Oi Oliver, What’s the Weather Saying?

I have, without doubt, the most unnatural relationship with the sun out of anyone I know. When I enter the sun, my body is reminiscent of a Polo. However when I leave, it looks like Jamie Oliver has grabbed that Polo, crushed into a thousand pieces, put it in a blender with a can of Campbell’s tomato soup and a lobster. He then takes the result and plasters it all over me with one of those dodgy spatulas that you get with a tin of Delux paint whilst saying, “lovely jubbly, you look pucka!”

Although my mind is all for blue skies, cider and summer at Centre Parks; my body has always been more comfortable in the sort of weather where you don’t have to worry about leaving the house ensuring you have your keys, wallet, phone and factor 50. You know the sort of weather I’m talking about? That’s exactly right. The dead weather.

Talking of The Dead Weather (see what I did there), in anticipation of their upcoming UK tour, I dug out their debut album ‘Horehound’ yesterday. This album really does demonstrate that Jack White is an all round master musician. In footballing terms, he’s like the ultimate utility man. If you were to feed John O’Shea a cocktail of speed, creatine, Grandma Audrey’s Victoria sponge cake, and three litres of Red Stripe before sending him out to play Stenhousemuir, you still wouldn’t get close. He’s much better than that.

‘Horehound’ provides White & co a platform to deliver a sound which is both rocky and raw. It’s hard to describe this album in words. It’s darker than anything that White has produced before with the White Stripes and The Raconteurs. If ‘Horehound’ was a person it would be the love child of Pete Doherty and Muddy Waters. It’s dirty, filthy and unshaven; whilst containing a certain blues ridden charm.

The Dead Weather hit London on October 30th. Now, if you only do one thing on that date it should be to brush your teeth. However, if you do two, it should be to brush your teeth and get down to the HMV Forum in Kentish Town.