Album Review: White Denim – Performance


Performance



White Denim have followed a similar career trajectory to The Black Keys. Prolific in their early years, progressing from garage rock through boogie-woogie blues, stopping off for some progressive jazz flirtation along the way, they’ve built up something akin to a cult following.

In 2016 they released the album Stiff, which managed a degree of mainstream success and they’ve now expanded to become a four-piece, recording their latest album in eight weeks spread across twelve months. Will follow-up Performance be their El Camino?

It certainly has the potential to be so. This is a blistering rock album, a brief but potent blast that, while mainly taking its cue from the 1970s, manages to harness a classic sound and yet feel very modern.

Recent single Magazin is the best song not on T.Rex’s Electric Warrior, the use of horns on the chorus supplying the swagger and sway as the lesser-used saxophone makes up a solo which disappears into the ether and then comes back again.

The upbeat title-track never sits still, while Fine Slime starts with darting guitars and then moves on to an outro which commences as a funky workout before some strange voices fade into the mix, then bends out again to let the band pick up where they left off. If White Denim weren’t so tight one would think it was an improvised jam.

There is no other word that can describe centre-piece Double Death than bonkers. Initially we’re in Sly & The Family Stone territory before frontman James Petralli’s vocals become distorted and surrounded by hand-claps, trumpets and wah-wah guitar.

It’s all a bit overwhelming at first, but it certainly ups the serotonin levels. Moves On later ventures into psychedelic territory, sounding like what would happen if Pink Floyd had upped their average BPM whilst David Gilmour was on speed. The interaction between the band is again razor-sharp.

Bringing things back down to earth, It Might Get Dark sounds like an off-cut from Exile On Main Street with a mid-section that copies Ocean Colour Scene’s Up On The Downside to a t. One can’t imagine these rootin’ tootin’ Texans ever seeking inspiration from the Brummy Mods, but these are strange times we live in. Elsewhere, Petralli lets rip vocally on Backseat Driver, which stands out for its shuffling percussion.

The album flies past at breakneck speed, never letting up in either tempo or tone. In truth, it could do with one or two slower pieces to provide some breathing space from the freneticism, but that’s a minor quibble. That’s what Sunday mornings are for. This is a Saturday night album.



(Richard Bowes)


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