White Stripes stay red, white and true

Going to a White Stripes show can be a rather precarious thing. One is likely to wonder, much like I did, if the twosome can possibly sound as full and vibrant onstage as they do recorded. The answer: an undeniable yes. \nUnfortunately, stage presence and presentation are something the bass-less Detroit duo surprisingly lacks. Jack White rarely spoke to the audience, and when he did, he spoke in a feebly annoying tenor, sounding something akin to Alvin and his chipmunk brethren and less the full-fledged rock star. \nI've got no quibbles with Meg White's performance, as antisocial tendencies are her hallmark. Also, as the most bizarrely cute woman working in rock today, she's endearing. \nLastly, the light show backing the band was lackluster to say the least -- stagnant patterns of red, white and black -- boring. Where's the ingenuity seen in video after video? Not here apparently. Many audience members had cooler, similarly colored displays going on in their eyes. \n Musically, there were little to no faults. The Stripes played unrelentingly. Rarely were there interludes between numbers. Songs jumbled one into the next. This isn't a bad thing per se, as it does give listeners a whole lot of musical bang for the buck. Though I'm a fan of performers who interact with the crowd, and in their own voice mind you.\nThe set lasted a little over an hour and a half and covered a substantial portion of Elephant -- a particular highlight was the prolonged take on "Ball and Biscuit," greatest hits snippets of White Blood Cells and a smattering of rarities, unreleased tracks and cuts off the self-titled and De Stijl. \nOne interesting side note: Jack did a rousing rendition of Chicago's "Mr. Cellophane," in what could only be thought of contextually as a potshot toward his ex-girlfriend, starlet Renée Zellweger.\n While the show was certainly worthwhile, my attention was often diverted. Sticking out like a sore thumb amid the eclectic crowd was a surly, drunken, overweight, middle-aged man sporting a cowboy hat and a pair of grabby hands. He must've groped his date a dozen or so times. Watching her rebuff his advances time and time again as he crawled about the floor barking like a dog, yelping in a fashion similar to that of Ric "Nature Boy" Flair and eventually passing out was more entertaining than watching and listening to the White Stripes. This was my lasting memory.