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With his new album, No Name, Jack White asks us to play pretend. Other artists want to imagine that they are an alien visiting Earth, or a cowboy on the range, but with this title and rollout, White posed a different question: What if you had never heard of Jack White? What if you could listen to his newest solo album without context — not weighing each riff against “Icky Thump” or “Seven Nation Army” — as if the project didn’t even have a name?
A few Third Man Records patrons got a small taste of that experience on July 19th, when along with their purchases, they received cryptic vinyls, white as a page and blank except for the words “NO NAME.” But having just been inside, you know, Third Man Records, most of them must have suspected the 49-year-old author long before they dropped the needle. By the time White hisses the opening words, “Jackie said she warned you,” there could be no doubt. White’s voice is iconic, and his historically-informed guitar tones have inspired generations.
Still, if you accept that actors break into song during musicals, or that the cops on TV shows are good at their job even though lots of people seem to die after they start investigating, you can play along with White’s white vinyl and blank framing for No Name, if you want to.
If you knew nothing else, you’d know this guy can shred. No Name opens on a bluesy guitar line with a melody reminiscent of J.S. Bach: dense variations on a few ideas chasing each other across the frets. The guitars of “Bless Yourself” couldn’t be more different, coming in chunky chainsaw rips, while the main theme of “That’s How I’m Feeling” is silky simplicity: four drop-tuned notes that could have powered one hell of a pop hit, except instead of a pop hook, it sets up a garage rock explosion. No Name is a love letter to the guitar, with some of the most inventive and varied riffs this year.
The lyrics span plainspoken to surreal to playfully sly. On “Archbishop Harold Holmes,”a religious lampoon, he brings a chain letter to life. “But you must tell seven friends,” he intones. “You must first bring seven friends/ And don’t be selfish and keep this all to yourself/ (And don’t eat shellfish!)”
The mockery he puts into “shellfish” is delicious, and he’s just as fun venting his frustrations at the world. “It’s Rough on Rats (If You’re Asking)” is one of the highlights of Side A, the stronger of the two sides. It finds White contemplating both what humans have done to the Earth, as well as our changing place in it:
“As bad as we got it,” he howls, “It sure must be rough on rats/ The world is worse than when we found it/ Sure must be rough on rats.” His voice slithers and cracks like a whip on fire as he adds, “But I should stop complaining every time it’s raining/ Cause I’m still not food for cats!”
English (US) · 