El Camino isn't Brothers. That's a good thing. Maybe. The Black keys are still dark and desperate. However, they are not lonely. This is not the despair of a lonely heart-broken blogger pouring venom anonymously over a keyboard but the battle-cry of a wounded mob, the jubilant despair of a wronged crowd, sort of a Tahrir Square version of Brothers. El Camino is a fast, focused, record of compelling industrial rock. A force, a farce, beautiful in a visceral way, a stream of oozing blood from a fresh wound, most likely self-inflicted.