When Jack White first went solo more than a decade ago, a big part of the fun was hearing the ways in which he expanded his sound after the staunch minimalism of the White Stripes, from the country-soul inflections of 2012's Blunderbuss to the alt-rock maximalism of 2014's Lazaretto to the chopped-up hip-hop beats of 2018's Boarding House Reach.
These days, the fun is hearing him dig back into the raw, straight-from-the-gut blues punk ferocity that made so many fans anoint White the standard-bearer for old-school rock traditionalism. It's a direction he's been going since the Raconteurs' 2019 comeback on Help Us Stranger.
On his new surprise album, which White handed out last week to unsuspecting shoppers at his Third Man Records locations, he doubles down on the electrified distortion-mongering of 2022's Fear of the Dawn, bashing out the bluesiest rock riffs that he's released since the White Stripes. Every song is crunchy as hell, filled with ragged yelps and preacher-on-the-pulpit declarations, with not an ancoustic guitar in sight and White accompanied by nothing more than a rhythm section and the occasional organ. (Judging by posts he's shared on Instagram, the lineup consists of longtime bassist Dominic John Davis, recent keyboard addition Bobby Emmett, and Raconteurs drummer Patrick Keeler. There's no word on the whereabouts of White's usual solo drummer Daru Jones.)
Even in the earliest days of the White Stripes, White always threw a wrench into his garage traditionalism, as blistering rockers would be interspersed with an acoustic children's ditty or a cabaret piano number. Later White Stripes albums even included mariachi, calypso and bagpipe experiments. But here, the biggest twist is the way the album was released: vinyl copies were handed out without explanation, with the words No Name printed on the white label (possibly as a placeholder or maybe as a cheeky album title). The song titles are also unconfirmed.
Third Man has seemingly encouraged fans to rip the album and, as White declares in the A-side's rap-rocking fifth track, "You must tell seven friends." It seems likely that the so-called No Name will get more traditional distribution soon, but, as of this writing, it's also entirely possible that this weekend's guerrilla release is all that the album will ever receive. Such is the benefit of White owning his own label — he's free to do whatever he wants.
If this is indeed the only release No Name ever receives, it would be strangely appropriate, given the way it feels a bit like fan service for anyone who wanted White to get back into his bluesy bag à la 1998's De Stijl. The album opens with slippery licks and swaggering riffs straight outta "Icky Thump" and then pretty much rides that vibe for 40 minutes, making ever so slight detours into slide guitar grooves on a couple songs and some two-step cowpunk on the scorching sixth track. White occasionally turns on a wacky pedal during a guitar solo. Some heavy slapback delay toward the end of the B-side and then some yelping dogs on the comparatively meditative finale are as close as White gets to using the studio as an instrument.
Perhaps inevitably, No Name isn't quite as white-knuckled as the first time White made music like this, nor is it as hooky as those White Stripes songs that took them from underground weirdos to superstars. But it's exciting to hear White fully return to the sound he's best known for, with its no-nonsense execution heightened by the thrilling manner in which it was released.