There has been much talk of the ”new rock revolution”. The music press claims a host of young guitar bands, invariably called things like The Thrills or The Kills, are poised to rid the charts of manufactured pop, novelty dance and corporate rock. But as ever, it seems, the handful of exciting ”alternative” bands have about as much chance of storming the top 10 as they have of being elected to the Vatican Council. In this light, Detroit duo the White Stripes appear unique — people other than music journalists seem to like them, from teenage moshers to grumpy fortysomethings. No band since Oasis has achieved such blanket approval. White Blood Cells, their third album, shifted almost a million copies. Elephant (Sheer), their fourth, is 2003’s most anticipated album. The White Stripes have managed to distance themselves from the media brouhaha, claiming Elephant will be a disappointment. First Jack White announced their split, later claiming he had been misquoted. There was the obligatory commotion about Internet piracy. The band’s solution — sending out advance copies on vinyl — did nothing to curb the downloaders, but did create an instant rarity.The duo’s approach to publicity is as contradictory as the image of the White Stripes’ bluesy grunge as an unpretentious alternative to contrived modern rock. In fact, it is difficult to imagine a more contrived band: Jack and Meg White sport uniforms on stage, pretend to be brother and sister, write mannered lyrics about courtly love and have recorded Elephant on vintage 1950s equipment. But authenticity in rock certainly doesn’t matter when an album sounds this strong. Jack has a point about progression: Elephant sticks close to the standard White Stripes design. Hulking blues riffs, barely controlled solos and the thrillingly primitive thwack of Meg’s drumming are still much in evidence. Their approach is so ascetic that the slightest embellishment sounds like a radical departure. The lyrics hit home, witty rather than affected. The guitar playing occasionally makes you gasp, as when There’s No Home For You Here explodes in a flurry of painfully high-pitched notes. At those moments, the music seems almost elemental: it is clear why they are the only band to have transcended the indie ghetto.They have refined their sound until it is shatteringly effective. Nevertheless, Elephant sounds suspiciously like the White Stripes’s apotheosis. It is hard to fathom how much longer they can keep doing the same thing, or where they can take their self-consciously limited sound without undermining the reasons people like them. How long their success will last is open to question. — Â