I don't normally get too bent out of shape about bands I love breaking up. Oasis? Eh, fine, it was probably time. The Smashing Pumpkins? Bummer, but they should have stayed that way. Rage Against the Machine? Perfect recorded career, quit while you're ahead. Nicely done, lads.
(Click here for retrospective photos of the White Stripes, featuring classic live shots from throughout their career!)
But when news broke on Wednesday (February 2) that the White Stripes were throwing in the towel, somehow I got the feeling I'd been cheated. I won't pretend that every song on all of the duo's six studio albums was great (even though the majority actually were). But the Stripes were a rare band that simultaneously managed to stay true to their core sound — a kind of gutbucket urban punk blues — while constantly expanding it and reshaping it without losing the spark that made them unique.
From their 1999 self-titled debut to 2007's excellent Icky Thump, Jack and Meg White were the Great Rock Experiment writ large. They first fooled us with the brother/sister, husband/wife shtick, only to prove they were no joke by adhering to one of the most principled musical play books in rock history. Jack ran the group like a psychedelic military boot camp, insisting on a strict red and white color scheme that covered everything from their stage outfits and gear to their roadies' suits and their videos. Most corporations, to say nothing of shambling rock bands, can sustain that kind of product consistency.
(Click here for retrospective photos of the White Stripes, featuring classic live shots from throughout their career!)
Like some kind of art school Ramones, Jack stripped the band down to its bare essence and then built it back up with his endlessly fertile creative mind. He shamelessly borrowed from the blues and soul greats he adored like Son House while always making sure to put some of his own stank on it. There's a reason the Stripes were the only band from their Detroit garage rock scene to make it big: Jack had a plan all along and as unlikely a success as they were, his plan worked because the chemistry between him and drummer Meg White was undeniable.
Meg often got criticized for what some called her shabby drumming style, slightly behind the beat, a bit sloppy and lacking the rumbling thump of someone like fellow blues duo skin whacker Patrick Carney. But Meg was the band's secret weapon. There, I said it. Jack had the flash, that edge of madness blues squeal and the studio genius to make it all work.
But I've seen Jack's other bands a few times, and while I like the Raconteurs and appreciate the throwback AM radio sound of White's voice intertwined with fellow songwriting gem Brendan Benson, I never quite cottoned to the Dead Weather, which always struck me as a bit of a half-baked remake of the Stripes.
The third and last time I saw the White Stripes was at Music Hall in my hometown of Cincinnati in September 2005. They were touring in support of Get Behind Me Satan (underappreciated, but really, really solid, trust me) and the show was a clinic on what made the group so unique.
As I said at the time, it consisted of the six things rock bands don't normally do during shows:
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