Jack White: "Sixteen Saltines" @ Lolla 2012

Juke Box Hero critiques Lolla's Sunday headliner, Mr. Jack White.

Jack White. The man is a human pinnacle. If you want to call him “human.”

Going out on top as a White Stripe, a Raconteur, and a Dead Weather would have been an admirable career for any musician. But no, Jack had more music to make. So he started his own label, Third Man Records, and has been fostering, producing, and promoting young and eccentric music since 2001. Just pursuing that venture for the rest of his days would be impressive and noteworthy. No, still not enough. He hadn’t pressed a solo album yet. Blunderbuss, out earlier this year, is a beautiful buzz-saw of an album, complete with enough scathing rock, blues, folk, and country to dump him into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, hands down.

And yes, he’s still touring. Not because he needs to; his name couldn’t get any bigger, his war chest any heavier – but because he needs to. Squealing, blissed-out guitar solos are just in this guy’s blood, as is leading the most backbreaking blues-rock bands the world has ever seen. You get the feeling, watching him strut and shred in his patent-white ankle boots, that if he wasn’t on stage going 100 miles an hour, he’d just lay down and die. There’s no in-between for him in this life.

The frenetic “warm-up” intro to “16 Saltines” here at Lolla sounds like the kind of controlled chaos that must be going on in Mr White’s brain 24-7 – a frightening, enlightening place. The laws of genre, class of instrument, rhythm, structure and key cease to exist. All that matters is Jack. Somehow he had that raucous outburst orchestrated, dialed in; yet things still revved up for the opening bars of “16.”

The song itself? I don’t know if I was there in person whether I would’ve simply fainted or broken myself moshing like a rabid pinball. He just rocks so damn hard. But miraculously his merry band of dapper dandies is drum-tight behind him, looking and sounding every bit the best living live ensemble on the planet.

Yes, I professed undying love for Dan & Pat yesterday, and no, I’m not going back on that. What’s that? I can’t love them both separate-but-equally? That’s like saying I can’t give all my love to both whiskey and chocolate. Why yes, yes I can. Take it away, Jack, and take me with you.

Jack White, Blunderbuss Full Concert

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Lollapalooza headliner, Mr. Jack White.

I'm currently goo-goo over White's new solo album -- his debut solo album -- Blunderbuss, released April 23. It debuted at #1 on the Billboard 200 chart, then dropped to #7 in week two, and is sitting at #8 in week three. It's too early to tell whether the initial enthusiasm will hold, or if people are listening to the album and disliking it, but I have no time for any of that. I have a crush.

When I get a new album, I listen to it in its entirety. Then I listen again. It all mashes together, a cacophony of sounds and rhythms and intentions. On the third listen, I begin to differentiate where one song ends and the next begins. On the fourth, I start to decide whether I like the songs. By the sixth or seventh listen, it's all old hat. I could hum the intros, melodies, and choruses. It's like the songs have always been there in my brain, like these new songs filled predestined song-shaped holes. My soul had been waiting for it, and I didn't even realize it.

My crush started with the first listen of the second track, "Sixteen Saltines." It begins with a simple but powerful guitar riff. This is old school, this is garage rock, this is wonderful. White's voice trips and falls over the lyrics, yelling but maintaining the tiniest hint of a vibrato. Such a pro.

"Who's jealous of who?" he asks in the chorus, his falsetto indicating he has no qualms about reaching for notes that may not be in his natural range, but he nails them, and he sounds cool doing it.

You, sir. I'm jealous of you.

There's more. There's so, so much more. But I'll let you experience it for yourself. Later in the summer I'll break down some more new White tunes, but for now, you can listen to the entire album for free on one video. You even get to glimpse both of his bands -- the male one and the female one -- and hear the differences in their style and attack. You also get to see Jack White full-body tackle his interviewer before the music starts. Bless you, YouTube.

After the jump: Full track list of the primary video. It includes most of the songs off the new album and a number of selections by the White Stripes, the Raconteurs, and the Dead Weather.

Tallest Man on Earth: "This Wind"

Juke Box Hero joins us with a bevy of tunes from Sweden, Mississippi, and Detroit to keep you jamming all Wednesday long.

Courtesy of our friends at the YouTubes, allow me to transport you, dear listener, from Sweden to Detroit, by way of Mississippi. No, this isn’t part of some cheesy re-urbanization program, bringing culture back to the Motor City. Just a little bit a of a musical merry-go-round.

So Sweden. That’s the home of Kristian Matsson, aka The Tallest Man on Earth (he isn’t, literally, just for the record), aka the 28-year-old, one-man folk dynamo whose scratchy, grows-on-you voice and slick yet considered songwriting and strumming make him sound like a proper peer of Dylan, Guthrie, Seeger, etc, rather than just an influenced youngster. He’s toured with Bon Iver and made a big impression on fellow countrypeople First Aid Kit. He’s also a man-crush of my man-crush, NPR’s Bob Boilen, so by the associative property, I had to develop some feelings for him.

Matsson is known for what has become the garden variety of YouTube stardom, releasing his own recordings and playing singer-songwriter acoustic pieces in open tuning. Though not bluegrass, his tracks move along at a swift folksy clip, with him deftly picking the guitar while his gravelly vocals, which sound grating at first, hover overhead.

"This Wind" isn’t – judging by the average pageviews – one of his more popular tracks, but I like how Matsson plays with the song's speed within the ¾ time signature, as opposed to the majority of his more straight-ahead cuts. As a result of this variation, the song just seems to have a little more feeling coursing through it. I wonder where he learned that trick from…could it be American blues singer Son House, who Matsson covers oh-so-creatively here?

A Mississippi native, House was known for throwing himself – mind, body and soul – into each song, each performance. The blues took him over, possessed him, like the holy spirit he studied as a budding Baptist preacher. Fortunately for us, House chose instead to share those deep, eternal feelings through song, and he appears to have been very much in possession of his soul, however troubled.

As the intertubes remind us, House’s repetitive style, excessive use of the bottleneck in his playing, and just general roughneck, man-against-the-world attitude influenced many artists, including Mr. Detroit himself, Jack White. White’s rendition of the Son House classic is a bit more true to the original than Matsson’s, though still with his trademark piercing shrieks and wicked banshee guitar licks.

Now, Jack, how exactly do you plan on getting us back to Sweden?

The Dead Weather live at Coachella (full concert)

I absolutely love writing this blog -- it's one of the highlights of my weekday -- but I'm in my last quarter of grad school, and Tuesday is my only (and therefore stressful) day of class. After the success of last Tuesday's Florence + the Machine full-length concert post, I hereby establish Daijams' Full Concert Tuesdays. These posts will involve less of me babbling and more of awesome musicians showcasing their talents.

This week's full concert is from Coachella 2010. I encourage you to put it on in the background at work, or save it for laundry hour tonight, or consume it however one might consume 1+ hour of Dead Fertita's guitar riffs, Alison Mosshart's gutteral vocals, Jack Lawrence's thumping basslines, and Jack White's drumset orgy. It's almost like being there, except you're probably not as whacked as the Coachella crowd.

If you're unfamiliar, the Dead Weather is a project of ridiculously talented (and at 36, relatively young) Jack White, who after a string of band projects -- the White Stripes, the Raconteurs and the Dead Weather -- is finally releasing his debut solo album this April. Says Jack of waiting this long to make a solo album: "I've put off making records under my own name for a long time but these songs feel like they could only be presented under my name. These songs were written from scratch, had nothing to do with anyone or anything else but my own expression, my own colors on my own canvas." I'M SO EXCITED. As of last night, the lead single is available on iTunes, or you can hear it for free here.

And if that isn't enough of a Jack Attack for one day, today Showtime is airing "The White Stripes Under the Great Northern Lights," a documentary made in 2007 about Jack & Meg White on tour in Canada. Set the DVR!

Dead Weather: "I Cut Like a Buffalo"

I hope you enjoyed Juke Box Hero's first post yesterday on First Aid Kit. I spent the afternoon entranced by the Swedish songstresses, so I consider it a success. He'll be back next Wednesday.

Let's keep the Jack White lovin' going this week with a Dead Weather performance of "I Cut Like a Buffalo." This song does not follow a typical format, and I have the feeling some of you will like it and some of you will listen to it for 30 seconds and then turn it off. If nothing else, you have to be intrigued by the title -- are buffalos known for their cutting ability? Or lack thereof? The opening lyrics are, "I look like a woman but I cut like a buffalo." What the fuck, Jack?

In a 2009 Spin interview, White talked about how much this song means to him: "It just feels like I'm being the most truthful I've ever been with myself ... I'm just obsessed with this song, but I'm scared to listen to it at the same time." Considering all the music he's written, that's a huge admission, and so I struggle harder to understand what he means when he sing-shouts, "Wake me up when it's broke, just like a woman, cut a record on my throat, then you break me wide open." The fragmented, analogous phrases and quips ("Is that you choking?" followed by painful choking noises) feels artistic and significant and deep, but I gotta be honest...I don't get it.

But I still love this song. The composition itself is basic, almost gutteral -- hard drum and keyboard hits on quarter notes, with White and lead singer Alison Mosshart practically shouting as the song stews. As you listen, head bobbing may be creep up unexpectedly. You can't help but groove along.

Sadly, the Dead Weather is not touring at the moment, but Mosshart will be in Chicago with her band the Kills in January. In fact, Uptown's Riv Theater is the first stop on their 2012 tour. White is all over behind the scenes, producing and collaborating constantly. He's performing with the Raconteurs in Florida and Georgia next weekend, but otherwise no tour dates are readily available. Jack, come to Chicago!!

Raconteurs: "Carolina Drama"

Happy Jack White Friday!

"Carolina Drama," performed by The Raconteurs.
Original on The Raconteurs' "Consolers of the Lonely" (2008).

Raconteurs: "Level"

This just...this just fucking rocks. Happy Jack White Friday. Enjoy.

"Level," performed by The Raconteurs.
Original on the Raconterus' "Broken Boy Soldiers" (2007).

Dead Weather: "60 Feet Tall"

I could write an entire blog about Jack White. He is hands down one of the most talented musicians of his generation, and all of his projects -- The White Stripes, The Raconteurs and The Dead Weather -- have been met with critical acclaim, if not hoards of screaming girls throwing panties on stage, which is the undisputed barometer of rock musician success. (Though I can't confirm or deny the panty count, since I've tragically never seen him perform live.) Rolling Stone named him one of the top 20 guitarists of all time.

The youngest of 10 siblings in a Catholic family, White (born John Anthony Gillis) grew up in Detroit listening to blues and '60s rock. He learned the drums and the guitar; tried his hand in a few small local bands and careers; considered attending seminary but decided against it because he probably couldn't take his amp with him; and then formed The White Stripes with his new bride Meg White (he took her last name) in 1997 at the tender age of 22. They divorced three years later but continued to play together until this past February. The biggest track to come out of that collaboration was "Seven Nation Army," which was released in 2003 and won a Grammy for Best Rock Song. It's been covered by everyone from Audioslave to the Northwestern University Marching Band. (I really wish I had a video. Next season, for sure.)

The success of The White Stripes opened the Louisiana floodgates; White is ubiquitous, performing with his two current bands as well as solo, producing other artists, and making appearances in films like 2009's "It Might Get Loud," in which he palled around with U2's The Edge and Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page. (Best scene of the movie: Whole Lotta Love-gasm.)

The Dead Weather is a powerful collaboration: White, The Kills lead singer Alison Mosshart, Queens of the Stone Age guitarist/keyboardist Dean Fertita, and Raconteurs bassist Jack Lawrence. They've released two albums, one of which (Horehound) is overflowing with incredible rhythms and licks. (I haven't heard the other album yet, though it's been out for almost a year. Shame on me.)

This track is stripped down but incredibly satisfying -- especially Fertita's guitar solo around 3:30. They make it look easy, but The Dead Weather is what a modern blues rock band should sound like. Enjoy.

"60 Feet Tall," performed by The Dead Weather.
Original on The Dead Weather's "Horehound" (2009).