The Arcs: Yours, Dreamily

THE ARCS: YOURS, DREAMILY (2015)

1) Once We Begin (Intro); 2) Outta My Mind; 3) Put A Flower In Your Pocket; 4) Pistol Made Of Bones; 5) Every­thing You Do (You Do For You); 6) Stay In My Corner; 7) Cold Companion; 8) The Arc; 9) Nature's Child; 10) Velvet Ditch; 11) Chains Of Love; 12) Come & Go; 13) Rosie (Ooh La La); 14) Searching The Blue.

Although «The Arcs» were assembled as a side project of Danny Auerbach, comparison of their first (and so far, only) album with the latest production of The Black Keys shows that Danny probably just wanted to take a break from Carney — because Yours, Dreamily is easily seen as a next logical step in Auerbach's evolution from grizzly blues-rocker into a moody popster, sort of like a one-man Fleetwood Mac in all of its multiple consecutive incarnations (at least he does not have a spare Christine McVie-type personality). Assisting him in this evolution are: keyboard and horn player Leon Michels (who also plays sax in his own band, El Michels Affair), drummer and general multi-instrumentalist Richard Swift (who is also a member of The Shins), and, to a lesser extent, drummer Homer Steinweiss and bassist Nick Movshon, who used to play for the late Amy Winehouse, among others. They all share songwriting credits with Auerbach — particularly Leon Michels — but it is very perfectly clear that this is essentially Danny's project from top to bottom, as his personal unshaved aura is all over the place.

And there's nothing wrong with that, either: Yours, Dreamily is an excellent album, full to the brim (a very reasonable 45-minute long brim) with clever, tasteful, and almost instantly memo­rable «blues-pop» songs that are about as worthy a continuation of the Brothers / El Camino / Turn Blue tradition as could be. The sentiments throughout are generally the same — brooding, soulful, a little melancholic, maybe even a tad misanthropic, reflecting an artistic depression that is quiet, but subtly deep enough to make you want to kill yourself if you spend too much time digging: ʽEverything You Do (You Do For You)ʼ, a mean mean reversal of the crappy message of the Bryan Adams song, could be understood as a personal complaint about an egoistic lover, or it could be just as easily interpreted as a bash of the general reason why everything goes wrong in this world of ours. Well, probably not — most of the songs here are directly woman-related — but the music has a consistent «world-weary» makeover that will be of great use to you whenever you feel pissed at either your partner, or The System, or your own unenviable personal role in the consequences of the Big Bang.

The songs are generally blues- or jazz-based, but always with catchy vocal hooks, most of which are traditionally lodged in the song title: as a concluding chorus line of each depressed verse, the line "everything you do, you do for you" falls with a heavy falsetto thud like a killer stone (and the percussion is produced like a series of ominous faraway thumps to emphasize the effect), and so does the concluding line of ʽPistol Made Of Bonesʼ, a rather transparent metaphor for the past coming to haunt the protagonist. On the other hand, ʽStay In My Cornerʼ, almost completely sung in falsetto and owing its existence to Sam Cooke, Ben E. King, Al Green, or any other master of the American R&B tradition, has the hook dutifully delivered like a tender plea, because, well, somebody is gotta be there for the protagonist to shield him from all these dark thoughts, and to make his case even stronger, the protagonist is also going to play a loud, slightly distorted, heart-breaking slide guitar solo for that special somebody.

Although the album was not produced by Danger Mouse (Auerbach and Michels took care of production themselves), his legacy is noticeable — there's echo all over the place, a wide variety of guitar effects (such as the «burping» tone on ʽThe Arcʼ, whose riff, by the way, bears an iffy resemblance to ʽMoney For Nothingʼ), different percussion on every track, ranging from drum machines to the above-mentioned «distant thumping» on ʽEverything You Doʼ, and other little production tricks that efficiently modernize the music while keeping its melodic backbone firmly in the past. The most questionable production decision is probably on ʽCome & Goʼ, essentially a modern-day cabaret number loaded with love-making moans, a song that you might find a little problematic to play in the presence of your parents (depends on the parents, of course) — certain­ly, the hookline "the more he comes, the more he goes" will take on quite a distinctive meaning next to this bit of softporn soundtrack. But then, we're all grown up here, and this is an inventive addition to the loungy-smoky atmosphere of the track.

If there is one single flaw to Yours, Dreamily, it is that no single track stands out above the others — not only is the same mood retained throughout, but it also constantly stays at the same level of room temperature. Auerbach never lets that depression carry him away to madness or imaginary suicide, nor does he allow the fervor of his prayers for delivery to carry him away into the stratosphere. Perhaps he is right, and perhaps he is simply being honest with us, expressing his emotionality exactly in the way that it runs through him, without artificially revving himself up or down — the lamentable consequence of this being that the album, while totally lovable upon first listens, will probably not hold up too long in your head.

Then again, was it really meant to? As a mere «detour» from the Black Keys, a side venture that will neither get a lot of publicity nor a lot of critical attention, Yours, Dreamily exceeds all possible expectations anyway, and I don't think we could or should be asking for more. When they finally bring it down with the soothing piano balladeering of ʽSearching The Blueʼ, a dreamy, moving tune with a bit of the old inquisitive Lennonesque spirit, we finally get the main question of the album — "Is anything we do / Ever gonna last? / Couldn't I have a clue, / Searching the blue?" Well, I'm not sure if Yours, Dreamily is going to last, what with all of its humble tone and un-flashy appearance, but at least it is a record that should be taken seriously by its contem­poraries — and, once again, confirms my opinion of Auerbach as one of the leading artists of his generation, even if that may not be meaning all that much in the 2010s. Thumbs up.

The Black Keys: Turn Blue

THE BLACK KEYS: TURN BLUE (2014)

1) Weight Of Love; 2) In Time; 3) Turn Blue; 4) Fever; 5) Year In Review; 6) Bullet In The Brain; 7) It's Up To You Now; 8) Waiting On Words; 9) 10 Lovers; 10) In Our Prime; 11) Gotta Get Away.

If, for some reason, you happened to miss out on Brothers and El Camino and have stumbled upon this record right after Rubber Factory, prepare yourself for a shock comparable with arri­ving at... well, let's say Genesis' We Can't Dance right after Foxtrot. Or try to imagine AC/DC doing a disco album. Not altogether impossible — with a little overworking of the fantasy machine, you could see Angus Young adapting his guitar style to the good old four-on-the-floor. (In fact, they almost came close to it on a couple songs off Highway To Hell).

Although it's not as if there were no going back altogether, Turn Blue sees the finalization of the transformation of the original Black Keys into something completely different. Many critics and fans alike have blamed this on the ever increasing influence of Danger Mouse, who they accuse of practically running this band now and adapting them to his own musical taste and vision. I have a hard time accepting that — unless he keeps Dan and Patrick on drugs or something, these guys don't really look like they could be so easily manipulated into sacrificing their identity and becoming the willing slaves of their producer. More grounded would be an accusation of «selling out»: the success of El Camino has brought The Black Keys to the attention of a much larger fanbase than the old blues-rock revival crowds, and so it could be expected that they might want to go on moving in that same «commercial» direction — and simply retain Danger Mouse as their good luck charm. «If he can get us to No. 2, surely he can get us to No. 1». And that he did.

But even so, «commercial» is such a vague term these days that there is little sense in trying to use it as an expletive. In the 1980s, for instance, if you went «commercial», this meant a very well defined style of production and musical values. In 2014, there is a range of «commercial» artists that covers all the vast space between Katy Perry and Lana del Rey, so what exactly would count as a «sellout»? And although Turn Blue does sound «modern» in its choice of production techniques, glossiness of sound, and electronic seasoning, its melodic backbone (like most of the melodic backbones of 2014, for that matter), hails from quite a chronologically different era.

In its relatively diverse array of styles, Turn Blue sounds like the band's declaration of love for the Seventies, a decade in which neither of the two band members spent any reasonable amount of time (Dan was born in 1979, and Patrick one year later), but which seems to have shaped most of their musical preferences anyway. Except where, earlier, they would be inspired primarily by the heavy blues-rock acts, now they pay their dues to the R&B, funk, art-pop, and even progres­sive rock corners of the scene. They do adapt all that baggage to the pulls and yearnings of their own soul, it's true — that unexplainable «blues feeling», the one which is so hard to fake when you get to know it, is all over this record. But then it was all over the records by their  predeces­sors just as well. So it does become a tad difficult to understand where the imitation ends and the real Danny Auerbach begins. It's even possible that he doesn't really begin at all.

As the album starts, with the multi-part epic ʽWeight Of Loveʼ, you might ask yourself the ques­tion: «Is this really The Black Keys, or is this a Pink Floyd outtake?» Those pensive guitar chords, those wailing keyboard effects sounding like lonely planets zooping by your window, they all seem conspiring to put you in a Dark Side Of The Moon (more exactly, ʽBreatheʼ) state of mind. Then the song changes its time signature, becomes funkier and gradually more violent, before erupting in a climactic solo — but throughout the song, it still retains some of that initial Floydishness, and that's... weird.

ʽIn Timeʼ and a couple other songs bring on memories of such recent «R&B» successes as Amy Winehouse, which were, of course, themselves revivals of something older. With a moody, catchy guitar riff but little else in the way of guitar work (most of the other non-percussive overlays are generated with Danger Mouse's array of keyboards), it is a moody «art-groove» that seems to warn us of something we are not sure of ("...you were having your fun, now you're un­der the gun...") in Dan's anguished falsetto (which he uses quite a bit on the album, despite the fact that they never really go into disco: ʽFeverʼ comes close, but it still sounds more like The Cars than Chic). None of it is bad, but none of it is terribly inspiring, either.

Sometimes it is downright bizarre: ʽWaiting On Wordsʼ begins in retro-romantic mode, so much so that Auerbach almost sounds like Robin Gibb: the brutal beast trying on some ruffled fabric for a change. As impeccably melodic as these songs are, they are just not too convincing. Wolves in sheep skins? Soulless experiments? Or is it just a case of hopelessly misplaced falsetto? Some­thing like the title track, for instance — to me, despite the paranoid bass line and minor moods, it just refuses to satisfy the «desperate tension» requirement of the lyrics. As The Black Keys «turn blue», there is a nagging suspicion that by «blue» they actually mean «half-frozen to death», and little else. As hard as it is to put my finger on what exactly went wrong here.

Something did go wrong, though, if I distinctly feel a sense of relief when it comes to the last track — ʽGotta Get Awayʼ opens with some crunchy Stones-like riffage, then quickly turns into a slightly softened up pub-rocker with a pop chorus. No pretense or ambition, no quirky production tricks... no «classic Black Keys» ambience, either, but somehow the song, even despite its repe­titiveness (before it is over, you will remember exactly how far Kalamazoo is from San Berdoo), feels more «real» than everything else on here.

To put it short and blunt, Turn Blue is not a bad album — but it intentionally forgets about what it was that made The Black Keys such an outstanding band; Turn Faceless would have been a more appropriate title. On the other hand, even as a faceless album, it is an interesting experiment in retro-genre-hopping, it sounds tasteful, it has some good songwriting, and in the end, after much deliberation, I still give it a thumbs up. Just do not even think of getting close to it if you come to the Black Keys section with definite expectations.

The Black Keys: El Camino

THE BLACK KEYS: EL CAMINO (2011)

1) Lonely Boy; 2) Dead And Gone; 3) Gold On The Ceiling; 4) Little Black Submarines; 5) Money Maker; 6) Run Right Back; 7) Sister; 8) Hell Of A Season; 9) Stop Stop; 10) Nova Baby; 11) Mind Eraser.

This record should dissipate any doubts as to whether The Black Keys might eventually shed their garage-blues-rock skin without compromising their very reason for existence. If Brothers could have us feeling uneasy about that, El Camino rights all wrongs — simply by being the band's best album since... well, I have never ever been that excited about The Black Keys ever since I first took a listen to The Big Come Up.

With the continuing help of Danger Mouse (who is now not only co-producing the record, but is also listed as co-writer on all the songs), the band puts the finishing touches on its new sound, and that means removing all limits. Yes, you will hear echos of ELO and ABBA on this record in­stead of echos of John Lee Hooker, and this means that the band is bound to lose some of its hard­core fans: I can easily see where 'Sister' would be taken as an offensive sellout by those who swore undying allegiance to 'Run Me Down' nine years earlier. Which should merely serve as a warning — temporary pacts are usually wiser than undying allegiances.

But never fear, El Camino is still quintessentially a brutal, brawny rock album, with a serious chunk of its new numbers sounding as minor (but almost always useful) variations on tunes from the band's minimalist period. It's just that they're done with the minimalism (for now). Instrumen­tal credits are still running very low (Danger Mouse is credited for keyboards, and there are three female singers on backup vocals), but the sound still comes out as their fullest and densest yet, and now they have learned to take advantage of this fullness — drawing upon a varied bag of tricks to make each song stand out in a different way.

Auerbach's heavy guitar sound is still the leader of the trend: no longer an absolute dictator, but the album's lead-in track and first hit single, 'Lonely Boy', still opens with a burly riff — one that seems to have been born as a «Danny Auerbach does Marc Bolan doing Cliff Gallup» sort of thing: big, catchy, rebellious, and fun. With Danger Mouse's anthemic keyboards and the backup girls joining in on the chorus, 'Lonely Boy' gets a glam-rock coating that, like the best of 1970s glam-rock, never loses its rock'n'roll heart under the glitz. Furthermore, it even preserves a bit of Auerbach's trademark soulful longing — instead of the tongue-in-cheek smarty-pants arrogance that used to make intelligent glam-rock sound too cynical and «nihilist» for many people. El Ca­mino may be glitzy, but it is never «hip».

Furthermore, the radical shift of sound seems to have revitalized Auerbach into writing lots of good, if predictably derivative, melodies — and it helps that the album is not as drawn out as Bro­thers, because there ain't no filler anywhere in sight. The few barebones numbers that remain still rock out as crazy ('Money Maker' is another one of those Nuggets-style nuggets whose riff you swear you've heard a million times, yet cannot remember a single song which uses exactly the same chord sequence; 'Mind Eraser' somehow manages a shiver-sending effect with its omi­nous "oh, don't let it be over" chorus). And, on the other end of the spectrum, the Keys' most da­ring shifts in style are just as good. 'Sister' is high-caliber retro-1970s pop-rock with a falsetto chorus, one of the best songs Jeff Lynne never wrote even though he had every chance of doing so. 'Nova Baby' shamelessly steals part of its vocal melody from ABBA's 'Lay All Your Love On Me' ("you walk around in other towns" = "I wasn't jealous before we met", etc.), but sets it in an anthemic power-pop context that works in an entirely different way.

Even in between those two extremes, diversity is the word of day. 'Little Black Submarines' be­gins as a touching folk ballad, then, midway through, transforms into a bombastic grunge num­ber with quasi-psychedelic backing whoah-whoah vocals. 'Gold On The Ceiling' is stomp-your-feet boogie-rock accompanied with an electronic harpsichord. 'Dead And Gone' takes the martial pounding of 'London Calling' and imbues it with a broken-hearted love-crazy atmosphere. The same atmosphere resurfaces on 'Run Right Back', but this time punctuated with an unforgettable weepy slide riff. And so on.

Summing up, I may not have heard all that many albums from 2011, but El Camino must unque­stionably be one of the year's best — if only due to its consistency in surprising the mind and up­lifting the spirit. And, to me, it is final and irrefutable proof that Auerbach is «the real thing», because his music turns out to be living and breathing even when its surface is muddled with all these extra, and, upon first sight, superfluous flourishes. I mean, when a guy plays distorted gui­tar music à la John Lee Hooker and sings in a growly voice, that alone can seduce «seekers of the truth» into accepting the guy as a mini-Messiah — no matter how inventive or individualistic the actual songs may be. But when the song is given an odd, «unsuitable» musical coating, and still remains inventive and individualistic, you know you're dealing with something real good.

And, if nothing goes wrong, I bet we can expect many more surprises from The Black Keys for years to come (especially considering that the breakup potential for a band that consists of two members is fairly low). In the meantime, thumbs up for El Camino as, I repeat, one of 2011's best, regardless of whether I have heard 10 or 1,000 albums from said year.

Check "El Camino" (CD) on Amazon
Check "El Camino" (MP3) on Amazon

The Black Keys: Brothers

THE BLACK KEYS: BROTHERS (2010)

1) Everlasting Light; 2) Next Girl; 3) Tighten Up; 4) Howlin' For You; 5) She's Long Gone; 6) Black Mud; 7) The Only One; 8) Too Afraid To Love You; 9) Ten Cent Pistol; 10) Sinister Kid; 11) The Go Getter; 12) I'm Not The One; 13) Unknown Brother; 14) Never Gonna Give You Up; 15) These Days.

I suppose it must be hard for the general public to think of two guys as «brothers» when one is playing all the «real» instruments and singing all the vocals and the other one is «just» drumming, no matter how vital that drumming may be to the music (and, with all due respect to Pat­rick Carney, he ain't no Keith Moon). But more power to the band if slapping on a title like Brothers functions as a placebo to get the creative juice a-flowin'. Actually, for a short while there was a certain danger of The Black Keys breaking up — Auerbach released a solo album and Carney had serious family problems — but eventually, things got better, and, if the band members are to be believed, their personal turmoil only helped to improve the music.

There is one serious problem with Brothers: it is way too long. The running time of 55 minutes is the band's personal record, and a highly questionable one: when it's just one guy with a guitar and one other guy with a drumset, things are supposed to wrap up quickly. If you listen to Brothers on a one-song-per-day basis, you might think that there are no truly «weak» cuts here; but if ta­ken together, the last 20 minutes will almost inevitably sound like a rehash of the first 30. Which is especially troublesome considering that, in actuality, Brothers further expands the Keys' musi­cal vision — with Danger Mouse at the helm once again, there are new sounds, new influences, new emotions, and all of it without sacrificing the old spirit.

Beginning with the beginning, 'Everlasting Light' is generic folk blues at heart, but the coating is cool — a dry, crunchy tone beaten into a danceable pop-rock pattern, drumbeats merged with handclaps and an out-of-nowhere 'Come Together'-ish «ssh...!», credible attempts at falsetto cro­oning from Auerbach, and minimal, but atmospheric backing whoos and whaas from hip-hopper Nicole Wray (guest-starring here through her partici­pation in «Blakroc», a joint rap-rock side project between the Keys and various hip-hop artists). No better illustration for the devil that is in the proverbial details. The crunch and simplicity firmly tie the song to the band's legacy and style, but the coating shows how successfully they manage to climb out of the rut that said legacy was beginning to turn into.

Likewise, the big hit single, 'Tighten Up', could have been a by-the-book roots-rock number with nothing but yer average «soul» to redeem it, if not for all the little things. The cute little Morri­cone-style whistling in the intro. Carney's melodic drum fills, raising tension. The in-between verses guitar riff that transforms the song into power pop before returning it back to R&B territo­ry. The unpredictable key change for the coda. It is good to know that the boys are now open to the idea of having experimental fun in the studio.

Similar stylistic mergers characterize most of the material on Brothers. Hardcore blues-rock fans might be appalled, as well as blues-rock haters who firmly cherish the idea that the only thing that will help traditional blues-rock to get better is a terrorist attack on the Chicago Blues Festival (no hostages taken, preferably). We ought to respect those religious feelings — but there is nothing wrong, either, about welcoming intelligent ways of merging blues and pop like the band does here on 'Ten Cent Pistol' (a catchy, hummable chorus there, within a song whose basic melody, lyrics, and attitude are all geared towards dark blues), or on the slightly martial 'Howlin' For You', which is what The Cars could have originally sounded like, if only they'd tacked their tacky key­boards on early British R&B rather than early British pop-rock.

That said, I repeat that the bag of tricks is not really full enough to accommodate 55 minutes worth of new Black Keys songs. Individually, none of them register as masterpieces; collectively, there's just too many of them, and, in the end, I walk away from Brothers with a sense of indig­nant admiration that is almost enough to convert the thumbs up to its opposite — here be an al­bum that chooses excellent ways to dispel boredom, but gets so caught up in the excitement that, in the end, it just gets plain boring to watch it chase away boredom. (It does not help, either, that most of the tracks on which experimentation is essentially suspended in favor of «soul», e. g. the heart-on-the-sleeve ballad 'These Days' and the personal confession 'Unknown Brother', are somehow all grouped at the end). Which all translates to a complex, but very often felt (judging by peer reviews) flaw — and kudos to Dan and Patrick for acknowledging the fact by extermina­ting said flaw on their next record.

Check "Brothers" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Brothers" (MP3) on Amazon

The Black Keys: Attack & Release

THE BLACK KEYS: ATTACK & RELEASE (2008)

1) All You Ever Wanted; 2) I Got Mine; 3) Strange Times; 4) Psychotic Girl; 5) Lies; 6) Remember When (Side A); 7) Remember When (Side B); 8) Same Old Thing; 9) So He Won't Break; 10) Oceans & Streams; 11) Things Ain't Like They Used To Be.

Time machine detected: I gave Magic Potion a «thumbs down» in 2011, and the band admittedly reacted to it in 2008. Could it be that someone else gave it a thumbs down, too?.. Because with The Black Keys' fifth major original LP, comes the biggest change in sound these guys ever al­lowed themselves; in fact, the change is so huge that it almost threatens to undermine the band's very reasons for existence.

For starters, the album was recorded in a proper studio this time, instead of barns, garages, aban­doned silver mines, and the central sewer system of Shitsville, USA. Next, there is an outside pro­ducer: Danger Mouse, a.k.a. B. J. Burton, formerly known for inventive rap-rock remixes and producing the Gorillaz and Beck — not even close to anything associable with Dan Auerbach. There is also an outside extra musician — guitar player extraordinaire Marc Ribot, whom most people probably know for his Tom Waits collaborations, but who is actually a huge individuality in his own right. Finally, for the first time ever, the songs lose their stern minimalism: in addition to guitar and drums, there are banjos, organs, chimes, flutes (!), backing vocals, whatever. Even the guitar sound is more diverse — there is plenty of acoustic playing here, and several different electric tones as opposed to the monotonous distorted garage growl of yesterday.

How does it work? For the moment — it works fine, and was probably the rightest thing to do. Despite cleaner production and instrumental diversity, the subtle sloppiness and rawness are still there, as are Auerbach's songwriting instincts. But now he also has the chance to allow to judge these songs based on more than one criterion (lack/presence of an awesome riff). Some of the songs, in fact, are not riff-based at all, e. g. 'So He Won't Break' — a moody combination of blues rhythms, Ribot's «broken» chord sequences, psychedelic chimes, and psychotic nasal vocals from Danny, instead of the usual roar. Did I say «psychotic»? There's a song called 'Psychotic Girl' here, whose odd vibe would be more suitable for the Pixies rather than the Keys. That's how far they are willing to go this time in order to remodel their face.

It is hard to complain, either, when the melodies are so good. On the hard-rocking tunes, Auer­bach regains the ability to strike out those awesome riffs — or perhaps they just sound awesome in contrast to the «softer» tunes this time — the melody of 'Strange Times', for instance, borrows a few chords from Sabbath's 'Sweet Leaf', incorporating them into a faster, sweatier garage riff, to very good effect. 'Same Old Thing' (nothing to do with several classic blues tunes with the same name) is built on a very atmospheric guitar pattewrn, unfortunately, stuffed a bit too deep into the background — making the song less effective and memorable than it could be. Fortunately, the Tull-like flute embellishments will help it register in the mind.

Overall, the record is hardly a masterpiece, for the same old reasons — you'd have to be the ge­nius to shame all genii, to put out a «masterpiece» based on reshuffling the good old blues-rock / garage-rock chord stock as late as 2008 — but, for Auerbach and his drummer pal, it opens the road to survival and development. Purists may feel betrayed, yet I think that their schtick can work even with flutes and banjos — thumbs up.

It is hardly a coincidence that the closing num­ber, a duet between Danny and minimalist country girl Jessica Lea Mayfield, is called 'Things Ain't Like They Used To Be'. In fact, it is a blatant anthemic statement — so straightforward that it ain't even all that fun. But, like almost everything else on here, the song still manages to be touching and softly inspiring. Who cares if it hangs on just one melodic vocal line? It is still the real thing.

Check "Attack & Release" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Attack & Release" (MP3) on Amazon

The Black Keys: Magic Potion

THE BLACK KEYS: MAGIC POTION (2006)

1) Just Got To Be; 2) Your Touch; 3) You're The One; 4) Just A Little Heat; 5) Give Your Heart Away; 6) Strange Desire; 7) Modern Times; 8) The Flame; 9) Goodbye Babylon; 10) Black Door; 11) Elevator.

The Black Keys move in spirals. After the success of Rubber Factory and several pleasant di­versions (such as the release of an «official live bootleg» and a short EP consisting entirely of covers of the recently deceased bluesman Junior Kimbrough), their next full-fledged venture into the studio plays out the formula of Thickfreakness: follow an interesting, stylistically unusual al­bum with a mediocre «shadow» that exemplifies the art of coasting and — the way I see it, at least — can only really count as a muscle-training effort, to keep the brain occupied while at the same time denying it access to anything supernatural. An album that «buys time», in short.

Just like Thickfreakness, Magic Potion is a straightahead formulaic album, 90% of which con­sists of mid-tempo «leaden» blues-rockers, whose only point of differentiation lies in riffage. 'You're The One' is a solitary Southern rock-style ballad; the rest sounds more monotonous than your average AC/DC album. The riffs in question are not bad, but, traditionally, represent minor variations on classic garage and hard-rock melodies; hardcore fans of Led Zeppelin, Grand Funk Railroad, Blue Öyster Cult, Mountain, etc., will no doubt be able to «crack» most of these chord sequences open in no time.

Meanwhile, the little touches that made Rubber Factory so individualistic — the Gershwin quo­tes, the quirky rearrangement of the Kinks cover, the knife-sharp signature changes, the moody acoustic pieces — have once again been abandoned in favor of a «hardcore» sonic approach that could only satisfy the proper hardcore fans. By all means, it could not satisfy an aspiring reviewer — how do you verbally review a record whose only asset is a set of similar-sounding blues-rock riffs? So, uh, I like the riff of 'Just A Little Heat', which begins just like BOC's 'Cities On Flame With Rock'n'Roll', and the riff of 'Give Your Heart Away', which ends just like Black Sabbath's 'Sweet Leaf'. Who the heck cares, though?

Like I said, 'You're The One' is the only song to step away from the format, but it itself plays out as a light parody on soulful Southern balladry à la Skynyrd — emphasized in the lyrics ("When I was thirteen / My mom said son / You're the one I adore": if this doesn't sound as funny as the Ramones' "Hey little girl, I wanna be your boyfriend", it is only because we don't normally expect The Black Keys to sound funny. We might be wrong about that). In the end, it is about as soulful as Danny Auerbach normally gets — no more, no less. As is all of this middle-of-the-road, mar­king-time album, another burst of joy for neo-dirty-blues-rock fans, another slab of potential dis­ap­point­ment for those who think that neo-dirty-blues-rock is not necessarily supposed to merely flash different subtle shades of one single trick over and over again. As a representative of the lat­ter group, I sadly provide Magic Potion with a thumbs down.

Check "Magic Potion" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Magic Potion" (MP3) on Amazon