The bluesy power of THE WHITE STRIPES was hopelessly diluted by this vast, soul-less venue. Dominated by ceiling space, I reckon Alexandra Palace is more suitable for a trapeze act than a gig where atmosphere is everything-especially for a band that is so deliberately stripped of light and show.
It was a cold and uncomfortable situation that immediately dampened the experience and dwarfed the duo so much so that at first I felt like a muppet for buying into The White Stripes hype. They didn’t seem big enough to overcome the pitfalls of this rubbish venue which added insult to injury by creating a lame backstage area about 6ft square by the side of the stage using a gate to divide the plebs from the celebs…including Jack White’s new girl Renee Zellweger and Colin Firth revelling in the attention.
But squeezing myself forward through armpits a plenty frontstage I soon fell under the angry spell of Jack White who raged defiantly against such miseries of modern life and got what I came for. The band did their job and played all the right tracks-original, striking punch your lights out tracks like the shit kickin’ Hotel Yorba", "Seven Nation Army" and their excellent cover of Burt Bacharach’s “I don’t know what to do with myself.” Jack White plays some fantastic guitar.
His intensity and dirty confidence is an exciting, sexy match to Meg’s weirdly suspect poker face and their sparse, on stage persona exposed the undeniably raw intimacy, genuine vulnerability and intrigue of their dynamic that got everyone talking in the first place. However, I’m not convinced that they’re more than a one trick pony…For how much longer can they make their stark naked point before they or the audience starts needing a few secondary colours.?
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A bit of glamour wouldn’t go a miss either. Jack White looked like a pasty version of Michael Jackson possibly from spending too much time on Cold Mountain and personally I don’t get much from Meg’s drumming or her outfits. Good on her for being a girl but just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she should get away with shit timing which falls behind and is always dangerously close to weighing the songs down. Her drumsticks seem made of lead and hunched heavily over her Tom Toms, to watch her bang out well rehearsed rhythms is frankly an effort. There is something contrived and clever about The White Stripes that makes me suspicious. Too many gimmicks and not enough soul.
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