The ballroom was nice and dim with electeric orange candle light, probably reminisent of the first-class decks of the Titanic a half hour before it slipped under. It was impossible to find the toilets and as I twisted and turned the White Stripes stalked on stage, heads down, amps in, bash bash boom! Jack White scarcely stops for an hour. His axemanship is amazing, sticking the leeches onto his own back catelogue, bleeding the songs into each other...chorus of 'Screwdriver', two versus of 'You're Pretty Good Looking' (etc) (etc.)
He says only two things...something about the "Blackpool lights" - "right place? wrong time? story of my life." and a mumbled introduction to 'Apple Blossom'. Meg - looking very slim and pretty, takes to the mike for 'In The Cold Cold Night'...her voice threatens to break, cracking and wavering, but she is so earnest that you can't help but love her.
It is a shame you can't say the same for the crowd. They were bloody savages, stomping and hollerin', planting elbows...The White Stripes can belt it out, fair enough, but someone launched a bottle so close to Meg that it took out one of her mike stands. Just not cricket.And perhaps the band fed off of this negativity because i got a distinct feeling that they were simply going through the motions to satisfy some contract or other...not that Jack White would have you believe he is a whirlwind of good-humour, but the gig felt like some kind of prison christmas panto - get on, rush it through, and get away as quick as possible, with your cheque and your life.
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But be that as it may, The White Stripes are still incredible live...it is a shame Jack's cock stood out in relief against the red half of his trousers for the whole perfomance...kind of took the sheen off the ballroom atmosphere.
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