The White Stripes - Chicago, IL

Heading towards Chicago with my high-school aged son in tow, I realized that it did not matter what my opinion of The White Stripes' third and final show at Chicago's auditorium ultimately was, it was his that mattered.

You see, my son, who plays guitar and bass, records his music to a four-track and his computer, and is in the beginning stages of writing lyrics, wants to be a musician. That's his career choice. As a parent I know it's my duty to fight this and prod him into getting a business degree (he is going to college no matter what, though), but I just can't. Nor can my wife, the one everyone agrees is the sensible person in this marriage.

Nowadays I'm noticing a lot of kids his age looking to the music of the past. Music made by and large before even I was born, is where they're getting their kicks. He can't get enough of The Who, the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix or Pink Floyd. This isn't that surprising to me, as I too drifted towards "classic rock" during my high school years.

So basically my son isn't into the current music scene. He'd just as soon spit on the pop-punksters (his generation's hair metal) as look at them. When he saw Fall Out Boy on the VMA's he disdainfully stated, "I heard one of their fathers bought all their instruments for them." His nasty spite towards industry crap brought a tear to my eye. A proud papa was I.

There are some current artists he does like (Franz Ferdinand, The Strokes, Green Day), with The White Stripes being the highest on that list. So being able to take him to this show meant a lot to me.

The onstage setup was simple: drums, marimba, guitars, amps, piano (the only thing that was neither white nor red). A cloth backdrop, accentuated with simple lighting and white palm fronds were the only other decorations to be found.

Meg and Jack White took to the stage and went through the entirety of their recently released, Get Behind Me Satan, from start to finish. This was surely the first time I had ever witnessed such a thing. In fact, I had specifically told my son that there is no way they would do such a thing as no other artist ever does. Boy was I wrong.

Not to sound disappointed though, it was a great performance. "The Nurse's" marimba-laden musical bed was a treat to see envisioned live; while "Red Rain" was positively incendiary, with Jack singing into a microphone placed smack dab next to Meg's drum kit, staring at her as he screamed.

For "Little Ghost," Jack brought out a mandolin. Even if it is disheartening to see rock musicians treat the instrument more as a tinier version of a guitar instead of utilizing its stunning tones for full effect, the song's down home South exuberance cancelled out such snobbery.

The interplay between Meg and Jack was a delight to see. Both were a little reserved until somewhere towards the middle of the set. Then, at one point, Jack was behind Meg tickling her as she played. Who couldn't resist a little innocent play with a cutie like Meg?

After a touching rendition of "I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet)," Meg and Jack hastily made their retreat before coming back about five minutes later to deliver a massive encore of their greatest hits and other blues nuggets.

One blistering rendition of the band's catalog bled into the next, with a nearly incomprehensible version of "Fell In Love With a Girl" starting things off. This was followed by "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground," and other heavier tunes off of the band's breakthrough album, White Blood Cells, with a sped-up, honky-tonk version of "Hotel Yorba" added for good measure. The penultimate "Seven Nation Army" brought down the house, with the crowd bouncing up and down, fists pumping in the air and singing along with all of their might.

The evening reached its crescendo at that moment. I looked over at my son and took notice of his rapt attention, a smile firmly planted on his face. That look said it all, as music managed to fully ensnare yet another.