This is the seventh studio album from Grammy-award winning
blues-rockers Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney, continuing where
they left off from Brothers with more thumping basslines and
funky blues riffs. El Camino includes the lead single "Lonely
Boy".
BBC Review
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If you thought the new wave of blues rock first kicked
up by The Datsuns in 2002 had buried its dog, bellowed its last
and done gone died around the release of The White Stripes’ Icky
Thump, Ohio’s The Black Keys are here to keep kicking up that
down-home desert dust. Ten years and seven albums down the
lonesome lost highway from debut The Big Come Up being (wrongly)
lumped in with the dense posse of Jack White wannabes, they’ve
torn away from the pack, embraced modernity in the shape of fifth
album producer Danger Mouse and the 2009 hip hop project Blakroc,
cracked the Billboard top five and sold two million albums.
They’ve even become soundtrack mainstays. Twilight? Any movie set
anywhere near a Midwest dust? Or featuring hick zombies? Or a
half-naked starlet chained to a radiator in Tennessee in dirty
pants? Meet your new go-to geezers. They’ve achieved this, all
told, by metaphorically slamming every retro button with open
palms and enthusiasm. Singer/guitarist Dan Auerbach and
drummer/producer Patrick Carney ge America in the face with
everything they know and find sonically comfortable, all at once.
On El Camino, mariachi, C&W, gospel, psych rock, blues and soul
all mash together into a warm and occasionally dazzling torrent;
their appeal is less in fresh sounds as fresh composites of old
ones, wrapped around classically dusty tales of errant womenfolk
and addiction to love.
This seventh studio album throws up some fantastic examples:
opener Lonely Boy takes base-level Duane Eddy rock’n’roll and
layers on Monks synths, gospel blaze and mariachi twangs and ends
up sounding invigorated and new, like The The burning alive in
the Arcade Fire. Dead and Gone bristles with psych noir
classicism, grisly guitar noise and glistening melodies, as if
scooped from Tarantino’s scratchiest B movie nightmare. Gold on
the Ceiling, all glam handclaps and Rhubarb & Custard synth
splats, even does a soul-swathed Glitter stomp around the
hoe-down. At times you wonder if this is an album or an
all-you-can-eat Americana buffet.
For a record that rummages so excitedly through rock history,
though, there’s a paucity of sucker-punch hooks here and,
tellingly, it’s when The Black Keys nod to their own blues rock
blueprint that they’re least engaging. Little Black Submarines is
outdated blues balladry with a turgid Zep second act that seems
dug up from a desert grave in 2004; Mind Eraser is a poor man’s
disco remix of The Sopranos theme; and Money Maker could be,
well, by The Datsuns. No, it’s in the Tornados twangles of Hell
of a Season and Lonely Boy and the Supremes shimmy of Stop Stop
or standout track Nova Baby that El Camino finds its identity and
The Black Keys their new purpose – to reinvigorate rock’n’roll
from the roots up. A heftier dash of melodic sparkle to their
churn of genres and next time their meat might match their might.
--Mark Beaumont
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