Dude, Check Out the Merch: Raconteurs and Black Lips Play the Fillmore Detroit

By Max Conroy

The Raconteurs played Saturday night at the Fillmore Detroit with the Atlanta-based garage punk revivalists the Black Lips.  All 2900 seats were accounted for, but the place didn’t seem overly packed at all.  This would probably have been a concert that I wouldn’t have thought twice about, seeing the ad in the paper or hearing about it on the radio, but a friend called me before getting tickets the day they went on sale.  What the hell, I’ll go; I like the rock and roll; I consider myself a fan of J. White even though at times I want to dislike the White Stripes.  I really like the Black Lips, particularly their 2005 record Let It Bloom, but didn’t know that they were opening until after I’d committed to the event.  No matter what you think about White’s music or his opinions regarding his music, he’s done a lot for rock and roll.  I can’t blame him for leaving Detroit either.  That said, I can pretty much take or leave the Raconteurs.

When I first heard that White was forming a band, I thought that it was a great idea: breaking away from the mold of a two-person ‘band’ where he most definitely calls the shots to working with three to four other extremely talented people, writing songs and collaborating in a super group, like they did back in the late sixties through the seventies.  I could really give two shits about Brendan Benson, based purely on ignorance, but drafting the rhythm section of the Greenhornes, bassist Jack Lawrence and drummer Patrick Keeler, made me have to take this band seriously.  I have seen these two play live probably more than any other group of musicians. 

I’ve seen several incarnations of the Greenhornes, as a four-piece and a trio, and have seen them play with Holly Golightly several times.  One of my most profound dipshit, foot-in-mouth, moments was making some boneheaded comment about how the Greenhornes weren’t all that great to Holly Golightly while smoking cigarettes outside of Kraftbrau Brewery in Kalamazoo, and she basically said, “There are a lot worse bands out there.”  About ten minutes later, the Greenhornes tore the place apart.  I’d seen them open for Golightly a few nights prior at the Magic Stick and they didn’t exactly put their best foot forward, but every time that I’ve seen them since, they have been absolutely amazing; one of the best bands I’ve ever seen.  And so much of what made them so good was their impossibly tight rhythm section; Keeler, the definition of the jazz-influenced rock drummer, killing the skins, sweat flying everywhere, drinking whiskey; and Lawrence the silent rock carrying the rhythm, his expression is comparable to Elijah Wood’s character in Sin City:  blank, verging on scary.

I got the Raconteurs first record when it came out, but never really listened to it seriously.  I also had the chance to see them a Lollapalooza a few years back, but chose to see some other band that was playing there at the same time; it might have been Sleater-Kinney playing their last non-Olympia show.  The music seems fine, and I’m not sure why I haven’t taken the time to listen to their records, maybe there just hasn’t been enough time, who knows?  So this show was a good opportunity for me to really give their music a chance.

Upon entering the Fillmore Detroit, if you are a guy, you have to empty your pockets, hold all your shit for security to go through while they frisk you.  It’s been awhile since I’ve had to do this and was somewhat freaked out by it as I did have something that would be considered contraband, which I held under my wallet, hoping they wouldn’t notice.  They were some huge fellows and seemed very good at their job.  I made the mistake of wearing a green shirt that said ‘Boston’ on it with a clover.  The guy who was about to frisk me mumbled something, and it sounded to me like, “If I find anything in your pockets, I’m going to fuck you up.”  My stomach sank as I was holding onto my wallet and contraband, hands shaking.  I quickly ripped out anything else that I had in my pockets and explained rapidly what it was.  He could tell that I misunderstood what he’d said and repeated it: “I should fuck you up for wearing that shirt.”  That I could handle.  The Pistons were just knocked out by the Boston Celtics in the conference finals.  “Oh, sorry, man.  I totally didn’t think about it.”  “You should go home and burn that shirt.”  “Oh, I will.”  My hands were still shaking when I bought a round of beer five minutes later.

On the way to the theater, we stopped to look at the merch table.  My friend who got the tickets wanted more than anything to go to this show for the merchandise available.  He saw the White Stripes a few years ago and missed out on buying a small record player that would play tiny records, smaller than 45s, that came with it.  The record player went for $100, he only had $80 and there was a massive line to get to the merch table, where he was already at, and could see an ATM.  The next day those record players were going for a grand on eBay.  At this show there was a ton of great stuff; it’s probably a good thing that I’m not that big a fan of the Raconteurs.  They had a very cool looking limited edition tour poster, I think it was only sold at the shows in Detroit, some OOP 45s, and a Raconteurs Stylophone.  I had no idea what the hell a Stylophone was, but it sounded unique if nothing else.  The Black Lips stuff also seemed cool, great shirts.  I’m not one for buying merch at all because it’s typically the same shit: overpriced shirts and CDs; I’ll buy vinyl at shows because it’s typically the lowest price that you’ll find the stuff for; the Daptone merch table was amazing because they had all the Daptone releases, 45s and LPs.  You have to hand it to J. White, to be aware of how lame and over priced most products offered by bands at their shows are, so he takes it upon himself to make the stuff cool and affordable.

The Black Lips went on at 7:30 on the dot, and played fifteen songs, in a forty minute set.  I love these guys.  They play songs that are modeled on sixties garage music; the garage bands that didn’t have a hit and make Nuggets, but landed on comps like Back From the Grave and Pebbles.  They have that sound, but it’s intentional and tight.  It was interesting to see them play a beautiful theater instead of a dive venue, which is a rare thing for them.  Their lead vocalist/rhythm guitarist Cole Alexander even remarked, “I always wanted to play a pretty theater like this,” during the set.  I had seen them about a year ago at the Magic Stick and they were good then, but they seemed considerably more together here and the crowd responded well to them.  It doesn’t get rawer than this band and still sound good.  Their lead guitarist Ben Ederbaugh blew his student loan money on a gold grill, and Alexander will hock a loogie into the air and catch it in his mouth just as a song kicks in.  They did songs mostly from Let it Bloom and Good Bad Not Evil (a nod to the Shangi La’s).

I have seen Jack White perform twice before with the White Stripes.  The first time was at the tiny Michigan State University Ballroom just as White Blood Cells was blowing up; Entertainment Weekly even covered the show and said that it was the last chance to see them before they became an arena rock band…they were absolutely right.  That show was so good it was more than a rock and roll concert: there was a sense of history being made by a Michigan band playing at my school.  I saw them later that year at a rather large outdoor venue in Detroit on the river with the Strokes opening.  It was awful in every way: the sound was horrible, Julian Casablancas of the Strokes had broken his leg and had to sit while singing (not that it would matter at all if he could move), the venue ran out of beer and literally had to go on a beer run mid-show, and the Whites were way out of sync and uninspired.  That show definitely killed any interest I had in the Strokes and any desire I had to see the White Stripes live again.

The Raconteurs played a generous ninety minute set and played well.  The sold out, heavily diverse, crowd was into it, singing and cheering throughout.  The sound was good, but comically Benson, whose guitar playing surprised me, seemed to be much lower in the mix than White.  Keeler and Lawrence did their jobs to perfection, but there was something missing for me.  All the jazz was gone from Keeler’s drumming, and Lawrence was actually moving like a rock star, and they were all dressed in black and clean looking.  I remember speaking to Keeler after a Greenhornes set, his breath reeking of sour mash bourbon, as he took a drink from a water bottle drumming for the Raconteurs.  Jack White is ripped now, erasing the cherubic quality of his visage.  These people have become professionals and are obviously concerned with quality and longevity, how un-rock and roll. 

I don’t think that any super group has ever really been truly successful; it’s like Communism, great in theory, but not in practice.  Look at the king of super groups Eric Clapton who admits that Cream was a band of virtuosos that made music without a soul.  Derek and the Dominos was heavily flawed as well, and the Blind Faith record was great, but that’s pretty much it.  The Sonic’s Rendezvous Band was amazing and comprised of protopunk icons, but they never recorded a record.  The Raconteurs should seriously take a look back through rock and roll history and learn from other rock gods’ mistakes.

The set dragged on into pseudo-Wish You Were Here-era Pink Floyd space jams, which made me restless.  When they left the stage before the first encore, we went to the merch table.  My friend purchased the 45s and the Stylophone.  I was very curious to see what a Stylophone was.  The box read “The Original Pocket Electronic Organ”.  My friend said, “Dude, you’re going to want to get one of these,” as he opened the box.  It was $40, but worth the money: it’s a working instrument with the Raconteurs logo on it.  The next day, it was worth $200 online.  We went back with our cool merch and watched their last two songs.

I was lucky enough to meet a guy who recorded audio of the show.  He was happy to provide me with copies of the Black Lips’ and Raconteurs sets.

The Black Lips’ Hippy Hippy Hoorah from the show at the Fillmore:

The Black Lips’ Not A Problem from their live record Los Valientes Del Mundo Nuevo:  This record was recorded at a bar in Tijuana a few years back.  They opened up the doors to anyone that wanted to come in and supplied them with free Tecate and tequila, had a mariachi band open for them and apparently had some filthy women perform bizarre acts for the crowd during the set.  It’s amazing that anyone could play in such an environment, yet make such a fantastic sounding record.  This is truly one of the best live albums ever recorded.  This song is also one of the better songs about substance abuse written in the past thirty years.  Listen to the chilling bridge where the band chants “It’s a problem,” representing either this person’s friends or his subconscious telling him that things need to change, and his response is “No! It’s not a problem to meeeee!”

The Raconteurs space out: