It’s churlish to accuse the Soledad Brothers of inauthenticity, given that their raw and rickety blues are indebted to the sounds of the Crawdaddy Club, Richmond, circa 1963. We should forgive, then, this young Detroit trio for most of their iconographic waffle about death letters, gospels and devils. Especially since they play pretty well, a menacing chug through the standard “Going Back To Memphis” being the highlight. Nevertheless, the Soledads never quite transcend the role of canny revivalists?unlike their drummer’s housemate, Jack White.
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