MEDIA REVIEWS
ALBUM
ALBUM
neil young
Americana
Reprise
Jack White is polarizing: People love him or
love to hate him. Through his affinity for
America’s musical roots (blues and country),
his use of kooky, pawnshop-collected gear,
working with artists like the Insane Clown
Posse (maybe he deserves flack for that collaboration!), or his inclusion with the Edge
and Jimmy Page in the rock documentary It Might Get Loud, White has garnered both
praise and resentment. Regardless, he deserves respect for passionately creating and
performing copious amounts of tunes in a wide spectrum of styles.
Since pioneering the rock duo scene in 1999 with The White Stripes self-titled
debut, Jack White has been a key member of 12 studio and live recordings in multiple
groups and roles, most notably as guitarist/frontman in the Stripes, sharing guitar/
vocal duties with Brendan Benson in The Raconteurs, and as the drummer for The
Dead Weather. Combined, the three bands tackle everything from power-chord blues
and punk rock to traditional folk and country. Not surprisingly, each of these bands is
felt and heard in Blunderbuss (which, for the curious, is a “muzzle-loading firearm” and
a term with Dutch origins that roughly translates to “thunder pipe.”)
When it comes to guitar playing, White is best known for the heavy, raucous
anthems like “Seven Nation Army” and “Icky Thump” that he banged out early in his
career. Blunderbuss doesn’t disappoint by satiating guitarists’ appetite for head-bobbin’
riffs. The solo in “Freedom at 21” echoes the Stripes’ “Blue Orchid” by mixing dry
and octave guitar tracks played on a Bigsby-equipped Tele. To differentiate from the
latter, “Freedom” adds a smidge of delay that offers a trippy stereo effect from right to
left with headphones on. The album opener “Missing Pieces”— a Rhodes piano-led
pop number—features a harmonized fuzz solo in the vein of The Raconteurs “Bang
Bang,” while “Sixteen Saltines” is a three-chord rocker that is as close to the Stripes
as Blunderbuss gets. An acoustic duet, “Love Interruption,” pairs White with female
vocalist Ruby Amanfu, collectively producing the album’s emotional tour de force with
a raw performance on par with Johnny Cash and June Carter’s rebel-rousin’ “Jackson”
or White’s earlier collaboration with country legend Loretta Lynn.
The guitar riffs will get the headlines, but the album’s real artistry and strength are
shown in the writing and composition. Piano-driven tunes like the attitude-oozing
“Trash Tongue Talker” and the soothing, two-timing ballad “Blunderbuss” reveal White
as more than a 21st-century guitar hero. Those tracks and the caressing “On and On
and On”—carried by Fats Kaplin’s weeping steel guitar and the swirling piano played
by White through a Leslie 3300 speaker—help Blunderbuss bloom and blossom.
While most of the album can be traced to Jack’s family tree of work, it does have
a few tricks up its sleeves. The cover of Little Willie John’s “I’m Shakin’” has White
providing eerily melodic vocals à la Iggy Pop’s warbling in “I Need Somebody.” The
song’s bouncy distorted guitar and doo-wop background singers give the tickly vibe of
a Little Shop of Horrors number. Equally entrancing is the foot-stompin’, ragtime-esque
“Hip (Eponymous) Poor Boy.”
This is a successful pseudo-debut for Jack White, who has always been somewhat
of a solo artist under the cloak of a band name. His previous endeavors are accounted
for in this effort, which has more Nashville twang and songwriting chops than Detroit
Rock City power. But by showcasing a softer side, White opens up and offers his most
well-rounded, inspired, and honest musical recording to date. —Chris Kies
Must-hear tracks: “Trash Tongue Talker,” “Freedom at 21”
30 PREMIER GUITAR JUNE 2012
Complain all you want that Neil Young—
easily one of the 10 greatest songwriters of
the rock ’n’ roll era—hasn’t written a classic
album in years. But to define late-model
Young via the recorded output of the last
decade is to ignore guitar and vocal performances as incendiary, confrontational, and
irreverent as ever. On Americana, Young
frees himself from the constraints of original
material, focusing instead on the textures and
raw, adrenal possibilities of his greatest band,
Crazy Horse, and a fistful of American folk
standards. Like so much that Young does,
the concept borders on the perverse, which is
precisely why it’s such a kick in the ass.
Those looking for technical sorcery
and smooth production need not read
further. This is Neil and the Horse at their
crustiest. But it’s more than Neil’s production nihilism and antipathy toward slickness
that makes this record remarkable. Young
and Co. approach and reinterpret these
songs with arrangements that are often
revelations. Take the schoolhouse classic,
“Oh Susannah,” which becomes a funky
and chugging minor-key stomp rivaling the
barbarism of Neil’s old ’ 66 Sunset Strip,
fuzz-punk compatriots The Seeds. The miner
tragedy, “Clementine,” is pervaded with
darkness and desperation that conjures images of the protagonist as a grimy mechanic
mourning the drowning of his love—“Down
by the River” revisited, perhaps? Meanwhile,
the classic Carolina murder ballad of Tom
Dula (aka “Tom Dooley”)—blunted in the
popular imagination by the Kingston Trio’s
polite banjo version—is rendered tragic,
brutal, and menacing on the back of Young’s
wailing Deluxe and the zombie march
rhythms of Crazy Horse.
The Silhouettes’ “Get a Job” provides a
touch of party relief amid the dark balladry
in this selection of American greats. It’s a treat
to hear drummer Ralph Molina and bassist
Billy Talbot revisit their New York doo-wop
roots: It’s a fascinating insight into the odd
stew that made Crazy Horse among the most
singular and quirky garage bands of all time.
“Wayfarin’ Stranger” is Neil at his most
alone, save for Molina’s brushes-hi-hat-and-snare accompaniment to Young’s plaintive
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