Sunday, April 13, 2003

Come Clean With Me:

It's true, something's breaking with my relationship with the White Stripes. What made Jack wonderful as an unknown indie guy is making him almost insufferable as a pop star: his everything-sucks-and-I'm-the-only-one-who-knows-it, no-fun judgmentalism. The irony is that now, more than ever, he needs to hold onto that, of course. But it's hard, when you know he's making a lot of money off the machinery and, I believe, enjoying the recognition--as he should. See, my problem is not with people enjoying the weird fruits of corporate magnification. If you can enjoy it and still make great music, you've grasped the gold ring. My problem is with blowhard crybabies who play the game and then continue to whine about how they hate it all so dang much. It would be so much cooler if he could just lead by example and be done with it, and talk in interviews about Blind Willie McTell and everything he loves and leave all the complaining to the rap-metalers.

Also, I have a problem with the album. As I've said, it's got a darkness and a kind of narcissism to it that troubles me.

And it troubles me because I love it too much. too. Let's be real.

And the Strokes thing... I'm not saying they're not real guys with a real love of rock. It's not personal. My problem is that I don't feel anything original from them. Everything I feel from them is a variation of the crazy discovery I already felt when I heard the Velvet Underground, the Stooges and the New York Dolls for the first time--but with none of the actual danger involved in that music. I just want a band that rips my ears open with its own individuality, that's all.

Is that so wrong?



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