Hype. It's a dangerous thing. I won't bore you with the tales of countless hyped to fuck bands who are now remembered with a laugh rather than a record. But when you think White Stripes, you think one thing. Hype.

That 'Bizarre' feature in The Sun. The NMEvil adorance of them. The mystery about them (Ohh! Are They married?? How exciting!!). It strikes me that people are forgetting what The White Stripes are about. Simple, catchy, earthy rock 'n' roll tunes.

"Hotel Yorba" is one of the finest. It all sounds so real, so effecting. In a world where the manufactured Pop Star is king, the harsh reality of The White Stripes is so refreshing.

This a raw record. Bereft of production tricks and sheen, you realise that Jack White, or whatever his fucking name is, has a voice. It may not be sumptuously honeyed like James Walsh, it doesn't swoop and slide and engulf you in like a dream, it just sounds like, for want of a better metaphor, a guy singing. His American accent drawls and scrapes, and is far more fascinating than Mr. Starsailor's. Jack White sounds like he's sung this song a million times before in smoky, dark, small clubs where people are listening to him. I'm sorry to repeat myself, but he sounds real.

So, The White Stripes. A really great band. End of story.