Will the Raconteurs ever record together again? It looks like the answer is no. Because Jack White forms and unforms bands the way some people cycle in and out of relationships. No sooner has one project off the ground, it’s on to the next one. Jack White is a promiscuous collaborator, and that’s what’s made his career so interesting. I haven’t checked out his latest solo record yet, but I’m excited about it. I’ve been told it’s an entirely new direction. In the meantime, we can look back on past triumphs, like the two Raconteurs albums. They’re as solid as they day they were pressed.
Well, there’s one kind of blues I’ve never had to have. All the other kinds, yes, this one, no. Ahahahaha haha ha *weeping* “Always play to win, always seem to lose” is very true, though. Terry Reid was on it when he wrote that. Reid is one of those underrated talents who never quite got off the sidelines and into the spotlight, but some of his songs have had lives of their own. This one has been around the block. Marianne Faithfull recorded it in 1971, for an album that wouldn’t be released until the mid-80’s. Faithfull was dead on her feet in 1971, and she sounded it, but her song choice couldn’t be more apropos. She lived the blues. Every shade of the blues. However much I love her interpretation of things, in this case, I think it’s a little wobbly. There’s really only one definitive take of this song, and no, it’s not the original. The Raconteurs took it and blew it up. That’s likely where you’ve heard it, and you probably didn’t know it’s not a Jack White original. White is a great songwriter, of course, but he’s a great interpreter too, and when he does a cover, it’s always both unexpected and totally perfect. This duet with Brendan Benson is that, and one of the Raconteurs’ highlights.
This sounds like a ramshackle bar band drunkenly signing off an hour after last call. Complete with a ‘goodnight’ at the end. That’s exactly the point of The Raconteurs, and all part of Jack White’s vision of highly contrived authenticity. That’s not a knock; few people follow their vision as wholeheartedly as Jack White does. But bending the world to your vision is, of course, a contrivance, and Jack White is not an old troubadour crossing county lines in a painted wagon. He’s facing, like many before him, the conundrum of how authentic an artist he can be now that he’s a millionaire entrepreneur. Nine years ago that wasn’t as much of a pressing question, though. Nine years ago it was all “Let’s throw together a band and dress like we deserted the Confederate army and play a bunch of shows until we make our fingers bleed and/or get bored and move on to the next fun project!”
Remember this? I’m not hearing any news of a Raconteurs reunion, and honestly, they’d kind of slipped my mind. They’re the homely middle child of Jack White projects. Not as seminal as The White Stripes, nor as electrifying as The Dead Weather. The latter benefits from the charisma and sex appeal of Alison Mosshart. It takes a gale force personality to balance out Jack White’s, and that’s where The Raconteurs fall short. They never fell short musically, to be sure. But the mild mannered Brendan Benson and gnomic Jack Lawrence just aren’t charismatic enough to be more than sidemen, and any Jack White project is necessarily a cult of personality. Cult of personality is what makes rock stardom possible, and it exists independently from musicianship. Some thrive for decades on nothing but ‘It factor’; some make great artistic achievements without an ounce of ‘It’. A select few have both in spades. Jack White – being both – is more dynamic when he has someone equally as strong bounce off of. And while there’s no questioning the musical rapport of the Raconteurs, for the audience, it’s simply more compelling to witness the chemistry he has with has with his frontwoman and his ‘sister’ wife. So, then, the middle child effect, making a truly great project appear as the less interesting project.