TMR Creative Collective

By Rick Warner, Guest Writer

I have seen many rock shows since 1987. From The Grateful Dead to Faith No More and everything in between. My career as a fan of rock n roll is long and well traveled. Even though I was familiar with this artist at the time, I was not a dedicated follower or a rabid fan. I was an outsider with some familiarity and I was open to this artist showing me something.

When the invitation to attend was extended, I accepted without hesitation.  I knew that this was a critical moment for me.  I knew that this artist was important in the big picture of rock n roll and his momentum had always been building.  Even if I didn’t embrace (or truly be aware of) his artistic vision and his prolific musical output, I understood what he was.  An American hero in the still developing stages of what would be a grand and fearless trajectory.  

At this point, I was a few years removed from my initial exposure to the first three albums and while they always were catchy and represented what I love about rock n roll, they didn’t see heavy rotation in my collection.  It’s always been hard to knock Steely Dan, Jethro Tull or Talking Heads out of the lineup.  “We like what we like.”  A fan of KISS recently said to me dismissively after I sent him a song from this artist in the hopes of a little of the vision to rub off.  

Late May in NYC and the air was crisp and full of electric potential.  The marquee outside the Roseland Ballroom read:  “JACK WHITE SOLD OUT”.  This was an indicator that perhaps I should have paid closer attention over the past few years.  There was a large group of people outside the theater that did not have tickets.  They seemed to be OK just being near the theater.  Just being near this artist’s name.  

Just being in the same city.   

There were young people and old people mixing together and standing in line.  There was no distinct look to anyone, truly a mixed bag of humans that were there for this show.  A couple of punks, a couple of hipsters, married couples, musicians and young kids. 

We filed in and I made my way to into the performance space.  The stage was lit up in light blue and the room was very dark.  I was in the center of the floor, mid pack.  The curtain lifted and it began.  The band was all female.  The crowd was very enthusiastic.  Every song, comment and gesture was wildly received.  Some songs everyone sang along and some created mass movement and fist pumping.  Something electric was jolting me and passing through me.

Jack White seemed to play mostly with his head down and highly concentrated on the task.  His infrequent engagement with the crowd built tension and drove the music to intense levels.  The girls in the band never took their eyes off him, always waiting for their cue, for him to point at them or whip his guitar around and direct them with it.      

I could clearly see his blue Telecaster and see his playing and feel the frenetic sounds coming from the stage. At one point, I could see his shadow on the wall and I just watched that for a while. It communicated what was happening on the stage just fine. A dark 2D hologram of energy but no light. It was as if something was cooking. Something was on the boil. Building. Every lyric seemed to taunt the crowd. “Call up the newspaper and see if my story checks out!” We were being challenged somehow. He pointed and wielded his guitar at the girls in the band and frantically delivered the final solo.

The band was as soaked in sweat as he was and when the show ended, the crowd buzzed like a loud transformer on the pole. I was stunned and not able to yet process what I had just experienced. Some people left (!) and some shifted positions. The room was very dark again and the stage was also dark. The blue was gone. I shifted to my right a bit and began to work my way forward and to the right as the crowd thinned and changed dynamics.

A few moments went by and the crowd murmur started to really ramp up.  The room seemed more tightly packed now then it did during the first set.  Wild screams began to pierce the air and there was a sense of anticipation for the encore. Which we knew was soon to be delivered.  How it was delivered, is what has propelled me to write this and a big part of how my life has changed since then.

A curtain went up to my right and there was an explosion of blue light and furious noise.  An all male band and Jack White had now positioned themselves on a smaller side stage to my right and were approximately 5’ away.  Immediately charging into a blistering alternate version of “Black Math”, Jack White bounced, prowled, hopped and shook like he was having a seizure while delivering distorted and punishing riffs.  The energy was like a wall falling down on top of me over and over.  It was a direct assault on the senses and the jolt I felt earlier was now a direct feed from the main panel. 

The entire crowd hopped and flailed with him.  I was locked in on all sides by people pushing and pressing towards this energy.  The band members were like animals that were just let out of their cages after being tortured by not being able to play earlier.  They were leaping and writhing with every note and could barely be quieted by Jack White when commanded.  After the first song, the energy shifted into “I Cut Like a Buffalo” and this slow, weird dirge took on a barely contained menace from this band.  Threatening in sound and feel.  Jack White threw his head back often seeming to channel and spread what was coming through him into the band and audience.        

Relentlessly and without pause, as the room was whipped into a new level of clear and loud agitation, Jack White picked up the Kay hollow body, slipped the slide onto his fourth finger and started picking at “Catch Hell Blues”.  We had caught it and it was a mix of blues and hell and heaven.  Something surely descendant from Robert Johnson’s terror filled nights and roadside howlings.  A primordial mix that stirred the emotions and made clear the path for anyone that was uncertain.  

Daru Jones pounded the drums, Carla Azar shot video in the background, Fats Kaplin waited for his cues on the steel guitar, Dominic Davis locked in on Jack White’s every move, and Ikey Owens sunglassed and suit-jacketed,slithered and humped his keyboard in a relentless attack.

Jack White brought things to a grinding halt several times with slow and deliberate picking and sliding, controlling the crowd with a plectrum and a steel slide.  The momentum skyrocketing only to be reeled in again…and then released again and a dramatic spike and plummet effect putting the room on an audio and sound force roller coaster.  

As the last notes rang out and the slide stopped for a moment, Jack White stomped on a pedal on the floor and a pounding straight beat accompanied by cowbells and immediate handclaps from the crowd welcomed the night’s finale and extended the invitation for the final release.  Jack White waved his hand at the crowd, approached the edge of the stage, closed his eyes and let out a bark as he absorbed the crowd’s energy and banged his head to the crowd’s rhythm and joined us in the “Seven Nation Army” chant with his Kay pointed straight up like an exclamation point to the night.      

The room quieted slightly as the vocals began but this was a temporary rest period for the frenzied antics that were to happen after this first lyric.  The room bounced and breathed as one as the slide strangled the neck up and down shrieking and filling the room with howls.  The chant retuned during the following lyrics and would not back down, Jack White smiled lowly and now he was as much our audience as we were his.  This energy flowed back and forth with each of his hops, each of his shrill slides, each one of his head thrown back, eyes closed invitations to God to join the room.  

The sound waves pounded the walls and Jack White shook and danced as a shaman would.  Leading the ceremony and for rain, warmth and healing.  The light drenched us and the room shook as the finale closed.  Jack White set the Kay down, thanked us, asked God to bless us and flung his guitar pick into the crowd like a throwing star.  He walked off and some members of the band hugged and celebrated.  

This was the stuff of inspiration.  This was the sound and motion of divine energy.  Of folklore to be passed down through the generations.     

This night inspired me to look at the world differently.  The door was cracked open and while it took a few more years to open fully, I have this particular night for allowing me to glimpse into this new place where some things have no explanation, no definition and no need for either.  This was a moment of mojo where the shadows were as bright as the light.  This was a place where people were healed, transported and converted in one shocking main panel moment.  

Some of us were set on a new path that night. A cobweb clearing revelation that there was still more out there for those still seeking. New ways to communicate. New dimensions to be revealed. New ways to live.