The Black Keys
– Ohio Players
Ohio Players is The Black Keys kicking the dust off their boots and stomping into the bar with friends in tow. It’s a party, but not the kind with confetti and plastic cups—it’s one lit by jukebox glow and bourbon breath. Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney sound like they’ve shaken loose of any pressure to prove themselves, instead opting to make a record that moves like a mixtape built for a Friday night drive down a two-lane highway. It’s loose, loud, and deeply unbothered.
The big swing here? Collaboration. They bring in everyone from Beck to Noel Gallagher, but instead of turning into a Frankenstein’s monster of egos, it works like a jam session where the host just happens to have a Grammy shelf. You can feel the sweat in the room—guitars slither, basslines bump, and the drums have that dusty swagger Carney always brings when he’s having fun. The result lands somewhere between classic rock radio and a 21st-century garage soul revival. It’s polished enough for playlists but rowdy enough to remind you these guys once played to crowds that smelled like beer and motor oil.
There’s no grand concept tying it together, and thank God for that. This isn’t a statement piece—it’s a stack of songs that hit hard and keep it moving. Blues-rock, funk, psych-tinged ballads, even a little glam—it’s all fair game here. And while it doesn’t reinvent the wheel, it definitely burns some fresh rubber on the pavement.
Choice Tracks
Beautiful People (Stay High)
Co-written with Beck, and it feels like it. Breezy, sunny, and strutting with a grin, it’s the kind of song that turns a boring afternoon into a good mood with one spin. The chorus sticks, the groove sways, and it’s over before you’re tired of it.
On the Game
Noel Gallagher helps here, but this is still very much a Keys track—soulful, dusty, built on a riff that sounds like it crawled out of a 1971 basement. Auerbach’s falsetto floats just above the grit, making it weirdly dreamy and dirty at the same time.
I Forgot to Be Your Lover
A Bill Withers cover reimagined with just the right amount of fuzz and ache. It’s respectful without being precious. Dan leans into the heartbreak without overselling it, and the restraint is what makes it hit harder.
Candy and Her Friends
One of the album’s weirder turns, and a welcome one. Slinky groove, slightly psychedelic edges, and a vocal line that almost slurs its way through. Feels like a bar at closing time where no one wants to leave just yet.
This Is Nowhere
Built for the stage. Gritty riff, thudding drums, and a chorus meant to be shouted by people holding drinks. No tricks here, just a lean, mean rock song that knows exactly what it is and doesn’t try to be clever about it.
Ohio Players doesn’t beg you to pay attention. It just keeps playing until you start nodding along. And that’s the charm—it’s The Black Keys doing what they do best: sounding like your favorite dive bar on a good night, with better hooks.