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Review This seventh studio album throws up some fantastic examples: opener Lonely Boy takes base-level Duane Eddy rock’n’roll and layers on Monks synths, gospel blaze and mariachi twangs and ends up sounding invigorated and new, like The The burning alive in the Arcade Fire. Dead and Gone bristles with psych noir classicism, grisly guitar noise and glistening melodies, as if scooped from Tarantino’s scratchiest B movie nightmare. Gold on the Ceiling, all glam handclaps and Rhubarb & Custard synth splats, even does a soul-swathed Glitter stomp around the hoe-down. At times you wonder if this is an album or an all-you-can-eat Americana buffet.
For a record that rummages so excitedly through rock history, though, there’s a paucity of sucker-punch hooks here and, tellingly, it’s when The Black Keys nod to their own blues rock blueprint that they’re least engaging. Little Black Submarines is outdated blues balladry with a turgid Zep second act that seems dug up from a desert grave in 2004; Mind Eraser is a poor man’s disco remix of The Sopranos theme; and Money Maker could be, well, by The Datsuns. No, it’s in the Tornados twangles of Hell of a Season and Lonely Boy and the Supremes shimmy of Stop Stop or standout track Nova Baby that El Camino finds its identity and The Black Keys their new purpose – to reinvigorate rock’n’roll from the roots up. A heftier dash of melodic sparkle to their churn of genres and next time their meat might match their might. --Mark Beaumont
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