A determined new album from the modern masters of bluesy rock.
A rock journalist in 2001 would have lumped the Black Keys toward the bottom of the garage rock revival. A gifted duo, but still something of a poor man’s White Stripes. Their particularly South of the Delta inspired brand of rock was original, as was their way of funneling it into the 21st century without a stitch of irony, but nobody could have predicted that they’d survive the garage band bust.
But survive they did, the old-fashioned way: by writing great songs and playing a lot of shows. And Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney are rounding out their first decade together as one of America’s biggest bands, with Victoria’s Secret ads, Grammys, headline tours, SNL appearances,and a red-hot producer in Danger Mouse. And they’ve done it all with virtually the same tears-in-my-beers guitar crunch that paid the bills back in Akron, Ohio.
If they’ve made their sound a touch more palatable to keep up with their size, who can blame them? Last year’s Brothers brimmed with marketable froth, melodies that caught more than crunched and swampy hooks that even the WASPiest of Wilco fans could hardly help but sing along with. But the cries of “sell-out” never came—perhaps because they pre-empted it by poking fun at themselves on The Colbert Report—but probably because the nation was just so glad to have a couple of honest-to-goodness rock and roll stars again.
El Camino, their new offering, doesn’t so much break formula as much as economize it. This is a nimbler Black Keys, leaning much heavily on the latter half of their blues + rock equation. The lyrics have the same vintage, my-girl-done-left-me holler, but this is a band determined to sew their broken heart back together one party at a time. It’s driving music. It’s supremely danceable. And it’s utterly impossible to hate, even if no song has the instant classic appeal their 2008 near-hit “I Got Mine.”
The first single, “Lonely Boy,” is a jump-around-the-room sing-along, with a dirty hook that sets up shop permanently in your head. And there’s “Gold on the Ceiling,” which has more bells and whistles than any song in their substantial catalog, what with the choir and all. On the first listen, “Run Right Back” stands out as a head-banging highlight; its creaky, spooky hook would make R.L. Burnside weep with jealousy. There’s also “Little Black Submarine,” the Black Keys-iest song on the album once it gets through the weepy intro. Things pick up intoxicatingly after the guitar-picking first minute and get Auerbach and Carney grooving at their most bombastic best, blazing swagger and showcasing a love of their own music that would be adorable if it wasn’t for the rock snarl.
“I wanna buy some time,” Auerbach croons on “Money Maker,” “but I don’t have a dime.” He sings this with enough conviction to make you forget he’s a bona fide A-lister now. Indeed, he seems to hardly be aware of it himself. These two have backing bands and Subaru endorsements, but they could write textbooks on how to manage a stratospheric rise without losing what got you there in the first place. El Camino is just what a bitter, somber 2011 needed—boozy, burly, goofy and so, so good. The Black Keys have gone from being a consolation prize to deserving mention on any short list of America’s best working band. They’re not the saviors of rock and roll, but they’re a great reminder that rock and roll doesn’t need any saving.
