We may outnumber the White Stripes here at Chez Album Club, but there's no way one could possibly outgun them. Not only one of the shining lights of the New Rock revolution at the beginning of this century, the truth is this brother and sister duo (just kidding, we've actually done our research) were louder and heavier than most of their peers. And certainly more confounding a proposition. Straight outta Detroit, these candy striped retro charmers, had minimalist slabs of caveman fuzz, slick as hell blues licks not heard in rock since the days of Zep, all kept from falling apart at the seams by Mr. White's pained mewls, croons, screams and possessed carnival barker speaking-in-tongues oddness. And then, on top of that, the man could also pen sweet folky nostalgic ditties. We do give Jack and Meg playful ribbin' here and there, but it's all done with love for what is arguably one of the decade's finest albums and one of rock's most original talents.
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