On No Name, Jack White Lets It Rip: Review

The post On No Name, Jack White Lets It Rip: Review appeared first on Consequence .

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.

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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!”

Even when the lyrics might seem more ambiguous, the mood comes through. Take the first verse of “What’s the Rumpus?”

It feels just like his reputation is back on the line again
It doesn’t matter who you know
I made a promise
That my love for him was honest
It’s not out of context
Our love is not a contest

Reading this, you might think the tone is worried or loving. It’s only with the heart-pounding riff that we understand White is marching into battle. When he sings in the chorus, “I’ve got a feeling that the truth’s become opinion these days/ That train has left the station but our love will grow,” he sounds pissed off and ready to protect that growth.

It isn’t obvious how that energy carries over into the second verse. It finds him listening to Simon Stokes & The Night Hawks’ “Voodoo Woman” and restoring a dead Sansui amp, before we’re right back to truth becoming opinion again. How does it all tie together? With that guitar line encouraging your feet to march, you might not have time to wonder. Besides, those “Ohs!” in the bridge are going to be fun to shout live.

Because as fun as it might be to embrace the blankness implied by No Name, it does exist inside of a context — a  storied discography from one of the last of the capital-g Guitar Gods. Songs like “What’s the Rumpus?,” “That’s How I’m Feeling,” “Bless Yourself,” and “It’s Rough on Rats (If You’re Asking)” are going to be performed at many Jack White concerts, where they’ll probably bring the roof down. And the nice, slightly forgettable Side B exists in the context of the other forgettable Side Bs that have dotted Jack White’s solo career. He has such a clear aesthetic, and his influence has been so vast, that everything but the most memorable songs can feel slightly familiar — the very familiarity that No Name sought to avoid.

To be clear, there’s a lot to appreciate on Side B: the swanky riff that powers “Underground,” the textured reverb and clap-along refrain of “Morning to Midnight,” and the adrenaline shouts of “Make You Miss Me Again.” Final track “Terminal Archenemy Endling” finds a nice contrast between wistful verses and a violent refrain of “I thought I knew it all, I thought I knew everything.” You won’t find any skips in the 43-minute run time. But No Name feels top-heavy.

Sure, and the best scene in Saving Private Ryan is the first one. No Name has a couple of stellar tracks, and taken together it’s probably Jack White’s most enjoyable solo album since Blunderbuss. People might still be spinning it in a few decades, or they might not, but worrying about the legacy is definitely overthinking things. The best way to enjoy No Name is to blank your mind and press play.

On No Name, Jack White Lets It Rip: Review
Wren Graves