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Back in 2002, when Akron, Ohio’s snarling-blues duo The Black Keys debuted with The Big Come Up, we had every damn right to be cynical. After all, indie-minded white boys have been pissing all over our greatest living music ever since Jon Spencer decided it was OK for rich, ironic assholes to rip the juke-joint up off its foundations and drag it, kicking and screaming, through some uptown Ivy League . . . wit. It wasn’t. Never will be. Shame on you, Spencer!
Anyhoo, where were we? Oh yeah, silly white boys. Like we were saying, back when The Black Keys dropped their introduction, we weren’t exactly optimistic. Although, we have to say, the boys’ brand of traditionally minded gutbucket blues was rather enjoyable. First off, unlike some folks (hi, Jon), the Keys weren’t trying too hard; secondly, Dan Auerbach’s thick, fuzzed-out guitar and Patrick Carney’s neck-snap of a backbeat were rudimentary enough to qualify as unfathomably catchy. Respect + a bare-bones approach = we were listening.
Then came 2003’s perversely titled follow-up, Thickfreakness (featuring a cover brimming with unholy sexual connotations). Recorded in 14 hours straight, this sophomore platter was just as raw, although there were hints of evolving songwriting. Hell, the raunchy scuzz attacks “Set You Free” and “Have Love Will Travel” were worth the price of admission alone. All of a sudden, we were beginning to forget all about Spencer and his cronies. The Black Keys clearly admired the blues and were working faithfully to bring the genre into the 21st century, while keeping its brutal integrity intact.
Bring on Round 3—Rubber Factory, the duo’s most accomplished album to date. Accomplished in the sense that it’s harder and nastier than its predecessors ever dared to be. Recorded in a former tire factory in their hometown, Rubber Factory spits out a couple fistfuls of bleeding, belching blues-rock—relentless jabs of Hendrix-esque guitar working it out alongside sledgehammer drums. Auerbach’s voice has never sounded so (wonderfully) nicotine-scarred. As for the production, it ain’t pretty. Frankly, it’s downright ugly. But that’s the blues. And that’s the point.
From the vicious stomp of “Grown So Ugly” to the downright terrifying six-string of “10 A.M. Automatic,” Rubber Factory peels back the blues to its bare essentials, tossing off cuts that simply couldn’t be the work of twenty-something white boys; they sound as if they’ve existed since the beginning of time, and were accidentally discovered, archeology-style-y, lying by the side of some backwoods dirt road, polished off, and then revved up for a new generation.
But it’s not simply the blues numbers that reveal the duo to be songwriters on the rise; it’s offbeat tracks like “The Length,” which ditches spit ’n’ snarl for a warm acoustic melody anchored by a sweet, sad slide and Auerbach’s broken-man vocals. Then there’s the fellas’ way with a choice classic-rock jewel, à la “She Said She Said” on their debut. This time out, they show good taste via selecting The Kinks’ relatively obscure “Act Nice And Gentle,” turning it inside out courtesy of a breezy, loping interpretation.
Like the good Midwestern kids that they are, Auerbach and Carney don’t do the hype thing. After the critical success of Thickfreakness, they could’ve set out to impress with clever or complicated. Instead, they chose to return to the good stuff—simple and effective—and do it better than before. Mission accomplished. Three albums into what appears to be a promising career, they’re growing up steadily, coming into their own as a truly great rock band that knows what it does best and will not let the hell up. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. Thank you, boys . . . and shame on you, Spencer.
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