The Black Keys: Built in Akron, Ohio

"A sinister kid ... runs to meet his maker ... and that's me ... the boy with the broken halo, that's me, the devil won't let me be."
-The Black Keys, Sinister Kid




There's no cheating. You can only pick one. Name your favorite band. I'm only giving you 5 seconds. Go.

Maybe a handful of you could do it. Most can narrow it down to a select few, but it's nearly impossible the more you think about it. I've always struggled with this question. What genre are we talking? What era? I could say Bob Dylan, Led Zeppelin, or Wu-Tang Clan, even Radiohead based on these criteria. The question is much too vague. I could never give a straight answer ... well until very recently, when the solution inexplicably presented itself.

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Walking to the Lifestyle Communities Pavilion, we sank into our trip slowly, the song of the summer cicadas clicking in our ears. The trek seemed to be taking forever. Traveling south on Neil Ave. the five of us merged into a gang with other anonymous concert goers. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. The shrooms and about six or seven beers (in an hour and a half) might explain that. All of us (but one) were big fans. The odd man out had never heard The Black Keys in his life and had no idea what he'd signed up for. I thought of what questions to ask later, intrigued to hear a first time listeners opinion.

I'd been into The Black Keys for over a year but I was still getting caught up with their massive catalog (10 releases since 2001, counting side projects). From the very start they grabbed my attention. The first time I heard Your Touch I knew they were very serious. Curious, I talked to Shooter, my roommate at the time, and asked if he was hip. He immediately burned me Magic Potion and Rubber Factory and I devoured them. Both albums played for a solid month during my drive to and from work. Another friend lent me Attack and Release, which I also enjoyed (all be it slightly less than the other two). I even got their newest, Brothers the day it came out.

All of this happened before I saw them at Bonnaroo, where they tied for my Best of Show honors. Live performance is the most important thing I look for when deciding how much I like a band. They were officially in my top-5 all-time after that. I scored tickets to their Columbus gig the day I got back. Headlining on Friday the 13th, in front of a hometown crowd ... it had psychedelics written all over.

We'd made it in without incident after a short wait ... or so we thought. Once past the initial frenzy, we were down a man. Our gaze darted from face to face but they began to run together. Trying to focus on multiple moving objects is very difficult on serious drugs. The minutes began to accumulate. We grew anxious, the evil mushrooms slowly rotting our brains. The warm up band had finished. It was time to make an executive decision. Finally he answered his cell.

"I freaked out when we walked in and turned around," he said. "Too many bodies, too many staring eyes." In his defense, he's not a big hallucinogen user. Poor bastard never stood a chance really. I'm an experienced user and I was on the edge of a melt down too. Strong batch. Later, after we'd returned from the concert, we found him outside the apartment in the dark, wrapped in a blanket, still wearing sunglasses, writing his "Gospel" in a notebook. Some of it was hilarious but must was undecipherable chicken scratch. We would never let him live it down.

Obligatory phone call finished, we got beers and made our way to the lawn. The show had sold out and was even more packed than the last time I'd been to LC for My Morning Jacket. Drugs almost at their peak, everything made me giggle. This free and easy feeling wouldn't last long. We lodged ourselves next to an alley way, fairly cramped but not unbearable. Apparently some die hard Keys fans had camped out, arriving before the gates even opened. One couple had laid out a blanket beside us, claiming the small piece of real estate for themselves. We weren't encroaching but the woman was starting to get bent out of shape by the people who were congregating in front of her. Occasionally one would step on her blanket, thus invading the personal bubble she was trying to keep sterile.

"This is just ridiculous, you all standing in front of us like that," she said. "We've been waiting in these spots for hours!"

"Pa-leeeease lady," the drunkest of the three said. "It's a sold out show. Standing room only. As soon as the music starts everyone's going to get up anyway."

I could see both sides. She had been there first, they should honor her spot, like we had ... but at the same time she needs to understand that at a sell out, standing room only event you are going to be close. You are going to be sweaty. You are going to be touching people all around you who are totally drunk, stoned or both. That little blanket's worth of grass isn't included with the price of admission.

"If you don't move I'm going to start spitting on people!" she screamed. Arguing began and talk of the cops getting involved arouse. Ugly vibes. We wouldn't make good character witnesses in our current state, so we bolted to the restroom. While grabbing a last minute brew on our way back, we ran into some friends and managed to weasel our way into their spot. It was dead center of the lawn and much closer than where the lady had flipped out earlier. I didn't even want to know what happened to her and the drunks.

Multicolored stage lights clicked on and the two dweebs from Akron walked out to deafening cheers. The gangly one, all arms and legs, crawled behind the drums. The guy with a beard, in the awful plaid shirt, picked up a guitar and quietly said hello into the mic. He started tapping his foot and than smashed a power chord and held it till my ears popped.

The next two hours were probably the most memorable of any concert I've seen to date, easily better than their Bonnaroo performance. The two were in perfect harmony and pushed each others intensity over the top. I've said it before, but the level of sound and energy they put out, for just two men, is mind blowing. You keep looking around for another derelict on a musical instrument of some kind helping to create such racket. With each stomp of the peddle Dan Auerbach's guitar bounced back and forth from heavy Blues to smash mouth Rock 'n' Roll. Every note wailed, the auditory equivalent of getting slapped in the face. However, as a preform he was very introverted. Comfortable on stage with his instrument, but not with the crowd. He spoke very little in-between, his voice soft and sheepish. This was a stark contrast to his soulful and powerful singing. This dichotomy worked much to his advantage. The fact that he's an incredible guitar player helps too. Everything about them is loud and in-your-face. Fast and concussive were the drums. I could feel the reverberations in my chest. Patrick Carney made seizure faces, soaked in perspiration, smashing his sticks to the rhythm. He'd mic'ed his kit perfectly. My hearing was muffled for days.

Halfway through, they brought out the keyboard player and bassist who helped them out with the new album. After some tracks they sent them off and closed out as a duo, just like Bonnaroo (see Day 2 post). Unlike Roo, they came out for an encore after everyone in the crowd refused to leave, chanting "one more song" until blue in the face.

"Ohio," Dan said with a large grin. "Damn it does feel good to be home!" They smashed two more and called it a night.

On the walk back I was dripping with sweat from dancing and carrying on. We'd all been blown away and began talking over one another incessantly, naming our favorite song or an unfulfilled requests. Our Key's virgin was silent, totally shell shocked. He didn't go to many shows and had nearly wet his pants in all the excitement.

"That was the best fucking concert I have ever been to!" He shouted. "I fucking love those guys! I'm down loading all their shit as soon as I get home. They are now my favorite band." I couldn't agree more, and I purchased everything I didn't already own the next day. That's when it hit me. After seeing them twice I still craved more. The show had only gotten better. They were officially number one on my list ... no doubt about it. I had my answer to the impossible question. It was more of a realization than a conclusion. Like it had always been that way, I wasn't making any new discovery, just excepting an obvious truth.

After hanging out for a bit and digesting the night's events, I could feel a incredible headache starting. The type that builds in pressure behind your eyes, later spreading out through the entire brain like octopus tentacles before squeezing the life out of you. I'd made the fatal mistake of drinking alcohol while tripping, without ingesting any water. Both severely dehydrate and I was now paying the price. I hurried home and chugged a gallon of H2O while laying on the couch, a cold wash cloth draped across my forehead. I had once again pushed my luck a little too far, had a little too much fun. Continued abuse of such substances would lead me to meet my maker sooner than later. But they awaken things inside of me and I can't simply let such things be. The pulsing pain was dull and constant. I drank more water. My skull had melted. Drifting off to sleep with feedback still ringing in my ears, I wasn't sure if the drugs or The Black Keys were to blame.


-J.R.