Over a decade of existence, seven studio albums and a creeping acquisition of cult status for this two-piece garage-rock unit and I paid no mind until I heard of their intended collaboration with Doctor John. For this limited audience of one, initiation has always been through endorsement. Ergo, Pink derived her legitimacy from the fawning of Aerosmith, John Mayer from the preaching of Eric Clapton. As with them, I lent an ear to The Black Keys much later than I should have, and as with them, I stand impressed. ‘El Camino’, much like ‘For Your Love’ by The Yardbirds and the ‘The Rolling Stones’ by The Rolling Stones, sounds exactly like what it was meant to, a white discovery of the blues. The influence, of course, is derivative, because the palette of ‘El Camino’ extends to all of American music (which arguably, is a hopped-up variant of the blues), rather than the blues itself, and the final product is washed with a pop sensibility (the indubitable touch of co-producer Brian Burton, also known as Danger Mouse) without which the record might not have been as memorable as it is. Record-opener ‘Lonely Boy’ begins with that lovely analogue-distorted tone half-way between a drawl and a growl that segues into a chord progression sourced from the 1960-1970 era, complete with up-strokes synchronizing with the snare. The lyrics are minimal and visceral, but just listen to the anthemic refrain, “Oh, oh, oh, I’ve got a love who keeps me waiting”; this track was meant to be a crowd-chanter, and it works. There is a reason why people don’t sing along at concerts by Tool. The song is also perfect for the long drive home after a fight with a lover. Actually, it’s perfect driving music in any situation. Singer Dan Auberach has a voice with an adolescence belying his thirty-three years, and lyrics that emphasize on parity with the melody, as opposed to poetic appeal. ‘Dead And Gone’ has a pounding rhythm with plenty of chanting interspersed with rhyming lyrics (which I have always been partial to). The absence of detailing keeps the context broad enough for young women, lawyers and ex-convicts relate to and identify with, which could either be a brilliant or a tragic aspect. There is an unmistakable off-handed tribute to ‘Stairway To Heaven’ in ‘Little Black Submarines’, with an extended acoustic-guitar-and-vocal beginning that breaks, pauses and melds with a power-chord laden chord progression for the remainder of the song. ‘Stop Stop’ is another strong contender, with its eerie melody that sediments over a faster-paced beat. The clear winner, however is ‘Gold On The Ceiling’, with its swinging beats, backing vocals on the refrain and the tension between the haunting verses and the loud, hard bridge. This song, you cannot miss for love or money. There is something to be said for the arrogant nonchalance responsible for the lines, “They wanna’ get my gold on the ceiling, I ain’t blind, just a matter of time before you steal it, it’s alright, ain’t no guard in my house.” On the other hand, ‘Money Maker’, ‘Sister’, ‘Nova Baby’ and the remaining tracks on this album, whilst extending the tone of ‘El Camino’, do not leave an imprint and are forgettable, indistinguishable. The problem is, as with the entire rock-and-roll revival brigade, that we, the audience are jaded, and it takes a lot for us to remember individual pieces of music as opposed to the sound of an artiste. The warm familiarity of ‘El Camino’ is pleasing, but blunt. This is not the kind of music one would dare call, “interesting”, but, it is also the kind of music one would most likely listen to with the last cigarette of the day.
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