After thirteen years as a partnership, The White Stripes have dissolved their working relationship in the same amicable way they dissolved their marriage. A release on their official website described an ‘intense and incredible’ career and described a decision taken with a view to preserving their legacy and leaving nothing but fond memories for their fans.
My relationship with The White Stripes has been a mixed one. I’ve seen them play fantastically visceral sets yet I’ve also been bored by Jack’s occasional self-indulgence. I’ve seen them play every where from Bridlington Spa to Glastonbury Festival. I’ve enjoyed their thumping drums whilst wondering how Meg ever got a job in a band (surely the aforementioned marriage was a factor) and I’ve recoiled in horror as they abandoned the simplicity of their earlier material to put bagpipes on their last album.
When they emerged the NME (which was clinging faintly to the last vestiges of respectability) lumped them alongside garage rockers such as The Strokes. It quickly became apparent, however, that they belonged in a category all of their own. Utterly primal, with Jack’s wailing, shrieking vocals layered over his own squalling, ferocious guitar and Meg’s rhythmic pounding. That two musicians could make such raw music was no surprise. That they could do so with such swagger was amazing.
Caring nothing for convention, The White Stripes ploughed their own furrow. They employed no session musicians to pad out their live sound, created their own incestuous mythology and wore their country and blues influences firmly on their sleeves. And their music videos were absolutely brilliant (see below). For a while I rarely wore clothes which were not black, white or red – a stylish affectation borne entirely of my man-crush on Jack.
Utterly original yet completely derivative, powerful yet tender, they were truly unique and despite an occasional ropey performance, a cancelled gig and the majority of Icky Thump, I will truly miss them.
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