Ever had someone tell you Meg White can't play drums? I have, way too many times than I care to remember.

It's an ignorant opinion, and it always comes from a man. Usually a drunk man. Often a drunk man with no comparable talents of his own. He is somebody who misapprehends the art of drumming in a rock 'n' roll band, and is generally too thick to question why his foot is independently tapping along to "Seven Nation Army," despite an allegedly deficient performance from 50 per cent of the unit producing it. It reminds me of those jackasses out there who think Ringo just "got lucky."

The bottom line is that Meg White is a fine and possibly brilliant drummer, having made herself indispensable to the White Stripes, which was arguably the most exciting band on the planet for a while there. Her feel is unmistakable. She's as authentic as Gene Krupa, Charlie Watts, or Animal in her own inimitable way. If she wasn't, Jack would still be living in a rental apartment in Detroit.

Meg's detractors would doubtless call it downright impudent to question the authenticity of Ray LaMontagne, whose bona fides as a natural born white bluesman were in order from the first note of the husky hunk's 2006 debut Trouble. So it's a significant boost to Ms. White's beleaguered reputation to have the Mountain Man create this tribute to her under appreciated abilities, in the shape of the song "Meg White" from his new album Gossip in the Grain.

"Meg White," he sings, " Oh baby, you're the bomb / Jack is great, don't get me wrong / But this is your song…" In contrast to the smooth moves on the rest of Gossip..., LaMontagne's love letter is built on a more boombastic foundation, with drums that affectionately quote Meg's signature blocky powerstroke. It might seem a little frivolous, but the sentiment is as real as anything else on the album, and comes from an artist who doesn't need to fight for the approval of the SERIOUS MUSIC LOVER.

"Playin' those drums is hard to to do / It's true," concludes LaMontagne, "Nobody plays them quite like you / Do." Elsewhere, he descends into a sort of pastoral psychedelic reverie while he imagines taking his titular heroine on a bike ride, "by the seaside."

All props to Meg's stickwork aside, I can relate to LaMontagne's apparent erotic fixation, too. And yes, Dr. Freud, I know I used the word "titular."

Adrian Mack writes regularly about music for The Tyee.

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