Jack White and the Raconteurs bringing epic back

The death of the music industry establishment means the death of the mega-band. It’s nothing to cry over: a few less Deep Purples, Journeys and Smashing Pumpkins in favor of a few more Stooges, Replacements and Soul Coughings is generally a good thing. But there are a few deeply depressing drawbacks. Chiefly, the Raconteurs can never be this generation’s Led Zeppelin.
OK, as wickedly sick and thunderous as the Raconteurs’ gig was last night at the Bank of America Pavilion, Jack White’s new joint will never be the next Zeppelin.
But wouldn’t it have been glorious to see them try? To spend a decade racking up the gold records and making stoner summer soundtracks and selling out the Garden on three-night stands.



Instead - thanks to kids and their music thievery and Pandora obsession and Gen X-fostered sense of irony - the Raconteurs get to be part-Stooges, part-Deep Purple, which is pretty damn awesome in its own right.
The tag-team of frontmen/guitar overlords Jack White and Brendan Benson, rhythm section bassist Little Jack Lawrence and drummer Patrick Keeler opened up on the crowd with the righteous garage/space rock of “Consoler of the Lonely.” The title track of their new and second album roared like a beast that broke its chain: snarling, swaggering and exploding like, well, like a highly combustible Zeppelin.
Five minutes into the show, during second song “The Switch and the Spur,” it already felt like one of those truly great rock shows. And it didn’t fall off from there.
“Top Yourself,” “Old Enough,” and classic gems “Level” and hit single “Steady, As She Goes” kept adding more electricity to the set. White - because, to be honest, it’s still his band - gave no quarter and rode his quintet of rock demons (Mark Watrous lent a hand on keyboards and “Baba O’Riley” fiddle) for almost two hours.
To add a little art to the muscle, the band rearranged older tunes “Store Bought Bones” and “Blue Veins” into freaky Floydian jams, inverting the songs’ hooks until they were nearly unrecognizable. Up against the massive slaps of rock, the oddities made the set even more epic.
OK, it’s been beat to death, but “epic” describes last night’s show perfectly. Sure, Homeric works, but the Raconteurs, with every riff, every cymbal crash, every Jack White screeching solo, told the crowd: We’re epic, we’re a mega band, we’re hopping the Misty Mountains and climbing the Stairway to Heaven.
Another time, another place, Zeppelin Jr.
The Black Lips opened with some more odd garage rock, but no one was there to see them and the crowd mostly decided on an extra beer before the main event.