Special tusk force

Sunday Herald, The, Mar 30, 2003 by Graeme Virtue

reviewed The White stripeselephant (XL)HHHH

REVIEWED

THERE can't be many bands in the world who can take that hoariest of rock traditions - the 12 bar blues, a chuggingly simple musical model that's long been embedded in our cultural memory - and transmute it into something that sounds as if it's breaking thrilling new sonic ground.

But that's what The White Stripes manage halfway through their fourth album. Guitarist/singer Jack White wrings the track in question, Ball And Biscuit, into a salty Southern rock strut, sneering that he and an undisclosed lady friend should "take our sweet little time about it". It's a brackish, standout moment in an album of laudable scope, especially considering the entire record was cut in two weeks at Toerag Studios in London using analogue recording equipment pre-dating 1963. Perhaps it's called Elephant because it cost peanuts to make.

Promotional copies of the record came on lovely heavy double vinyl - and it would be a goddamn lie to say that this didn't infinitely add to my enjoyment - but even if it came on flimsy CD-R or spectral MP3, the 14 tracks would still impress. Opener Seven Nation Army wrong-foots the listener with what sounds like a doomy keyboard - actually Jack's much-abused guitar put through a distorting pedal - developing into a funereal dirge that namechecks the Queen, reinforcing Jack's claim that this is their "English" album. But then it's back to the crashy, splashy blues-as-usual, with retro rocker Black Math a burst of delirious, combative noise. The other highlight of sheer pervasive energy is You've Got Her In Your Pocket, an eerily possessive love song that hovers somewhere between Syd Barrett and the pantomime antics of the Hooded Claw.

There's a ghostly cover of Dusty Springfield's Don't Know What To Do With Myself, where Jack appears to be channelling the high, whimsical vocal of The Kinks' Ray Davies, but elsewhere there are subtler retreads. There's No Home For You Here uses exactly the same chords and shock dynamics as Dead Leaves And The Dirty Ground from their last record, albeit with startling multi-tracked harmonies (a direct nod to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody).

They've also ripped off The Mamas And The Papas's Creeque Alley - the one about Mama Cass getting fat - for the playful/sinister album closer It's True That We Love One Another, which features vocals from Jack, Meg and newly-recruited bassist Holly Golightly, the ladies arguing over Jack's wayward affections. But all this sonic thievery doesn't detract from the record; in fact, it actually seems to be the source of its power. Jack's knack of breaking down the familiar into jaggedy blocks and then reconstructing them with a streak of angry infantilism makes everything sound young and fresh. This kind of recycling won't exactly save the planet, but wouldn't it be great if it conquered the world?

Win our rare vinyl review copy: page three

The rest of the week's CDs reviewed: page 18