Pitchfork

Here's Jack White doing corporate team-building exercises, abandoning his close-knit power-blues duo for a full-fledged rock band chock-full with egos. Backed by the Greenhornes rhythm section, White and fellow Motor City crooner Brendan Benson play nice together. Problem is, they're not solving puzzles or doing ice-breakers, they're writing songs, and one member (White, cough, cough) appears to concede too much. On a conventional four-part indie arrangement, White's minimalist guitar-playing sounds, well, minimal. Even so, the clunky band lurches around the swaggering chord progression, saddling White's girl-smitten intensity to the level of Rick Springfield. As the new moniker suggests, White can still emote over the ballbreaking female tale with a sangfroid flair, though the story hits some bumps, namely during the boring chorus (you know, the place White usually shines). I give the guy one gig before he punches Benson's lights out, Von Bondies-style.