Gig played on 08/11/05

You've got admire their chutzpah. Though still recognisably and indisputably The White Stripes, the off-kilter sounds of "Get Behind Me Satan" didn't quite set the world ablaze as intended and yet, once again, here are Jack and Meg White on the first of two sold-out nights in the spatial surroundings of London's Alexandra Palace (which, it should be pointed out, arrive hot on the heels of two sold-out weekend shows at the Hammersmith Apollo). Clearly, something somewhere has gone right.

Whatever the apparent shortcomings of "Get Behind Me Satan" might be, it's impossible not to admire the desire of a band of The White Stripes' stature and standing to be experimenting this far into their career. Moreover, given Jack White's one-time status as Renee Zellwegger's main squeeze and therefore tabloid target, their wish to break out of their self-imposed mould is something to be hailed even if the results are somewhat flawed.

Nevertheless, against the atmosphere of this auspicious event - and make no mistake, this is an event; from the transvestites made up as 50s cigarette girls selling badges at the door to the opulent stage set that resembles some tropical paradise gone to hell - the material from their current platter provides an added dimension of meter, pace and depth to their show. After the searing ramalama of "Black Math", "Dead Leaves And The Dirty Ground" and "Blue Orchid", "My Doorbell" comes as something of a relief while the marimba of "The Nurse" blend perfectly with Meg's rudimentary, bulls-eye drumming to create a new facet to their work.

But The White Stripes don't just let the music do the talking. There's a huge degree of old-fashioned showmanship that propels tonight's proceedings, be it Jack's increasingly flamboyant sartorial tastes - the matador look is in, fashionistas - or the way his fret arm waves grandly as his strumming hand dampens the strings or even the knowing looks that Jack and Meg cast each other throughout the show. Crucially, it's a heady blend of ingredients that frequently causes spontaneous spillages of approval from the crowd; the unrestrained dancing and applause prompted by "Death Letter" as it veers from funked rhythms to something far heavier and ominous before doing a U-turn and returning to the groove, is a joy to behold.

The White Stripes are a band of two halves; as Jack declaims his way through the set - the homo-eroticism of "Jolene", for example, is thoroughly believable - Meg herself performs in a slightly more subtle fashion as she straightens her body, juts out her chin and casts mock disdainful glances at his predicament before returning to the elemental pounding that's become as much of The White Stripes' signature sound as her partner's guitar.

Despite the minor wobble of "Get Behind Me Satan", there's no faulting The White Stripes' live experience; an astonishing performance from an astonishing band.

by James Marshall