Apparently overwhelmed by their elevation to the upper echelons of alterno-rock celebrity following the release of their 'White Blood Cells' album, Jack and Meg White have downplayed the arrival of their fourth almost to the point of issuing an apology. It was bound to be no good, they claimed, and would very probably be their last.
This wasn't false modesty on the part of the Detroit duo, but rather the expressed anxiety of artists both bemused that it blew up as it did (it was their third album, after all), and enormously respectful of their muse and their musical forebears. If rapturous response to their records makes them feel uncomfortable, however, the Whites are about to feel damned awkward for some time yet.
'Elephant' sticks to the White Stripes minimalist blue(s)print - thrillingly primitive drumming, near feral fretwork, Jack's awesome yowl - but makes the subtle, yet crucial moves which are the mark of a talent in this for the long haul. Alongside the swampily expressive likes of Son House, Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson and Screaming Jay Hawkins, as filtered through Led Zeppelin's blues rock, there are occasional hints of The Kinks and The Small Faces, with Jack sounding as much like Rod Stewart in some places as he does a young Robert Plant. There are fleeting glimpses, too, of British post-punk (especially, Magazine), which suggests that during their time spent in London (the LP was recorded at the legendary, lo-fi Toe Rag Studio) they absorbed a little British musical history by osmosis.
The album opens with 'Seven Nation Army' and re-establishes The White Stripes' primacy in the garage-blues league by filleting 'I Put a Spell On You' and adding savagely serrated guitar runs. Then it's into the satisfying, top-speed chugga of 'Black Math' before 'There's No Home For You Here', where passages of quiet highlight the Cave-like literariness of Jack's lyrics. A cover of Bacharach's 'Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself' is sublime, the heavy space between each rationed sound as vital as the sound itself.
Meg makes her singing debut on a lean 'Cold Cold Night' - in sharp contrast to the wigged-out 'Girl, You Have No Faith In Medicine', where the tambourine hisses like a rattlesnake. The LP closes with 'It's True That We Love One Another', a country-toned, tongue-in cheek debate between Jack, Meg and guest vocalist Holly Golightly about that hoary brother/sister-husband/wife issue.
The silent but suggested 'white' in the title must be Meg and Jack's little joke - 'Elephant' is already this year's most crucial purchase.
by Sharon O'Connell