In the Cold, Cold Night

Meg White is very sexy in an arctic sort of way. She likes to hide behind her drums and she doesn’t always photograph well, but there’s something about her. Maybe it’s her veneer of mystery. She’s compelling and interesting precisely because she never says anything, so you have to suspect that she’s got all kinds of amazing stories and secrets that she’s just not telling. Or it could be that’s she’s simply a very shy person. Anyway, this is an incredibly sexy song both on its own and as a rare clue on Meg. Imagining it as a personal statement would be a stretch too far, because she’s obviously not the kind of person who’d put a personal statement in a song, but it does completely suit her persona. It’s a taciturn person’s declaration of desire, a love note from someone who occupies a lonely home in the tundra, either literal or figurative. You can easily imagine a shadowy Meg White, swathed in polar bear fur, mooning about in a creaky old isba somewhere in Siberia, feeding her reindeer and keeping a candle in the window for her lover. A glamorous image, but most likely another one of tricksy Jack’s acts of mythmaking. The real Meg White resides in Los Angeles.

Icky Thump

Another peek into the deranged imagination of Jack White. Not that deranged, really, it’s actually quite appealing. In this video we see many interesting things, like Meg having red hair. I’ve been saying it for a long time, but here it goes again; Jack, when you find the time, please make a movie. He’s been playing around with the idea of acting, taking a few small roles in big films, and of course, has a music video backlog that a shows a vision as distinctive as any real film director. Various directors of varying fame have made videos for The White Stripes, The Raconteurs and other Jack White projects, and each has their own touch, but in the end, they’re all unmistakably Jack, full of his peculiar tastes and obsessions. It’s only a matter of time, I think, before he goes off and does his own movie. Whether it would be a masterpiece or disaster I can’t say, but either way it should be fascinating.

I’m Lonely (but I Ain’t Lonely Yet)

White Stripes action for you today, in sad ballad mode. Kind of an overlooked gem, I think. It’s easy to forget the ballads in between all those loud, thumping rockers, but take a minute to appreciate this. I really adore Jack White’s singing, so take a minute to appreciate that too. Sometimes Jack gets labeled as being more of an ideas man, most likely because he likes to talk a lot – quite eloquently – about his inspirations, and what concepts he’s working on, and his beliefs on music and art and style. And it’s true, he is definitely a man with ideas to burn. But when in comes to actually performing, nobody is more passionate. Jack’s playing is impassioned, his singing is impassioned, he’s just passionate about everything he does. That’s one of the things that make him special. The way how, although his image is very carefully executed and everything is so thoughtfully designed that you’d think it was all style and no substance, in fact every single thing about the Jack White empire is based on passion. It’s all so personal, and it’s obvious that it’s not about selling an image – he’s just trying to share the things he cares about.

I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother’s Heart

I like songs that are about something. Something besides booty, something interesting, something I’ve never thought about before. Something that tells a story. Something that makes me think. This is one song that spurs the imagination. Mostly it makes me feel sorry for young Jack. Not that there’s any reason to think it’s in any way based on reality, because clearly Jack White was born with a surfeit of awesomeness and he would never let anybody’s bitch-ass mother walk all over him like that. Well, that’s one thing to imagine, but maybe Jack was kind of a freaky kid and maybe not everybody’s mom approved of him. Maybe he was really insecure and had paranoid fears that moms hated him. Maybe Meg’s mom didn’t approve of him. No, of course not. Jack’s just making fun of losers who are too lame to charm an old lady. See, so many things to think about. That’s even before you start thinking about yourself.

I Think I Smell A Rat

Classic White Stripes appreciation post. I’m overflowing with White Stripes appreciation. Even when it’s not technically their very best song. So what, it’s better than most people’s songs and I find it humorous. I guess Jack and Meg don’t have the image of being laugh machines, but there’s something very wry and witty about them. Sometimes it seems like they’re secretly laughing at how seriously people take them. With the dress code and the graphics and Jack’s big serious pronouncements, you kind of expect them to always be in Grand Artistic Statement mode. But they’re just making noise for the fun of it, being playful together. It’s just joyful and silly and there’s no grand statement coming. That’s the magic of the White Stripes rapport, which is unmatched by anything they (meaning Jack) have done without one another. I wonder if they miss playing together. Not being rock stars and touring and going on photoshoots, but just banging out some songs, one-on-one.

I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself

Whoa, look at that trashy bad girl Kate Moss slutting it up for The White Stripes! Just kidding. I love you, Kate, you can pole dance for me any day of the week. If it seems like a half-naked supermodel might be an odd choice for such a longing song, well, look how lonely she looks up there. It just makes the song feel all the more bleak. A hall-of-fame breakup song, by the way. I can’t think of a better expression of those times when you feel like your life has just been robbed of all meaning. What am I supposed to do with myself? It’s ridiculous what ending a relationship does to you; it leaves a huge, invisible, bloody hole in your life. Like having a gunshot wound that nobody else can see. And so forth. We’ve all been there, it’s not hyperbole. It’ll make you feel better to hear Jack White yowling about it. Or Dusty Springfield, if Jack’s not your kind of guy. I can never say no to Jack, but Dusty’s version is great as well, although it suffers in the production. It’s all about the voice and the emotion; it shouldn’t be drowned in a saccharinity of strings. Either way, though, the feeling is what matters, it what connects to you and reminds you of sad things you haven’t thought to think about in a long time. That’s what makes a great performance, genuine pain. Pain and pleasure and memories.

 

I Fought Piranhas

Piranhas, you say? But of course. Because Jack White is nothing if not a total badass who fights piranhas. Slightly fantastic self invention has always been a part of the White Stripes image. Especially on Jack’s side. He’s definitely presenting an exaggerated persona, to say the least. Meg is kind of the opposite of that, she’s so modest and quiet, but I think that’s its own exaggeration too. That’s absolutely a great thing; it’s what rock stars are supposed to do. I wouldn’t call it a pretense so much as they’re being their superhero selves all the time. It’s the combination of real and fake that’s interesting. In the Stripes case, their very serious dedication to sonic purity as they see it, being as musically authentic as possible, balanced with the showmanship of having a total look complete with their own color scheme. Because image is important but without something substantial behind it, it doesn’t amount to much, and substance without image is boring.

Hypnotize

ALL GLORY TO THE HYPNO-TOAD!

Totally irrelevant Futurama joke. Eh, excuse, what was I talking about? Oh, yes, The White Stripes. So I’ve heard a few complaints about our Jack. He’s lost that crazy raw edge that he used to have, they say. By crazy raw edge I guess they mean songs like this one. They miss that lo-fi garage rock sound. That unpolished young energy and blah blah blah. I’m guessing those are the same people talking who used to complain that Meg White was a lousy drummer. The joke’s on them, because it’s her sound that they now miss so much. They said her playing was amateurish. Now they’re saying the thrill is gone. Well, either you like it or you don’t. Yeah, Meg’s playing was amateurish. She banged and thrashed and made noise for the joy of it. That was The White Stripes’ energy. Now they’re broken up. And you know, musicians do grow up. Jack and Meg both have different lives now. Meg doesn’t even play anymore. Jack’s a single dad now. Is he going to play and write and think they same way he used to ten years ago? Of course not. This growing older thing has afflicted every single rock star who ever lived past 27. And every single one of them has had to face fans who complain that they’ve lost their edge. Well, it’s great to imagine that your heroes are Übermenschen, but they’re not. Nobody stays 25, but they can stay relevant, if you want to keep paying attention. And it’s not them you’re angry at for getting older, it’s yourself. You’re the one who’s lost that crazy raw edge.

Hotel Yorba

Based on a real place in The White Stripes’ hometown of Detroit. Hotel Yorba still stands, but whether or not it’s open for business or just a husk, I don’t know. It was open enough for The White Stripes to film a video there in 2001. In the video, Jack is shown marrying a wispy redhead while Meg is dragged along by a rope, doubtless representing their bandly bond. Of course I don’t know whether it’s supposed to represent their relationship or if they just thought it’d be funny, but it’s tempting to find it prescient, in terms of future developments. Did Meg ever feel roped into being the third wheel while Jack was gallivanting about with wispy redhead Karen Elson? I realize it’s pointless to speculate about the relationship dynamics of people you don’t know, and who don’t like to talk about such things in public. Jack and Meg naively tried to avoid such speculation by pretending to be siblings, but that just made it worse, bringing down a hail of marrying-your-sister jokes. Or perhaps they just did that to be funny. Either way. There’s definitely a shroud of mystery about The Stripes, especially the elusive Meg. But I’m sure she’s not the one who set out to be a rock star. She was just carried along by Jack’s velocity. Maybe that’s what the rope symbolizes.

Hello Operator

Watching this old White Stripes footage I realize that, wow, Jack White has really grown up on us. The White Stripes were a bolt out of the blue in 2000. Just a couple of crazy-looking upstarts from Detroit who singlehandedly reinvigorated the whole idea of rock’n'roll, (if I may be so bold). Since then Jack’s become the decade’s musical MVP, running a little empire built on those Stripesy ideals of authenticity, craftsmanship, and eccentricity. In the end, wearing only red and white clothing was too strict, but in everything else he’s kept his idiosyncratic credibility. He’s matured greatly as an artist, to judge from his world-weary recent solo debut. Meg meanwhile, has with typical levelheadedness decided fame and fashion weren’t for her, remarried, and settled down someplace where there’s no paparazzi. And I realize that it’s been a privilege to watch this trajectory unfold in real time. As opposed to reading about it thirty years after the fact, as usually happens. I’ve missed out on a lot of important people coming and going. But I’ve kept my eye on Jack White from the word go, and I’ll keep watching whatever he moves on to in the future, and I’ll be able to say, when he’s ensconced in every hall of fame, that this was an artist I’ve followed and been shaped by, seen, heard and met in his prime.