Culture Blues

Music: “Sea Of Cowards” – The Dead Weather

While wasting my nights in the City over the last year or so, I stumbled into many bars, where many sets of black-rimmed glasses would invariably be grooving out to two records that I had no appreciation for whatsoever. On some nights it was the Godawful Raditude, by some band that used to be known as Weezer, and on others it was Horehound by The Dead Weather. I would sit there drowning in Scotch and watch with equal parts confusion and disgust as awkward white kids would dance to Cut Like A Buffalo, or young "lovers" would grind to Hang You From The Heavens, and all the while I wondered about the nature of their Jack White obsession.

I get it to some degree... The White Stripes are one of the best acts to have come out of the post-alternative landscape; what they brought to the table sonically was fresh(ish), unique, and set them apart from other bands with the word "The" in their names. The Dead Weather are NOT The White Stripes; not as fresh, not as unique, and frankly not as good (even though Treat Me Like Your Mother is a pretty-sweet tune).

I have, apparently, been doing this review thing for long enough that I am getting a chance to review multiple records by the same band. My review of Horehound (which incidentally was the first review I ever wrote) was released way back in August of last year, and since that time I would like to think that I have evolved and found my voice as a writer; sadly The Dead Weather cannot make the same claim. To be brutally honest, it seems as if they have regressed.

Many of the problems that I had with the "band's" (I still have a hard time seeing them as anything more than another Jack White vanity project) debut are still present, and the most glaring (and still rather disappointing) is the genuine lack of anything genuine. The album still tries to be gritty, though it has replaced a lot of the more pronounced blues leanings with a misguided, and maybe even more affected, swagger. A song like Hustle And Cuss just makes me feel nervous, or even slightly embarrassed for them (kind of like when the Stones went disco, except nowhere near as earth-shattering). As I was listening to this record, I liked to close my eyes and cruelly imagine the recording process as they jammed out in the studio with their rehashed, yet obviously unrehearsed, licks, grinning and sure that they were laying down some hot shit, while they were really just wasting time-both theirs and ours.

Sea Of Cowards isn't about hooks and shine, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The problem is, all of the "ferocity" and "attitude" that drench every inch of this album are too shot-from-the-hip, too reckless, and far too fleeting. There are some tracks that are decent; Blue Blood Blues (the opener) is a bombastic edgy-stomp with some great White lyrics and angular delivery: "All the white girls trip, when I sing at Sunday service", The Difference Between Us has a dope, spider-like, crawling synth-organ lead, and stellar vocal work by Allison Mosshart (who should really sing on all of the tracks instead of just half), and I Can't Hear You captures something  slightly vibrant and fresh, with its goth-blues, trudge-like-slog and more than interesting dueling guitar lines. Unfortunately, there aren't enough highlights on this record for me to fill up this paragraph, let alone a favorable review.

In the end, I know that some of you Jack White fanatics will buy anything the man releases, but realistically, you are the only ones who should be picking up this record. The rest of us will just have to wait for him to get back to business with Meg.