In July of 2024 a record in a plain white sleeve was slipped into unsuspecting customer bags at Jack White’s Third Man Records shops in Detroit, Nashville, and London. The record was labeled No Name, and upon inspection and inquisitive listening it revealed a new Jack White record had been dropped unexpectedly. Never one to shy away from a rock trick, or to roll out a cool gimmick, the record quickly spun its way from turntables to cyberspace. Word spread and interest was piqued while White encouraged those who had the album to share it far and wide.

Since its clandestine appearance the record has made its way to independent record shops in a sought-after blue variant and soon to be followed by a large-scale release on black vinyl and CD in September. Reviewers have stated that this record is a ‘return to form’ for White and his best record since (fill in the blank with the White Stripes album of your choice). What they fail to note is White hadn’t lost anything except for self-imposed pressure to constantly create something different. What is missing from this new recording is the multifarious overdubbing and try too hard aesthetic that has been rearing its head too often since White’s 2018 record Boarding House Reach.

White told Apple Music in 2022, “When I work on music, I always feel like I’m trying to do something new. But I know quite often I’m taking things that worked in the past that I think are less well known, or they’re interesting or idiosyncratic or whatever it is, and juxtaposing it with something I’ve never done before.”

In the case of No Name, White has gone back to a gritty formula that has worked in the past and has injected it with a hot shit band and a wealth of guitar knowledge collected from a 25-year career with several bands. This doesn’t mean that No Name is a repeat of past glories, but it is a reexamination and expansion of the reasons White started playing music.

In recent times White has gone through a divorce, played in and produced countless bands, and run a record company empire. Because of his prolific creativity White’s muse was tattered and abused from years of molten creativity. She deserved a well-earned respite for all her inspired work over the years. Now, the muse has reappeared and is snarling through gleaming white fangs and distorted guitar licks that could make Toni Iommi grab his crucifix.

No Name hangs together perfectly, but not as a concept album, because White wants it to. The songs were recorded over two years with different line ups. White was obviously inspired and hit upon a blue vein of excellent songwriting. Not be lost in the discussion of the record is the appearance of his bandmate in the Raconteurs, and drummer for the Greenhornes and Afgan Whigs, Patrick Keehler. Keehler’s bombastic drumming litters the record and gives many of the song’s their sturdy and serrated bones. Also on the record is long time White bass player Dominic Davis, keyboardist Quincy McCrary as well as appearances by other bandmates Carla Azar, Daru Jones, White’s wife Olivia Jean, and his daughter Scarlet playing some bass guitar.

The album begins with “Old Scratch Blues,” a knotted clean tone opening riff that crashes into a crushing and head nodding blues. The lick gets heaver each time it plows through the verses. Vampire organ flashes underneath and the song drops like an anchor into a double-time then sludgy reassessment of the main riff. White’s unaffected vocals are strong and poised on the edge of distortion; his timber is loose and his expressiveness tight.

Like a body blow, “Bless Yourself,” hits next and flows downhill like a thick blue river over rocks.  White’s singing is the perfect balance melody and shred, then becomes spectacularly unhinged. While White previously sang “Top Yourself,” in the Raconteurs, now he’s asserting, “Bless Yourself,” over a charged and frisky lick that flickers like a burned out fillament. An absolutely devastating one – two opener.

“That’s How I’m Feeling,” follows, and is a contemporary sounding track, catchy, that centers around a concert sing-along worthy “Uh-Uh, Oh Yeah” break down. “It’s Rough on Rats (If You’re Asking),” features the three piece of Keeler, Dominick Davis and White, a subterranean power trio rolling through darkened urban landscapes. The shifty song has a percolating rhythm section and spotlights White donning his slide like a straight edge. The song also contains the most blistering guitar solo on the record. His strings screaming to the spheres, phased out, and then shot through White’s electric blue aesthetic with a florescent yellow lightning bolt.

“Archbishop Harold Holmes,” is a stone cold classic, and finds White singing an extended narrative from letter written in ancient copy. Full of illusion and allusion, White sounds like he’s on to something that we aren’t privy to. He sings with sibilance, rhythmic interplay, internal rhyming and a punk attitude. The groove moves with a marching dramatism that in the rock room’s humble opinion makes it the best song on the record.

“Bombing Out,” smells like lo-fi and is a crackling fuse racing toward its explosive core. Garage thrash at its most primal, White pulls the runaway rhythm over to the side of the road for a few funky interludes. “What’s the Rumpus,” reminds me of a track from one of White’s more recent offerings which isn’t a bad thing, as it has another collaborative sing-along part, sure to be a success in concert.

Flipping the record over, “Tonight (Was a Long Time Ago)” begins side two with a wide-open funky groove. Keeler’s snare cracks and White’s open-ended riffing collaborate on a skittering yet hopeful rocker. This one has the feel of a leadoff single and burrows deep into the head.

Side two continues with the jumpy blues and the sour pink syncopation of “Underground”. The vocals volley back and forth over the top of a playful honky-tonk White lick.  Big riffs abound and mid way White takes a slide solo while string singing the metallic melody that feels like a chrome plated play on a delta blues line.

“Number One with a Bullet,” flies through the intersection of off kilter and straight-ahead steamer as White’s licks streak like buckshot from a slingshot. First, White and bass player Davis robot walk through a introductory rectangular room before sprinting into a nervous and unrelenting segment decorated by slivery roadside slide guitar.

“Morning at Midnight,” is another slammer served up by White and his band of rowdies featuring the streamlined touring band from his last record. Keeping with the theme of closing records with thought provoking and thematically overarching songs, “Terminal Archenemy Endling,” concludes the recording with childlike White vocals sung over the top of distorted nursery rhyme riffing. A meditative number that elicits a distantly familiar melody and a plethora of childlike emotion.

Jack White’s No Name record features all the things that Jack White does well. It also has some odd ball, weird stuff that we’ve come to expect and love. If your longtime fan of White’s, enjoy this brief look backwards because he’s sure to floor it into the future sooner than later. But also make sure to take comfort in knowing that there is still melodically relevant rock and roll being performed, and that for some, guitar riffs still rule the world.