Though he backs it up with plenty of writing, colleague Clay Purdom’s primary criticism of the Black Keys’ latest effort really just consists of a picture of Danger Mouse. That may be an ad hominem attack on the barely human vessel by which the Black Keys’ release their yearning for commercial success—but sometimes a picture’s worth a thousand words. There is not a lot left unsaid by that shot of DM, a “hip-hop” producer who has fashioned his trade on pop whimsy atop kiddie drums (all of it under a few layers of sticky varnish), sitting coy in his Pink Panther costume. Plopped in the middle of a Black Keys review, the image, verily, proclaims: “Here I am to crap upon what could have been your next favorite blues rock album.”

Recapping this ungodly coupling is necessary because this cover is like Black Keys spitting at themselves for what they’ve done. Recorded in a day, in Dan Auerbach’s house, and in a way so raw it’ll leave skin chafing red, the Keys’ version of “I’m Glad” isn’t just one of the best Captain Beefheart covers, it’s the best cover of my personal favorite Captain Beefheart song. The original is an almost embarrassingly tender ballad with a second act crescendo that spirals up towards a heightened emotional state in an arresting manner that I can only compare to the very best soul songs. But one glance at the lyrics and one listen to the phrasing reveal what could be a blues standard that Beefheart redress with doo-woppy arrangement and a structural twist.

The Black Keys, of course, latch onto that blues core and let their guitar and drums softly sob then wail, makeup smearing into hiss and crackle. That moment where Beefheart scrape at ineffable pain (“You went away, I cried night and day…Please come back and let the sun shine through”) by backing it with a gorgeously countered brass descent is here turned into an in-the-red refrain that returns to dispel the second verse’s optimism or maybe just emphasizes that the original was actually pretty open-ended through its lyrics’ alternating between past and present tense. Beefheart treat that climax as sublime by isolating it within their song, only hinting at it again with the song’s final measure—perhaps the more transcendental approach. But the Black Keys aren’t aiming at transcendence, they’re aiming at the shifting grit of human feeling, and they hit a big fat bullseye when that B part comes crashing back (though I think they honor the original’s restraint with a fade-out just as Patrick Carney starts to get really pissed at his drum kit). For me it still doesn’t touch Beefheart’s because I’ll always side with obscure beauty over dirty immediacy; however, it’s a side of the song worth exploring and I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job of that then what the Black Keys do here. This is only a super-unofficial track leaked to the internet but Danger Mouse’s insipid mug already feels like a distant memory.

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