Darkness ain't no friend of mine: Living the life the Lord dealt ya' the only way you know how (how the Black Keys reworked the blues for me)

"What the fuck are you listening to?" The voice was familiar and coming from behind me about a hundred yards away.

"It’s called the blues," I yelled.

"It sounds like a bunch of fucking demons crying," my friend Lucas said as he placed a case of beer on the workbench in my garage.

"Stroh’s again," I said in a half query, half disgusted sort of way that never got by Lucas.

"You don’t have to drink any you know." Lucas ripped at the box and popped a can open and took a big, long gulp. "But…from the sounds of this shit you’re listening to, you probably could use one." He handed me the can he’d just drank from and popped himself a new one.

I wrapped my hand around the cool dew covered can. "At least this time it’s cold," I muttered.

"What was that?" Lucas asked with a scowl.
"Thanks for the beer," I said.

"River is deep / I’m swimming / mountain is high / I’m gonna climb climb climb / yeah I’m the one / who’s gonna show / there ain’t nobody / I’ll be your man"

"Shit man, that’s the fucking blues all right." Lucas wandered over to the stereo and turned it up. "That’s serious blues."

I nodded.

"Well?" Lucas asked.

"Well what?"

"Well who the fuck is it?"

"Who is who?"

"The fucking music…who the fuck is it?"
"Oh, some cats from Akron, Ohio – call themselves the Black Keys."

"Coupla balck guys?"

"No, the Black Keys. They’re white guys."

"Oh." Lucas finished his beer. "Pretty shit-hot aren’t they?"

"As good as I’ve heard in awhile."

"You need another?" Lucas asked as he pulled another beer from case.

"I know you’re gone / you’re gone for sure / but I’ll still love you so"

"Yeah man," I said. "I’m gonna need a few more."

The Record

What the fuck are you listening to? Good question, one I probably hear too often because of my rockwrite status – which is ridiculous because what I’m listening to doesn’t necessarily mean jack shit to you…what are you listening to? That is what matters to me – but, that said, right about now I can guarantee you that whatever the fuck it is it probably ain’t half as good as this new Black Keys record The Big Come Up. In fact, I’m gonna say it ain’t nowhere near as good – no matter what it is you’re listening to - because these weird, funky cats from Akron have got it something wicked going on big-fucking-time on this record.

A letter-boxed black and white photo of two faces, one in the fore - bespectacled and bug-eyed, the other a few feet behind - out of focus and contemplative, grace the cover of the Black Keys debut. The picture is an artful still that holds secrets in its frozen action, as though fellow Akron-ite and filmmaker Jim Jarmusch had shot it. Drummer Pat Carney is the shifty-eyed face closest to the viewer and he seems startled, or more likely nervous. It’s an expression of hesitancy - as though he were about to enter into something he’d not bargained for. Behind him is guitarist and singer Dan Auerbach. His is the visage of a man who damn well knew what was going on, exactly what was going to happen, but he’d never worked up the nerve to let his friend in on the deal. The photo is startling and effective; pure noir frozen in time that serves as a stunning visual companion to the noises contained within.

To say that the Black Keys are simply another blues band is to miss the point entirely. Yes, these are the blues that Auerbach and Carney play, and certainly the duo has rooted itself in the spirit of the form - as much as most truly great rock and roll always has - but the Keys take these blues as they’ve known them and, like all savvy revisionists, apply those sounds to something that’s applicable to the world that spawned them. So while cuts like "Busted", "Do the Rump", and "Run Me Down" come off as the truest essence of the distilled blues they – as perfectly executed and enthralling as they are – are not at the core of what makes The Big Come Up the absolute fascination that it is.

Auerbach and Carney are punks. Not the sad caricatures that the word clearly now implies, but rather they are punks in the pure and simple tradition of the term, caring nothing about popular convention and moving forward, doing what feels good…and what feels right. And if finding out what feels right means stripping things right down to the real blues that spawned the whole rockroll culture from the git-go and then building everything up from there - then so be it. It sounds damn good to me.

Thus Auerbach and Carney, starting from a baseline blues, tap into references ranging from the D. Boon Minutemen guitar that leads "Them Eyes" to the 60's era Cynic-al garage psychedelia "She Said, She Said", along the swamp blues path that CCR carved out ("Yearnin’) and right on up the groove heavy scales climbed years ago by "Mr. Big Stuff" ("The Breaks"). It is a supreme tribute to the Black Keys that The Big Come Up never winds up mired in reverential mimicry. A keen ear for the ghostly strains of the blues that subtly haunt much of the diverse array of modern music allows them a wealth of inspiration that obviously feeds their personal reinvention of an age-old noise.

But, in the end, you can take your keen ears, your inspirations, all of your rockroll yearnings, and whatever musical proficiency you may possess, and then attempt to pull the blues off (on the surface) - and you'd still never amount to a hill of beans. Because all of those things mean absolutely nothing to the blues if you ain't got that earnest integrity, that honest-ta-God true as all hell feeling. Feel is something you cannot fake, and it’s something – in the minimalist way the Black Keys play their music, with drum and guitar taunting each other – that you cannot hide. If you don’t feel the blues, you can’t sell’em to nobody. No matter how hard you try. You might be able to play ‘em for all sort of hell, but no one is gonna give a goddamn unless you make ‘em know that, goddamn it, you know of what you’re singing – you’ve been there, and now you’re gonna take us all with you.

These boys in the Keys may be young, they may be talented, and they may very well be punks, but they know their blues well, and they don't try and ape the ones who've been there before, but rather they advance the cause into a new era. The Big Come Up is loaded down with very real songs, songs that obviously mean an awful lot to the vicious punk-ass blues motherfuckers playing them and singing them like few others do anymore. Now give me my goddamn beer, will ya?

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