Icky ThumpFollowing the arty explorations of its predecessor, GET BEHIND ME SATAN, ICKY THUMP finds everybody's favorite platinum selling, post modern garage rock duo returning to their bang and stomp rock & roll roots. The marimbas and pianos of the former are kicked to the curb in favor of the kind of Led Zeppelin in a trash can riffs on which Jack and Meg White built their cooler than ice reputation. There's an overwhelming sense of urgency and catharsis on
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Following the arty explorations of its predecessor, GET BEHIND ME SATAN, ICKY THUMP finds everybody's favorite platinum-selling, post-modern garage-rock duo returning to their bang-and-stomp rock-&-roll roots. The marimbas and pianos of the former are kicked to the curb in favor of the kind of Led Zeppelin-in-a-trash-can riffs on which Jack and Meg White built their cooler-than-ice reputation.
There's an overwhelming sense of urgency and catharsis on most tracks, as on the title cut, where Jack's Robert Plant-ish wail falls into a near-rap full of breathless cadences. That dirty, primal groove evoked by said title is the organizing principle of the album, sweaty blues-rock writ large and gritty. Even though there are a couple of brief stylistic diversions when the Whites veer into folkier territory, there's no mistaking ICKY THUMP's status as a thick slab of heavy rock capable of handily crushing lesser sonic statements.