Review
	Jack & Meg White (brother & sister, playing it dangerously close to man & wife) play the most basic, primitive rock'n'roll. The records are quirky and exciting, but good as they are they don't give you the full picture. I came here thinking I knew The White Stripes, but nothing prepared me for this. It's hard to believe that two people can fill a stage this big, but it's also easy to underestimate the impact of that red & white uniform. Visually they create a spectacle more engaging than anyone else I've seen all weekend, two cartoon characters locked in their own little world, all bad drumming and blues guitar, they might be better placed in Bedrock.
They're keeping us on a permanent knife edge, it turns corners and overblows itself, at times engaging, at times aimless, it allows your attention to wander and then drags you back in with what you (and they) least expect. It almost seems voyeuristic to watch, he's wanking in his bedroom up there, his sister supplementing his ego. It could all fall apart at any minute, but I'm unsure if anyone would notice. Hopelessly self-indulgent, the most you can hope for is to stand and observe from the peripheries. They intentionally murder Dolly Parton's 'Jolene', the wonderful single 'Hotel Yorba' is stripped of the melody that made you love it in the first place, everything is pared down to the basic core of a 12-bar riff and a backbeat, and it's stunning. Jack starts the jaunty 'Apple Blossom' on keyboards and takes us somewhere between The Kinks and Johnny Cash, all supplemented by his best Rocky Horror Picture Show voice, but you know it's not an affectation. This man may be a little unhinged, but you have to admire his contribution to the cause of just making a terrible racket. Then, just as you think it can't get any noisier, it doesn't, as 'We Are Going To Be Friends' makes us all want to be kids again. A little bit of Detroit comes to Glastonbury. It seems that White men can sing the blues after all.
Words: David Something