​So the White Stripes officially announced their breakup today. You are understandably depressed. Not shocked or devastated, probably -- they hadn't put out a record in four years, nor toured in about as long, nor generally much resembled an active band. And yet it's now time to regard the staggering back catalog they left behind, and lament that they won't be adding to it anytime soon. Here are 10 songs to get you started.

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Thus it began

​The most painful thing about the breakup letter the White Stripes just sent to an already distraught Internet is the red, white, and black border -- yet another example of the painstaking dedication and attention to detail that made Jack and Meg White megastars in the first place. The quick note, leading off with the declaration that the band "has officially ended and will make no further recordings or perform live," tries to cut off any immediate follow-up questions: no creative differences, no health issues, just a desire "to preserve what is beautiful and special about the band and have it stay that way." The band had been dormant for years as Jack indulged side project after side project; the 2009 documentary Under Great White Northern Lights freely alluded to what was clearly a fraught situation, "cataloging," as our own Zach Baron put it, "all the different ways two people can be lonely." They have been sorely missed for years, and will now be actively, emphatically mourned, as they'd be if the only song they'd ever released was "Ball and Biscuit," which is the raddest shit ever.

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Emmett Malloy's White Stripes documentary, Under the Great White Northern Lights, premiered this past weekend at the Toronto Film Festival, where Jack White pulled a Kanye. Wider release dates are still unannounced, but we had a chance to screen the film last week in New York.

There always seems to be little bit of Bob Dylan lurking behind every Jack White endeavor. This one isn't any exception. A rock-and-roll love letter to D.A. Pennebaker, Canada, pre-Internet music culture, and, above all, the White Stripes, director Emmett Malloy's Under the Great White Northern Lights is like a modernized version of Don't Look Back set in one of William T. Vollman's Seven Dreams. (The Rifles, probably.) You should see it. It's beautifully shot, the audio sounds phenomenal, and, at times, the film even manages to be downright inspiring. It helps, of course, that Malloy picked one of the strangest rock tours of the last decade to document.

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--Meg White married Jackson Smith, the son of Patti Smith and late MC5 guitarist Fred "Sonic" Smith Friday in Jack White's backyard in Nashville. Could there be a more awesome wedding song than "Ball and Biscuit"?

--James Brown's family got a brand new bag. Of money. A South Carolina judge approved a settlement yesterday that gives around a quarter of Brown's assets to his widow and young son, a quarter to his children (some of whom are apparently still being discovered), and the rest to charity. The Godfather of Soul died on Christmas Day in 2006.

--A Camp, who we interviewed yesterday, is planning to release Covers, which is, surprise, an all-covers EP. The Nina Persson-led trio will cover Pink Floyd's "Us and Them," Bowie's "Keep on Swinging," and live staple "I've Done It Again," by Grace Jones. Buy it on iTunes June 9.

--Summer's here, and here's something else to add to your outdoor show schedule: the Seaport Music Festival. The free series--held at New York's South Street Seaport every Friday through July and August--kicks off July 3 with Here We Go Magic and Bachelorette and continues with The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Black Moth Super Rainbow, Superchunk, and SOTC faves Obits, among many others.

St. Vincent celebrated Prince's headlining set by turning into Jennifer Beales.

Coachella
Friday, April 25 through Sunday, April 27
all photos by Timothy Norris

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Photo credited to gaelenh

The White Stripes
June 19
The Fillmore at Irving Plaza, or something

By Rob Harvilla

A dear friend of mine theorizes that Def Leppard’s Hysteria ranks among the greatest rock albums ever made due to the forced simplicity of, uh, having a drummer with one arm. Such an impediment forced poor Rick Allen to play uncluttered, unpretentious, almost childlike beats that resonated deeply with our most primal, carnal desires—pouring sugar on each other, etc. “Simplify, simplify, simplify,” as Thoreau put it; “Armageddon It,” as Def Leppard sagely responded.

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