Dr John has never really been uncool. Ever since New Orleans session musician Mac Rebennack began layering the feathers, trinkets, animal pelts and other accoutrements of the shaman-bard in the 1960s, his place in American musical history has been locked down. He hasn't ever really gone to ground, either. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, the former heroin addict re-emerged from the floodwaters as the vengeful spirit and nagging conscience of America's least American city.
He's still mad as hell on his latest single, "Revolution". "Blind eyes of justice/ Deaf ears of power," he harrumphs, "Dumb moves of money/ Left us in a desperate hour." The Farfisa solo, by the way, was done in one take; Rebennack claimed not to have played the instrument since 1969.
Dr John's previous releases haven't exactly sagged lately. Tribal, from 2010, kept up his critique of the powerful coupled with dissolute old-time musical R&R. The last thing Dr John needed, you might have thought, was a leg up from a young whippersnapper from Ohio.
Produced by the Black Keys' Dan Auerbach, you could see Locked Down as the latest in the line of reinvigorations of heritage artists begun by Rick Rubin's reboot of Johnny Cash in 1994. Dr John is 71; long-time Mac fans the Black Keys are a hip, Grammy-winning, record-selling retro-rock phenomenon on a roll.
That's too simplistic, though. Dr John is not particularly broken. So Auerbach has not fixed him. What emerges from their empathy is a thoroughly great record that adds punch and groove to Rebennack's humid party music. Loosely, you would file it under "rhythm 'n' blues", with the musical emphasis on the former. Every instrument is propulsive. Just listen to the stuttering intro to "The Kingdom of Izzness", an invitation to move that Rebennack gleefully takes up. Throughout the album the backing vocals of the McCrary Sisters add sultry emphasis, while Auerbach's virtuoso session band chip in with their own handclaps and affirmations.
Wisely, Auerbach doesn't try to make Dr John any more unholy. "Eleggua" is probably the spookiest track here. It may be named after the Yoruba trickster spirit, a god of crossroads and dissimulation also known as Papa Legba. But the vibes here aren't swampy gris-gris. Rather, organs and jazzy flutes urge this spirit on with mischief rather than malevolence.
You can hear the not-so-distant call of West Africa on "Ice Age", as retuned guitars and drums kick off a loose funk. Dr John, meanwhile, makes guttural links between our cold economic climate, crack and the CIA. The end of the album finds Rebennack writing ruefully about his love for his children, a topic louche shamen don't usually address.
Black Keys fans coming to this record have a few "a-ha" moments in store when they realise where some of Auerbach's stylings have come from. Dr John fans, meanwhile, may find that this record – made in Nashville with a boy from Ohio – adds yet another plume to his ornate headdress.
