Black Keys

The Black Keys have always been something of an oddity. They practice a very specific brand of blues-rock that feels more spiritually rooted in the original genre than contemporary music. They’re two white boys from Akron who have recorded album after album of thematically and sonically consistent material, but went so far as to collaborate with Mos Def and Raekwon.

2010’s Brothers was rightfully lauded for polishing some of the group’s rough edges and adding some flourishes of style to go along with its soul. As such, it’s no wonder the record was such a breakthrough—it debuted at number three on Billboard charts and was nominated for five Grammys. Now we have El Camino, the band’s best album and tightest set of songs to date. If Brothers was stylish, El Camino is downright sexy.

Dan Auerbach’s lyrics are as depressive as ever, but the interesting shift on El Camino comes with the pacing. Where previous Black Keys albums alternated between harder hitting rock anthems and slower ballads, El Camino mostly eschews the down-tempo numbers. The result is a record that never loses steam, and reflects its namesake in its unmodern forcefulness and muscle. “Little Black Submarines” is really the only song to deviate from this formula, consisting of Auerbach’s vocals set over an acoustic guitar and Patrick Carney’s light percussion—that is, until halfway through the song, when it slows to a halt. An electric guitar sounds out, the bass drum kicks and just like that, the energy is dialed back up to 11.

The rest of the album is equally well conceived. “Gold on the Ceiling” is guttural and funky, its organ ringing out over a garage rock din beneath. The twinkling piano and stomping drums of “Dead And Gone” are just as fun and catchy as the epic chorus and fast-paced chug of lead single “Lonely Boy.”

El Camino is not revolutionary or the highest achieving album of the year, but it doesn’t aspire to be. Each song is a variation on the same recipe, but the Keys have had a decade to perfect the ingredients.