I could get used to this. Not that Jack White didn’t display his excellence in his White Stripes days, but there’s something different about his solo debut, Blunderbuss. Now with many successful acts to pad his résumé, Jack White really explored the depths of his songwriting abilities. As Paul Simon showed my parents’ generation and Beck the generation before mine, great music can permeate to the top of the charts.
And the music of this album is exactly that: great. White’s voice, now a familiar sound in the ears of anyone over the age of 15, fits every song on the tracklist. Take the title track, a John Prine-esque song that flashes bits of country with smooth lap steel accents, and his voice seems to be pitch perfect Americana. His lyrics, and not just on this song, always tell a short story that puts him as a secondary character, but the stories never peak or come to fruition. It’s as if the words were made simply to fit the tune of the song. Or take the opening track of the album, “Missing Pieces.” It flips the switch to 11, and White really lets wail, his voice matching the squeals and shrieks of his overdriven guitar, and his chops are exactly as good as they ought to be to make an album like this. And it’s rare that a pop song really builds, so I don’t care what any nay-sayer is trying to tell me… when the electric keyboard solo builds and peaks, the volume is drowning any criticism way out the door.
A viable one-man hit machine, few details have ever been released on White’s personal life. When asked about such, he responded with “It’s the same thing as asking Michelangelo, ‘What kind of shoes do you wear?’… In the end, it doesn’t really matter … the only thing that’s going to be left is our records and photos.” Well then, Blunderbuss is one hell of a record to be left for the ages. I can only mutter a small “thank you” to Mr. White for giving me entertainment in a record that will cease to age for a long, long time.