(A conversation overheard at a seedy, dimly-lit bar called Limbo, somewhere between Heaven and Hell and Nowhere.)

Nietzsche: It’s just… It’s these journalists and bloggers who keep using the word “supergroup” when they talk about The Dead Weather. I am uber-pissed about this!

Roy “Lefty” Orbison: Fred, I’m upset, too!

Nietzsche: It’s enough to drive me mad!

Bob “Lucky” Dylan: Um, I thought you were already—never mind…

As my friend Dustin said, “Fuck all preemptive ‘supergroup’ labeling.” A band shouldn’t be called a “supergroup” until they’ve proven themselves worthy of the title. (The Traveling Wilburys just shit their Depends, maybe because they’re disgusted, but mostly because they can’t help it.)

But of course we had every hyperbolic blogger and lazy journalist using that beaten word the moment The Dead Weather announced their formation. On that same note, I’m also offended by journalists’ promiscuous use of “side project”.

Sluts. You’d do best to keep it simple: The Dead Weather is a band.

Let’s be honest, the former Mr. Meg White is the only member of this band who can be called a rock ‘n’ roll superman, the only one who can count fans among blues aficionados, eager indie rockers, casual top 40 radio-heads, and even hoodlum Italian soccer fanatics. Some people, the sort who jerk off their icky stumps to Jack’s marimba playing, like to imagine—among other things—Jack White as a whimsical Don Quixote figure fighting digital windmills. That’s only half of it. Dude does whatever he wants, whether it’s building his own studio, being in three full-time bands, producing albums, starting an online subscription service, etc. And he does it all pretty well.

That said, Horehound is a good album with a couple great songs and one pretty terrible cover. (I’m referring to a cover song, but let’s get to that album art: it looks like Mossheart is double-fisting black stiffies.) You already know this, but White is joined by The Kills’ Allison Mossheart, QOTSA keyboardist Dean Fertita who plays guitar, and Greenhorns/Raconteurs bassist Jack Lawrence. The guitar, bass, and keys generally navigate the same tonal space—thick, fuzzed-out riffs—and play off Jack’s off-kilter drumming. This is an album with a sustained mood, and that mood is a swampy and distinctive, if not wholly original, take on the age-old rock melting pot of dirt, sex, danger, God, and the Devil.

The Dead Weather work best when they let shit get weird. The spooked-out dub reggae of “I Cut Like A Buffalo” swaggers pants-down through a tranny funhouse and might be the coolest song on the album. The other contender, “Treat Me Like Your Mother” struts, lurches and tumbles mid-song into a dueling banshee freak-out courtesy of White and Mossheart. Somewhere in the dark heart of America, at a crossroads, that charming man in black is rocking back and forth, laughing like a hyena as he hears the echoes of these two songs.

The rest of Horehound is varyingly good, especially if you imagine them playing in some KROQ rotation. (Is KROQ still around?)

The only glaring problem on Horehound is Allison Mossheart’s singing, which is hit and miss. She does a neat Jack White impersonation, but when Jack actually sings—check out “Rocking Horse” for a quick White/Mossheart comparison—it really highlights the fact that I’d rather hear Jack White sing like Jack White. And what about that Dylan cover. Maybe it’s because Allison is used to singing over a drum machine, but that’s no excuse for ruining an otherwise decent cover of “New Pony”. Allison squeals, squeaks, and screeches her way through lines like, “Get over here, Pony!” and the results are far from the cool menace that the rest of the band conjures. Somewhere out there, Zimmerman is rasping his disappointment.

Verdict: this isn’t quite a supergroup yet. The Dead Weather lives up to its cool name, but doesn’t go much beyond that. I’m not worried, though. Jack White has said he’s already itching to record the second album, and as long as they wave their freak flag a little higher and lot wilder, I’m not scared; the results should be… super.

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