Pitchfork

Most folks can only take so much parenting, and Detroit's Von Bondies have long been plagued by the creepy omnipresence and paternal proselytizing of neo-superstar Jack White: White co-produced their 2001 debut, Lack of Communication, offered the band a coveted opening slot on The White Stripes' European tour, and secured them a track on his fairly influential (and predictably retro-styled) compilation, The Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit. It wasn't until late 2003 that White and The Von Bondies finally somersaulted out of smiley symbiosis-- in December, White engaged vocalist Jason Stollsteimer in a bizarre, bruise-heavy scrapple, mashing Stollsteimer's mug beyond recognition and earning them both a mess of press. (White's injury: an oddly apropos "redness to the face.")

As 2004 rolled over, The Von Bondies seemed destined to ride out their fledgling career in the sidebars of American print mags, neatly framing glossy, art-heavy White Stripes features. But Pawn Shoppe Heart, The Von Bondies' massive major label debut, sees the band clawing their way up from the footnotes, and cramming a splintered drumstick into an otherwise diminutive little-brother trajectory. Entirely White-free, and produced by former Modern Lover and Talking Head Jerry Harrison, the album is crisp where you'd expect it to be crackly, billowing when you think it should whisper. With huge, ballooning vocals and a shit-kicking rhythm section, the record consistently threatens to pop its own feeble seams; by carefully shuffling away from their past outings, The Von Bondies have produced a booming sonic statement that's far more glam than garage, and a lot less "Detroit" than we've been trained to expect.

From the chainsaw feedback of opener "No Regrets" to the scrappy punch of a blues-addled hidden track, Pawn Shoppe pummels unapologetically. Despite their pristine Motor City pedigree, The Von Bondies sound as much like Danzig here as they do The Gories, as Pawn Shoppe Heart is riddled with walloping rock riffage. Stollsteimer and guitarist Marcie Bolen drive their shit like it's stolen, ripping each song apart and kicking it to the floor; "Broken Man" sounds like all four members met up to pitch a simultaneous tantrum, pounding their instruments with unchecked, sweat-spewing fervor. It's that kind of kinetic flailing that keeps Pawn Shoppe Heart afloat when the songwriting sags (see "Tell Me What You See"), and ultimately rockets the record out of mediocrity and straight into the street.

Lead single "C'mon C'mon" is the album's goofiest and most instantly accessible track, with an undeniable chorus and plenty of quiet/loud flip-flopping. "Been Swank", a kicky nod to Detroit scenester/Soledad Brother Ben Swank, sees Stollsteimer's vocals backed up by Carrie Smith's plodding bassline, his bold caterwauls spot-on, pitch-perfect, and completely insane. "Not That Social" sees Smith swagger up to the mic, blankly admitting, "I'm not that social/ I'm just a good drinker." Stollsteimer returns here for Pixies-esque harmonizing, but "Not That Social" is really Smith's moment alone: With expressionless abandon, she guides listeners through a steady, solo-heavy pop song, her monotone coo dripping with loads of delicious attitude.

The Von Bondies are most compelling when their hinges are a bit rusty, and Harrison's production, while impressively monumental, occasionally glosses a bit too hard, sacrificing some of the band's live spunk in favor of pure, colossal sound. But what little Pawn Shoppe Heart lacks, it eagerly makes up for in hooks, drive and raw conviction. It's a giant leap forward for The Von Bondies-- one that blasts them out of their homogeneous garage-rock roots and into their rightful position as amp-crashing successors to the indie rock thrones of Nation of Ulysses and Drive Like Jehu.