There's All Kinds Of Redheaded Women I Ain't Supposed To Kiss.

I just returned from the White Stripes concert, and I have officially been rocked. My ears just got laid. When their last album - Get Behind Me Satan - was released two years ago, most reviews were full of deserved praise. Rolling Stone got it right, though:

"If you're in a rock band right now, and you're not in the White Stripes, it so sucks to be you."

This statement basically sets the tone for the following that the Stripes have built. They have their own rules, they think about both music and its dissemination in novel ways (they released their latest album Icky Thump on a USB drive), and they destroy all you know about rock, punk, blues, and theatrics. And there's only two of 'em.

The Stripes are a duo - Jack and Meg White - whose sound might be described as stripped-down-yet-heavy, or powerful and raw... but honestly, they're unclassifiable. Jack plays guitar and sings, while Meg pounds away at the drums. That's the formula that has worked for a decade. On their latest albums, they still keep it simple, but they incorporate such instruments as banjo, piano, trumpet, bagpipes... so as I looked forward to the show, I thought they've gotta have one or two other people on stage to help 'em out, right?

Boy, was I wrong.

Jack and Meg - brother and sister, husband and wife, whatever you want to believe - have masterful chemistry on stage.* What's more, they don't need anyone but each other to have a good time and bring the house down completely. They looked larger than life, both dressed completely in tight red clothing (Meg with tight black jeans) against a backdrop of red curtains and shiny amplifiers. Two of the rules that Jack set for the group when they started out was that they would adhere to a strict color scheme - only red, white, and black - and that they would never use backing tracks to supplement their live shows (I found that out later).

First, Jack: He's a cross between Mick Jagger, Robert Plant, Keith Richards, and a little Elvis thrown in to boot. He makes up for more than half of the energy on stage, sometimes singing directly to the audience, sometimes singing right at Meg into the microphone placed in front of her drumset. As a guitarist, the man has chops. Managing to tread a fine line between sweet, fat distorted blues/rock and complete & utter feedback-filled destruction, he rarely paused for a moment before launching into the next song or into a tight back-and-forth jam with Meg. He has swagger, bad posture, the ability to strut... all the right moves that make for a good rock star.

And Meg. I am so in love with Meg. She makes up for a lot more than half of the energy on stage. First, she is an incredibly solid drummer. Listen to any of their recordings, and she's right on target. Same deal in concert, which - when there's no bassist to keep you in check - has got to be demanding. She carries it off, and she does it with style. And attitude. And sexiness. Jack starts walking toward her, she cocks her head and straightens up a little bit. He wails on the guitar, she tosses her hair and pushes her drumset a little harder. Once in a while she'd throw in a backing vocal (loose usage; her 'vocals' were either barely heard harmonies or barely contained yelps), but she was the true master on stage, keeping the show steady and solid.

Tonight was a showcase of what they've achieved and how far deep into the roots of rock and blues they actually delve. On several songs, Jack would stand by the piano, playing a few notes with his left hand while keeping a steady, thumping open-string undercurrent on his guitar with his right. Most of the time, though, it was just the guitar and drums... sinuous, sometimes sinister guitar lines (Icky Thump, Seven Nation Army), sometimes rollicking blues (Rag and Bone), sometimes straightforward ear-splitting rock (300 m.p.h. Torrential Outpour Blues). Meg's drums vibrated through every seat in the house - not that it mattered; the audience was on its feet the entire show - and we all knew that yes, she was the one who reined Jack in and kept him in line with her snare. I honestly don't know how much she was miked - I mean, she did have a full array of microphones in & around her drumset, but I was pretty close and I could tell that those drums took a severe beating.

If you're an astute reader, you might have noticed that I said that Meg and Jack each account for more than half of the energy on stage. How is this possible? Well, for a duo to completely bring the house down, they have to create something that is more than the sum of its parts. The White Stripes sound like a full band - I didn't care that there was no bassist (and that's saying a lot, all things considered) - no strings, no horns, no whistles and bells, just big meaty drumbeats and overdriven guitar. Simple and elegant. And huge. Ten feet tall on stage, they filled the arena with their sheer determination to play the crap out of their instruments.

*They used to be married. Now they're divorced, but they keep up the whole "brother and sister" thing just to screw with people.

FOLLOW-UP: The Boston Globe reviewed the concert too. I think my review is better (but I am biased). Either way, we both used the word "meaty" to describe Meg's drumming. Rock & roll.