It is, however, a picture of a Chrysler Town & Country minivan, the band's real-life former tour bus, and it is, at least in jest, or maybe for real, for sale.
Naming an album after a bitchin' 70's coupe utility vehicle while juxtaposing it with an image of a beat down, rusted out, soccer mom transport machine is a sly joke, or an unintended prophecy of epic proportion. As the Keys themselves discovered in retrospect, el camino means "the path" in Spanish, so it's fitting that the album that is poised to fully invest them in mainstream superstardom is adorned with the detritus of their journey.
But even when they were driving around a minivan, The Black Keys have always been making El Camino music. Fat, nasty guitar weight and aggressive drumming that was retro but new, familiar yet original, and hung together with the tension culled from making just a guitar and drum compelling. There was a palpable urgency in the music as a result of the thought that they just couldn't make something this simplistic actually last beyond a cool riff or two.
But that's exactly what the Keys did for four albums, from The Big Come Up thru Magic Potion. It wasn't until Attack & Release, which solicited producer duties from Danger Mouse, a.k.a. Brian Burton, that the formula significantly shifted - to more production, new instruments, and a more realized full album vision and conceptualization. Brothers stretched the sound with less structure than Attack and Release into a slinky, muggy, song heavy R&B&rock mixture.
Full disclosure here....I didn't want to like El Camino. It's a predisposition in the cynic in me to write off a new album, delivered a short year and a half after its breakthrough predecessor, the previously mentioned Brothers rocketed to the top of the charts, as a calculated attempt to cash in on new found fame and glory by recruiting big time production muscle (again Mr. Burton) to concoct radio ready choruses to propel a band to the promised land. Stadium sized hooks pre-made for a then announced stadium tour further spiral my cynicism into flat out disdain.
And yet, El Camino is most like the much maligned minivan - part wind catching gas guzzler and part serviceable blend of purpose and practicality. It's dependable and trustworthy. It's adaptable for errands around town or an extended road trip in the same way an El Camino could be - but it's not as cool as a muscle car that's also a truck.
The opening slurred riff of "Lonely Boy", pre-disposed to be the albums first single, keeps you on the line like the female protagonist of guitarist Dan Auerbach's ire, and perfectly mocks my premature judgments by announcing:
"Well I'm so above you / and it’s plain to see / but I came to love you, anyway /
So you pulled my heart out / and I don't mind bleeding"
and culminating in the oh so singable lament - "I got a love that keeps me waiting".
"Dead and Gone" overcomes its "Roxanne"-like guitar rhythm intro to maintain a bombastic grittiness that flows fluidly into the glitzy, glammed-out glow of "Gold on the Ceiling". "Little Black Submarines" eases out around its acoustic opening via a "Mary Jane's Last Dance" styled segueing riff before dropping the hammer on a mini-"Freebird" type moment, as if cranked out guitar and fat drum whacks could convince you that "a broken heart is blind". "Money Maker" keeps the up-tempo scuz rolling into "Run Right Back"'s screeched slide, replete with "Spirit in the Sky" characteristic fuzz.
The driving impetus slows slightly with "Sister", shifts to go-go time in "Hell Of A Season", and transitions to falsetto soul with the slightly lowered volume of "Stop Stop”’s poppy hand claps and the shifty drumming of Patrick Carney. "Nova Baby" strays more into Suburbs era Arcade Fire sounds before rounding out the albums dynamic range in "Minderaser".
Rock & roll isn't complicated - it's not supposed to be.
Moreover, rock & roll is a rejection of the unnecessary.
The Black Keys have built their greatness by letting their unadulterated sound hang and resonate in the space that lesser bands would try to plug with fluff and filler. The unnecessary insulates the sound.
In the end, El Camino is a comprimise. A compromise between the holes that are left open and the ones that get filled. A compromise to be the minivan and the El Camino, the path and the vehicle. But truth be told, it’s still pretty cool to be along for the ride.
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