The Raconteurs @ The Astoria

at Astoria Review

0/5
Venue: Astoria
Gig: The Raconteurs @ The Astoria
Gig date: 23rd March 2006
Posted on 25th June 2007 by bennyboy

It's late one night in 1996. A man with a wild glint in his eye approaches you on the street. Grabbing your arm and looking bonkers, he insists that ten years from now, the rock'n'roll landscape will be governed by a two-piece band. Consisting of an estranged couple playing crazy arcane garage blues on just bass and drums, the duo will look and behave like real life characters from "The Simpson's" . Foaming at the mouth, he then claims this mini pop group will headline Glastonbury, looking like they're 100ft tall even from a mile away. "Uh huh" is probably your response, as you walk away swiftly. Right now, it now seems there's very little that's beyond Jack White. Touts seeth around the Astoria, attempting to sell lavishly priced tickets to see what they appear to believe is a solo show. Curiously, the fact Jack's about to play a first London gig with his take on a '70s "Almost Famous" rock supergroup seems like a terribly exciting idea right now. How can that be? In 60 minutes time, you will leave, his infectious, damning presence still ringing in your eyes, any doubts banished. This man is a star and we have few of those. It all starts really quite differently. Joined by two members of fellow Detroit rockers The Greenhornes and, more significantly, friend and foil Brendan Benson, Jack is initially restrained, well behaved perhaps. Sure, in normal clothes he actually looks slightly peculiar and Benson dominates the early Raconteur exchanges. Benson is, in his own right, a fine songwriter, albeit one here playing good cop to Jack's bad. This is evident in the cuter cut of tracks like the opening power pop of "Level", Benson's standard love torn dash of "Hands" and "Together" and even the moshing '45 euphoria of "Steady As She Goes". It's at this point that Jack can seemingly bear it no longer. Recently described quite brilliantly as resembling a dog in need of a walk, he suddenly crashes through the front door of the show, like a man who's going to burgle your flat whilst in desperate need of the toilet. Tearing through a fiercely brilliant reading of Love's epic "A House Is Not A Motel", "Store Bought Bones" then sees Jack at the centre of an onslaught of riffing, while the darkness overwhelms his very being during the droning Zeppelin menace of "Broken Boy Soliders". At the close, visions of Deep Purple, The Kinks, The Who and David Bowie - the encore is a roaring take on "It Ain't Easy" - and a rather crumpled, overshadowed Brendon Benson flash through your mind. However, only one truly locks. We have a possessed Jack White in a "Down By The River" style guitar gun-fight on the closing "Heading For The Texas Border", his fingers so low on the fret board be sounds like he's playing a f*cked flute. Wow. So, here's a prediction for you. The Raconteurs are going to be huge. No sh*t. by Ben Gilbert

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