Jack White – ‘No Name’ album review: an old school rock ‘n’ roll triumph
THE SKINNY: The headlines of recent times purport that rock ‘n’ roll has been murdered in its sleep and the digital age has finally brought about the death of moribund analogue. If that makes Jack White’s latest effort ‘retro-gazing’, then he’s doing it in such a way that could revive the corpses of Robert Johnson, Freddie King and the other outlaws who electrified modern culture into life. It’s strictly analogue rock ‘n’ roll, and it obliterates any narrative spelling the end of either.
Within a single bar of blistering blues he showcases how it is the lifeblood of all popular music in a manner that could have the Pope wobbling saloon doors off their hinges in his leather cassock within 15 seconds of listening. ‘Old Scratch Blues’ bursts out of the gates like a howl, roaring with classic White Stripes energy, but this time with an ensemble of guesting musicians. And in true DIY style, it was produced, mixed, and even pressed to vinyl and released by White.
No Name is the former White Stripes and Raconteurs rocker’s sixth solo release, arriving two years on from Entering Heaven Alive. Its build-up, or lack thereof, has been significant. Without a word of warning, it emerged as a free vinyl gift at his recent charity gig and appeared in the bags of customers at his Third Man Records stores. Subtly, this surprise release heralded the old-school ways of live music and tangible discs in an age where culture is increasingly content to be enjoyed from home, and art is a free bit of data, toppling the creators from their throne. No Name is the antidote to this in every way.
A signature guitar tone vivified by modern pedals and hypnotic vocal lines that he spits out with venom creates a maelstrom of thrashing sound always centred around the firm structure of the melody. He doesn’t quite rob the future to pay homage to the past, but he does electrify the blues with a blitzkrieg of technological bravado and analogue warmth that could make Nikola Tesla rethink electricity once more should his soul be stirred back to life by this stealthy seance.
If it was simply Jack White sounding like good old Jack White then that would make for a timely rocket to blast a noteworthy wreckage in today’s pixelated musical landscape, but it’s Jack White in a signature vein that timelessly revitalises the medium of the blues with each stabbing chord—rendering it pretty damn close to the masterpiece the world needs right now.
For fans of: Flirting with the notion of buying leather driving gloves, crate-digging for rare vinyl and converting it to MP3, and setting a new personal best of a 5kg bench press at the gym thanks to No Name.
A concluding comment from Tom’s mother: “Just sounds like an awful racket that made geraniums wilt the first time round when he was with his sister, but now in HD.”
No Name track by track:
Release date: August 2nd | Producer: Jack White | Label: Third Man Records
‘Old Scratch Blues’: Roaring out the gates, a relatively simple blues riff is pushed to its limits by an assured howl that harks back to Jack’s days in the White Stripes. His guitar is less of six string and more a six shooter as he blasts holes into the narrative that the digital age is here to stilt analogue rock. [5/5]
‘Bless Yourself’: It’s more of the same by design, refusing to let up on the roar of the opening. The thrashing blues makes way for a garage chant chorus as White wails, “I need God on command,” casting an earworm that burrows deeper with each repeat listen. [4/5]
‘That’s How I’m Feeling’: A rumbling pop bass leads the way, building just enough to hint that an explosive chorus awaits. Crunchy and full chords then follow before White produces a sumptuous, understated sliding solo. Plenty of production flourishes also make it clear that this record certainly embraces the best tech can offer. [4/5]
‘It’s Rough on Rats (If You’re Asking)’: Twinkly and twilight quickly becomes a duelling layered wall of indie reminiscent of a blues-inclined Television track. With this sparser arrangement, White vehemently raps about the rotten modern world and the life dysmorphia we all suffer within it. [4/5]
‘Archbishop Harold Holmes’: In the mode of an orator at a carnival, White delivers one of his finest vocal performances ever. It weaves around his guitar work in a complex dance that proves utterly hypnotic. This isn’t a song; this is a performance. [5/5]
‘Bombing Out’: Echo chambers and more are experimented with in the record’s oddest cut. The track is both a rough garage rock jam, but it’s done so with interesting technical touches upon closer inspection. A song to skate to, probably. [4/5]
‘What’s the Rumpus?’: As if sensing that the unrelenting intensity was verging on overbearing, White cleverly switches the mix-up, increasing basses prominence and cutting a groove with a message along the lines of the Flannery O’Connor quote, “The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it”. [4.5/5]
‘Tonight (Was a Long Time Ago)’: A crash of cymbals crowds the track and asserts that No Name is surely set to provide a mammoth live experience. On record, it is not the most refined piece of work, but you sense that this is one cut for the concert halls. [3.5/5]
‘Underground’: Channelling Fred McDowell, White produces a stunning piece of slide blues with a stirring southern inflexion. Then, in classic style, he adds his signature flex of muscle, modernising the bars with electric precision. [4.5/5]
‘Number One With a Bullet’: A little interlude that doesn’t add much to an already relatively long record, but the breather is appreciated. [3/5]
‘Morning at Midnight’: Smart delay work adds a dynamic texture to a simple riff. Organ ‘woos’ add further thrills and the ceaseless rock continues. [3.5/5]
‘Missionary’: It’s Jack White doing Jack White, and he’s doing it well. It’s not the most thrillingly innovative track record, and it could border on unbearable on a Monday morning, but on Friday, it could sound like a back-alley brawl. [3.5/5]
‘Terminal Archenemy Endling’: The grand finale paces itself like a jaguar stalking its prey. Then it unleashes a hurricane, whipping up the records in Third Man Records to form a wallop that obliterates pixelated sedation like a steam train tearing through the screen of today’s cartoon music. [4.5/5]
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