The Stool Pigeon music newspaper

Located on an alley near Tower Bridge, Wilton’s is apparently Britain’s oldest surviving Victorian music hall and the venue at which the can-can was first performed. In design terms, the place is staggering, with features including barley-twist pillars, a papier-mâché balcony and a vaulted roof. It also offers plenty as a rock venue: atmosphere, a high ceiling, a sloping floor, pin-drop acoustics, zero Carling logos. How come no one’s heard of this place?

Appearance-wise, Ohioan duo The Black Keys aren’t quite as dazzling as tonight’s surroundings. Pat Carney is geeky and bespectacled, while the bearded, bedraggled Daniel Auerbach would look right at home swigging super-strength lager on a park bench. Fortunately, these sons of Akron have a few tricks up their sleeve. One is the rhythmic subtlety of Carney’s powerful drumming; another is Auerbach’s deep trove of swingeing classic rock riffs. Then there’s the small matter of the Keys’ Danger Mouse-produced new LP, Attack and Release.

Bizarrely, the Danger Mouse collaboration came about when he approached the Keys to write songs for Ike Turner. After the grim reaper’s intervention, they switched focus to honing the Keys’ previously ramshackle sound. While the Keys haven’t gone hip hop just yet, their new sound is tighter, tougher and freer from the self-indulgence common in their source material (blues, folk, psychedelia, early heavy metal). Maybe it’s something in the water. Akron is, after all, noted for its primitivists: Devo, Pere Ubu, The Cramps…

During tonight’s ponderous opener, the Keys momentarily remind you of those revivalists that pitch up at real ale festivals. Before long, though, Carney is whipping up those trademark whirlwinds of beats while Auerbach delivers his elegant riffs as loudly and brutally as possible. You’re struck by the scale of the sound: close your eyes and you’d swear there were two drummers up there, plus a bass guitarist. You’re struck also by how apposite a title ‘Attack and Release’ is. Almost every song will at some point fall away to a pitter-patter of drums and discordant clangs of guitar, before slowly mushrooming into a gale of noise that fairly rips through the room. Attack. Release. Attack. Release. It’s effective every time.

After the dizzying ‘Remember When (Side B)’, it scarcely matters that the Keys commit the crime of playing slow songs in the encore, or that Auerbach’s lyrics tend to dredge up blues clichés. Instead, it all seems simple: Wilton’s Music Hall is too well-kept a secret, and so are The Black Keys.