I was prepared for The Dead Weather
show last Tuesday the 27th at Workplay to be entertaining. I was prepared for some Jack White guitar fireworks and a tight set artfully delivered. What I was completely unprepared for was the half-possessed rock vixen that is Alison Mosshart. Her spastic, angular gyrations mixed with her raspy and violent delivery to form a perfect storm of sex, grit and soul that rivaled the performance of any rock vocalist I’ve ever seen. Over the top though it was, her performance was never forced, always honest. I forgot Jack was even there, sequestered as he was behind the drums and out of my line of sight. That is, I forgot about him until he came out, grabbed a guitar and spent one song blistering our faces with distortion. I’m glad he did, and the crowd was obviously there for him and unselfish with their adulation, but the real revelation is that The Dead Weather are more than a Jack White vehicle. They, like The Raconteurs
, have a real life of their own, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they fail to fade. Fine with me if it means we might get another evening with The Dead Weather and their captivatingly sinister succubus.
Photos by Joshua Shoemaker