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My first visit to the Cannon Center downtown was as pleasant as I could have hoped. It’s usually used for ballets and symphonies, and even when I first entered the auditorium, I couldn’t help noticing that it looked exactly like an opera house. To be honest, I thought the venue was just a little too nice for the Raconteurs, who are a charming combination of power pop, fuzzed-out blues, and Americana, all taken to the next level. I wanted to see this band in a dingy bar somewhere, where the pervasive smell of cheap cigarettes, stale beer, and incredible body odor that only Memphis concertgoers seem to be able to muster, lingered in the air like good, old-fashioned industrial pollution.
Well, we did have stale beer and Memphis B.O. at least, so by the time the opening act came out, I was in my concert state of mind. The Kills took the stage with high expectations from this reviewer, an
d over the next 45 minutes, proceeded to ruin all of them. The Kills are a two-member band, consisting of “Hotel” Hince and “VV” Mosshart, with both playing guitar and doing vocals, although Hince plays guitar a bit more, and Mosshart sings a bit more. They’ve been compared to other minimalist electronic acts like Suicide and Gary Numan, but trust me, they are nowhere near as good.
They had a drum and bass machine on stage while they played their set, and I must say, it was a little excessive. The bass was so huge that it nearly rattled my hipster glasses right off my face. The drum machine was staid and completely free of any kind of dynamics. And worst of all, Mosshart would not stand still for more than 5 seconds. She seriously must have walked nearly a mile with all of her prancing, gallivanting, showboating, and posing. In her sad attempt to be Iggy Pop/Mick Jagger/Freddie Mercury, she forgot that her band sucks.
Madam, you are no Karen O.
After the Kills played some of their more popular songs, like “U.R.A. Fever,” “Sour Cherry,” “No Wow,” and “Fried My Little Brains,” they left the stage, and the unwashed masses started pouring into the auditorium. It was actually a much older crowd than I was expecting, and almost the entire younger, college-age crowd was up front in the standing room section. The roadies worked quickly, and before you knew it, the Raconteurs were taking the stage.
Now, maybe this is something that has always been around and I just don’t know it, but it seems like the only purpose of standing near the front of the stage nowadays is to take as many pictures on your phone/digital camera as possible. And judging from the pictures people were taking, it seemed like the only reason anyone was there last night was basically the same reason I was there: to see Jack White, the likely savior of traditional rock and roll.
This was the second time I had seen Mr. White live, and I have been listening to his music since the eighth grade. When I was in high school, he was my guitar god, and in some ways, he still is. The applause of the audience was noticeably louder when he took up his ax, and right from the start, my n
ose started to twitch: the tension in this band must be unreal.
The drama played out over the entire show. He played the first five minutes with his back to the audience, as if he was trying to hide himself so that his friends could share in the limelight for just a little while. He would often sit down to play his instrument, effectively disappearing from the view of many people in the audience. And his demeanor was remarkably different from that of a White Stripes show; when he is on stage with Meg, he really gets into the music, screwing up his face along with the guitar, and evincing some kind of emotion. But during the entire show, he played with pursed lips, half-open eyes, and an expression taken right off of George Harrison. He was different around this band, around his good friends. I thought it was kind of sad to see this, to see Jack White stuck in a cage.
But ladies and gentlemen, Jack White is seriously just too good to be kept under wraps like that. After a particularly blistering blues/rock solo, I actually turned to my friend and said, “It’s just not fair how much better he is than the other guys in this band.” Still, despite White’s indomitable abilities on guitar, the band motored through some fan favorites, like “Many Shades of Black,” “Old Enough,” and the title track from their new album, “Consoler of the Lonely.” Brendan Benson, the other guitarist and singer, was totally on point the entire show, especially since he had to pull some slack; Jack White came out after about the fifth song to address the troops, made chit-chat, talked about eating at Interstate Barbeque, and then apologized about a disc in his neck, which he said was also affecting his vocals. I thought nothing of it, until the end of the show.
The Raconteurs were tight for the first 45 minutes, but after that, they got increasingly jammy. I don’t like jam music. It’s repetitive, boring, pointless, and unsatisfying. And until the end of the first set, the Raconteurs just jammed away. It was incredibly disappointing. But as always, there was an encore. (Does anyone not play encores anymore?) And man, this encore was better than the whol
e show so far.
The first set was noticeably free of the radio hits, “Steady As She Goes,” and the newer “Salute Your Solution.” But the Raconteurs brought it out in full force. After playing two powerful, cagey numbers, they pulled out the big guns to satiate the crowd. And unfortunately, because Jack White couldn’t sing, they brought out Mosshart of the Kills. I could have cried. She had to read the lyrics off a piece of paper, and something happened to White’s guitar. During “Steady As She Goes,” the last song, he went through three guitars to get the right sound, but he eventually fixed it. The set ended to raucous cheers and applause, and the band took a bow before they left the stage, which I had never seen before.
All in all, the concert was a solid B-. The Raconteurs took a little too much liberty with the jam session, and the opening band was abysmal live. But they completely redeemed themselves with some swift, tight rock songs, and awesome audience rapport. If anything, I would recommend buying the Raconteurs albums, and getting a few Kills tracks. But please, if you get the chance, go see the Raconteurs if only to see Jack White. He is just too good to believe.
- Jake Smith
Well, we did have stale beer and Memphis B.O. at least, so by the time the opening act came out, I was in my concert state of mind. The Kills took the stage with high expectations from this reviewer, an
d over the next 45 minutes, proceeded to ruin all of them. The Kills are a two-member band, consisting of “Hotel” Hince and “VV” Mosshart, with both playing guitar and doing vocals, although Hince plays guitar a bit more, and Mosshart sings a bit more. They’ve been compared to other minimalist electronic acts like Suicide and Gary Numan, but trust me, they are nowhere near as good.They had a drum and bass machine on stage while they played their set, and I must say, it was a little excessive. The bass was so huge that it nearly rattled my hipster glasses right off my face. The drum machine was staid and completely free of any kind of dynamics. And worst of all, Mosshart would not stand still for more than 5 seconds. She seriously must have walked nearly a mile with all of her prancing, gallivanting, showboating, and posing. In her sad attempt to be Iggy Pop/Mick Jagger/Freddie Mercury, she forgot that her band sucks.
Madam, you are no Karen O.
After the Kills played some of their more popular songs, like “U.R.A. Fever,” “Sour Cherry,” “No Wow,” and “Fried My Little Brains,” they left the stage, and the unwashed masses started pouring into the auditorium. It was actually a much older crowd than I was expecting, and almost the entire younger, college-age crowd was up front in the standing room section. The roadies worked quickly, and before you knew it, the Raconteurs were taking the stage.
Now, maybe this is something that has always been around and I just don’t know it, but it seems like the only purpose of standing near the front of the stage nowadays is to take as many pictures on your phone/digital camera as possible. And judging from the pictures people were taking, it seemed like the only reason anyone was there last night was basically the same reason I was there: to see Jack White, the likely savior of traditional rock and roll.
This was the second time I had seen Mr. White live, and I have been listening to his music since the eighth grade. When I was in high school, he was my guitar god, and in some ways, he still is. The applause of the audience was noticeably louder when he took up his ax, and right from the start, my n
ose started to twitch: the tension in this band must be unreal.The drama played out over the entire show. He played the first five minutes with his back to the audience, as if he was trying to hide himself so that his friends could share in the limelight for just a little while. He would often sit down to play his instrument, effectively disappearing from the view of many people in the audience. And his demeanor was remarkably different from that of a White Stripes show; when he is on stage with Meg, he really gets into the music, screwing up his face along with the guitar, and evincing some kind of emotion. But during the entire show, he played with pursed lips, half-open eyes, and an expression taken right off of George Harrison. He was different around this band, around his good friends. I thought it was kind of sad to see this, to see Jack White stuck in a cage.
But ladies and gentlemen, Jack White is seriously just too good to be kept under wraps like that. After a particularly blistering blues/rock solo, I actually turned to my friend and said, “It’s just not fair how much better he is than the other guys in this band.” Still, despite White’s indomitable abilities on guitar, the band motored through some fan favorites, like “Many Shades of Black,” “Old Enough,” and the title track from their new album, “Consoler of the Lonely.” Brendan Benson, the other guitarist and singer, was totally on point the entire show, especially since he had to pull some slack; Jack White came out after about the fifth song to address the troops, made chit-chat, talked about eating at Interstate Barbeque, and then apologized about a disc in his neck, which he said was also affecting his vocals. I thought nothing of it, until the end of the show.
The Raconteurs were tight for the first 45 minutes, but after that, they got increasingly jammy. I don’t like jam music. It’s repetitive, boring, pointless, and unsatisfying. And until the end of the first set, the Raconteurs just jammed away. It was incredibly disappointing. But as always, there was an encore. (Does anyone not play encores anymore?) And man, this encore was better than the whol
e show so far.The first set was noticeably free of the radio hits, “Steady As She Goes,” and the newer “Salute Your Solution.” But the Raconteurs brought it out in full force. After playing two powerful, cagey numbers, they pulled out the big guns to satiate the crowd. And unfortunately, because Jack White couldn’t sing, they brought out Mosshart of the Kills. I could have cried. She had to read the lyrics off a piece of paper, and something happened to White’s guitar. During “Steady As She Goes,” the last song, he went through three guitars to get the right sound, but he eventually fixed it. The set ended to raucous cheers and applause, and the band took a bow before they left the stage, which I had never seen before.
All in all, the concert was a solid B-. The Raconteurs took a little too much liberty with the jam session, and the opening band was abysmal live. But they completely redeemed themselves with some swift, tight rock songs, and awesome audience rapport. If anything, I would recommend buying the Raconteurs albums, and getting a few Kills tracks. But please, if you get the chance, go see the Raconteurs if only to see Jack White. He is just too good to believe.
- Jake Smith
- Photo: Lindsay Smith
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