Hots On #5: Ick.
Gangsters retire and move to Miami; rock stars never retire, but some do move to Nashville, have kids, and start making records by the numbers. Who wouldn’t? It’s not like you’d need to impress anybody anymore.
Exhibit A: Icky Thump, the 6th LP from the Artists Formerly From Detroit, the White Stripes. Icky Thump follows a similar template as last year’s under-appreciated Get Behind Me Satan—open with an iconoclastic berserker of a single and spend the rest of the album confusing people as to what the Stripes are about. On Satan, that mostly involved tricking out songs with marimba arrangements and other non-minimalist frippery; unfortunately, the big revelation Icky provides us with is Jack White’s ability to make appallingly self-indulgent artistic decisions.
The title track features an acid-fried guitar squiggle for a hook, as well as some tasty America-baiting in the lyrics: “Why don’t you kick yourself out, you’re an immigrant too!…well you can’t be a pimp and a prostitute too.” It’s the most Zeppelin-esque thing Jack White has ever attempted, which is to say it’s a perfect White Stripes track.
Then you listen to the rest of the record. Despite a few lyrical barbs, “You Don’t Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You’re Told)” resembles a Keith Uban song more so than anything else in the Stripes canon. But that’s just boring; things don’t really get hairy until about track 4.
A cover of an old Patti Page tune, “Conquest” is tricked out with a sweaty nu-metal-meets-bullfight-fanfare arrangement and is sung by White in a teeth-gnashing, projecting-from-the-diaphragm fake opera voice that I managed to listen to for exactly 50 seconds before throwing my iPod out the window and hiding under my desk. You can actually hear him chewing the scenery. As pieces of music, “Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn” and its companion, “St. Andrews (This Battle Is In The Air),” would be easier to swallow were they being performed facetiously by Will Ferrell in an SNL parody of Riverdance, rather than as an actual for-serious attempt at Celtic mysticism. “Rag And Bone” casts the White sibling meta-characters as dandified rag-pickers, with Jack talking in silly voices and cranking his amp to…not 10, more like about 7 1/2. They don’t like it too loud in Nashville.
To paraphrase Jay-Z, Jack White has stacked his paper so high that he’s pretty much above the law—but not even Jigga could put a travesty like “Conquest” on a record and avoid the consequences. And, with the exception of the title tune, even the good songs sound rote—take three chords, plug in lyrics about girls or bad weather or themselves, ta-da. Whereas earlier records featured a rewrite of Zeppelin’s “Your Time Is Gonna Come” almost as a matter of course, there are three on this one. It’s not that the sound is tired, per se—more that it’s the most forced Striped album yet, the most encumbered, ironically enough, by White’s complete artistic and financial freedom. See what happens when you have kids?
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