Hoboken, Brooklyn...It's all Rock N Roll

It's a hell of a weekend in rock n roll in New York this weekend. On the edge, in New Jersey, over an hour from here by train...were the Greenhornes. Here, 3 stops and 20 minutes away are two nights of that little ol' duo from Detroit...the White Stripes.


The Greenhornes; The Black Hollies; Tigers & Monkeys
@Maxwell’s
Hoboken, NJ – September 23, 2005

One of the more unlikely acts I have seen 4 times, the Greenhornes headline this nice, little intimate club show fresh off opening for the White Stripes around the world and in the States. The Greenhornes pounded away and smoothed through their songs. Drummer Patrick Keeler is particularly adept at his trade and when he, along with bassist Jack Lawrence, returns with Jack White and Brendan Benson in the Rancoteurs, it should be an amazing show (incidentally, White and Benson were on an off night of their tour and should have been around for some band practice). In a terrible moment, the crowd filed out before an encore, like a bunch of lame-o’s. Shameful. The Black Hollies were a mostly fun Jersey City band devoted to 60’s-ish garage rock and classic rock. Summoning the Yardbirds among other acts, the rather regular looking crew of dudes were fronted by a mod-looking bass player whose voice was so-so. More image than sound, the Black Hollies are suitable, but far from perfect. Tigers & Monkeys frankly stunk. Playing down-chord hard rock, with a boring, bad lead singer, this band was having a bad identity crisis. Are they punk? Are they garage? Are they downer rockers? Feh.

The White Stripes; The Shins; Brendan Benson
@Keyspan Park
Brooklyn, NY – September 24, 2005

Oh those White Stripes. Oh that pesky Jack White. His ability to let his music not be distracted by his antics (the good, the bad, and the curious), and his ability to not let his music be overshadowed by expectation and music snobbery from even his most devoted fans is something to behold. The new album, Get Behind Me Satan, is an exercise in study. As a fan willing to admit a band can screw up, one can also be overzealous in decrying the latest effort. The truth is, it is hard to judge Get Behind Me Satan. Experimentation is not something to boo but it can also be too risky. Jack White certainly experiments but it is hard to tell if he’s going beyond his self-imposed boundaries. And it’s also hard to decide if that even matters. In the end, it is a good album, worth listening to and enjoying, but it is not the kind of album that should recruit new fans (which doesn’t really matter) or blow away longtime fans. It’s an album to go “hmmm” to.
That all being said, there is no debate on the live show. None. It is an exercise in all-out rock n roll glory. Even when it’s the experimental stuff like “The Nurse” and its marimba nirvana, or the big piano smoothness of “My Doorbell” and “I’m Lonely But I Ain’t That Lonely Yet”, there is an air of rock n roll fun. And of course, when the Stripes dish out “Death Letter”, “Cannon”, “Screwdriver”, “Hello Operator” and “Let’s Shake Hands”, there is nothing to discern. It is the spirit and fervor of those old blues and blues-based tunes that still make a White Stripes show the best thing in the musical world. Above all, “Ball & Biscuit” remains the single greatest live song performed by anyone anywhere. It is the ultimate blues orgy. It is the ultimate period. The cover of Tegan & Sara’s “Walking With A Ghost” was a more than pleasant surprise. Jack’s ability to do pop is also disturbingly good, disturbing because it matches his blues and experimental abilities.
If there is one thing a little frustrating with a Stripes show it is not with the music but with the hoopla around it. The theatricality of a Stripes concert (and it is a concert, and not a gig) is for the taste of Main Event status. The elaborate fake trees, the little idols on the amps, the number of instruments, the tropical jungle theme, the Zorro outfit the large audience full of mainstreamers…this is all a far cry from just walking onto a small club stage, plugging in the guitar, and wailing away. And maybe that’s what makes the presence of Meg White so important. With her simple drumming, her delicately bad-but-touching voice, her lack of bombast, and her understated manner, she is the tie that binds Jack to his roots…to the blues, to the garage, to Detroit. Beyond all the magic and mysticism of new, intrepid songs, there is Meg, drumming away, and letting all the basics stick around for one rockin’ good time. Put this all together, and it is still evident why the White Stripes are number 1. One last thing: Last time I saw the band, it was in the chaotic drunken moshing frat crasher mess at Roseland. This time, it was a pot-filled, rather stiff affair. The lack of moshing, crowd surfing, and stage crashing was a welcome relief to fans like myself and to Jack for sure (remembering his tirade at Roseland), but this time it was almost too dull. Jack was visibly frustrated the other way…but in the end he was happy. And that’s what it is all about now, it’s about being happy. The White Stripes are just that.
Part of the reason the crowd may have been so dull lies with the Shins. Once again, the Stripes have a poor opening act in New York. The Shins are dull. Dull, dull, dull. Bad singing is fine when the songs are good and it fits. Here, the emo voice is lame. The songs are lame. The guys can certainly play, and they have a good attitude, but the songs are hollow. I don’t hate The Shins, and I don’t look down on anyone who likes them. But a White Stripes show? No. Brendan Benson has a few good numbers but the rest seem a bit sloppy (and not in that good Jack White way of being sloppy)…in pop, sloppiness is not good. The good songs though indicate potential. And when the Rancouters explode…that potential should manifest itself in decent songcraft.