ICM:The White Stripes

The White Stripes
The setting of the White Stripes’ Sunday evening performance radiated devilish mystique. Hell (whoops), if a bible-thumping local had been there, they’d probably tell you satan hisself was in the festival grounds. As an abnormally large smoke ring floated in the sky, the little remaining sunlight illuminated the White “siblings”—clad in their traditional red and white and backed by a cherry red curtain—like the fiery depths of Hades. It was a scene straight from the cover of Weekly World News, with headlines reading, “Lucifer Seen at White Stripes Concert. Porta-lets Burst into Flames”

And you can bet your ass that the Stripes played like musicians possessed, slaying numbers from their new release, Icky Thump, as well as selections from past albums all the way back to debut The White Stripes—like the sweaty, biker bar romp, “Stop Breakin’ Down.” Strumming his guitar, “Rita,” Brother White took on the persona of an old country star, addressing the crowd in an amped-up southern dialect while performing countrified fare like the oft-covered hit, “Jolene,” the rockabilly strutting “Hotel Yorba,” and the moonshine still punk-rocker “Black Math.” It was a definite demonstration of this band’s range, as was the final stretch, which saw the White Stripes blister the crowd with squirrelly distortion on “Blue Orchid,” cruise in the Cadillac with “I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself,” become hippie-friendly with “We’re Going to Be Friends,” and then tear off into the night with “Seven Nation Army.” Then Jack and Meg took a bow for the audience, as the former left us with the following;

“God Bless Ya. Thank you for buyin’ our records. Have Fun. Get home safely.”

Thank you, Jack and Meg. That was a mighty fine performance.