White references his idols without shame is well known, and plainly evident on much of the Stripes' earlier work, of course. But on Elephant, White hasn't paid homage to his forebears so much as truly honored them, having tirelessly torn down what he's managed to absorb over the years and rebuilt it into something very contemporary, and very much his own. There are nods to the past, naturally; the layered vocal tracks on "There's No Home for You Here" are pure Freddy Mercury, and are immediately followed by an angry treatment of Burt Bacharach's "I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself." From there, though, White channels his influences through his own perspective: "Black Math" and "Hypnotize" recall the Rust Belt punk and garage rock scenes the Stripes came up through, while "Ball and Biscuit" and "Little Acorns" marry that dirty fingernailed aesthetic to more traditional forms (the former showcasing White's amazing soloing skills; the latter cleverly incorporating a bit of Detroit culture in the form of an introductory monologue from local newscaster Mort Crim) in much the same manner as that of Ohio contemporaries the Black Keys. "Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine," possessed of a certain manic boogie appeal, is the strongest track of the record's closing trifecta. "The Air Near My Fingers" is largely chaff, recalling the lazy songwriting of the Beach Boys' "Kokomo," while "Well It's True That We Love One Another" ends the record with on a light hearted, if not especially substantial, note.

Some other thoughts:

#391, Jackson Browne's The Pretender: Released after the suicide of his first wife, The Pretender showcases Browne's skilled songwriting, particularly the title track, which presages the ethos of the "Me Decade." Jon Landau's borderline easy listening production, however, removes a little too much edge for my taste.

#389, Don Henley's The End of the Innocence: With a small army of guest musicians including everyone from Axl Rose to Melissa Etheridge to Bruce Hornsby, who co-wrote the title track, Innocence finds Henley exploring the baby boom generation's transition into middle age with a compelling mix of cynicism and buoyancy.