The White Stripes
White Blood Cells
Sympathy for the Record Industry

So many bands sneak up on you without the hype, that when one does, it's easy to be instantly suspicious (Remember The New Radicals? That "Buzz Bin" band was hyped to save rock-and-roll, too). Not so in the case of The White Stripes, however, a peppermint-candy-costumed Detroit duo who has released its latest record to a heaping spoonful of industry buzz.

Along with The Strokes, a Velvet Underground-inspired act from Brooklyn, the duo has been labeled part of the most-recent garage-rock revival. It just could be the music industry's great "white" hope.

The alleged brother-sister duo's third album, White Blood Cells, is extraordinary in its outright simplicity. It's not far-reaching from the group's previous releases either — its second album was titled De Stijl, after the early 20th century Dutch art movement known for its minimalism.

Not surprisingly, Cells sounds hardly produced, with sloppy guitar playing, simple drumming and the sometimes off-key, earnest soul-explosion of singer Jack White. In "Little Room," all the fat has been trimmed from the meat of the music. Jack makes the melody with only his voice, while Meg White keeps the beat but barely drums.

What makes the Stripes so much better than other blues-inflected rock bands like The John Spencer Blues Explosion is that the group takes a different approach to the genre. Rather than writing a bunch of gregarious, funky booty calls, White writes endearing, romantic lyrics with music that matches, reminiscent of '60s garage groups like The Zombies.

Jack's vocal persona shifts throughout the record — sometimes he yelps, yells and howls, while on other songs, he gently serenades the objects of his affection.

White can write like John Lennon on "We're Gonna Be Friends" and sing like Paul McCartney on "The Same Boy You've Always Known." On "Expecting," however, with a shriek, he drops the bottom out of his guitar like Zeppelin always could.

Executed in pop perfection, the songs are hooky and short (the album's longest song clocks in around three and a half minutes). They aren't bogged down in heavy and obscure lyrics. On the lovely "I'm Finding It Harder to be a Gentleman," White sings:

Well I'm finding it harder
to be a gentleman everyday
all the manners I've been taught
have slowly died away
but if I held the door open for you
it wouldn't make your day.

The formula is simple, but the music, in essence, is timeless. It's doubtful that The White Stripes will ever break into the mainstream market as they deserve to, but here's to hoping less is more.

— Jennifer Pfafflin (pfafflin at students dot wisc dot edu)