White Out

Well, Jack White, I think we've called it quits for now. Maybe it's just a hiatus, maybe it's permanent, if you've got more side projects in the pipeline.

White isn't the A bad show once killed any future interest in Badly Drawn Boy –the descent from beloved songwriter to wanker happens so rapidly. The Raconteurs stroke a similar blow last September, wiping out all goodwill from their epic Bonnaroo show thanks to an hour of mailed-in rock numbers at the Ryman, a venue which usually draws the best of any musician to grace its stage.

All eyes are on Dead Weather, the latest side project. I heard Allison Mossheart warble horribly as one-half of noise rock act The Kills. They opened for the Raconteurs at that ill-fate.

Secondly, there is such thing as stretching yourself too thin. Recording a comeback for Loretta Lynn was fine, but the moment White jumped into the Raconteurs, he was headed in a direction I couldn’t follow. While I enjoyed both Raconteurs records, they had a shelf life. I don’t wear to revisit Old Enough or Store Bought Bones in the way I need to regularly listen to Ball & Biscuit or the merciless blues of Death Letter. A second side project signals his day job ( aka original band) no longer cuts it for him.

By all accounts, White and Mossheart have great chemistry onstage. I can only admit to caring less. They turned me off the moment I saw that first black & white promotional photograph with 3/4ths of the band snarling at the camera (I give bassist Jack Lawrence a pass, since he’s the only popular musician ever to bump into me then apologize).

The way they shuttled out-of-town press to their invite-only Nashville debut at the opening of White’s Third Man Records only deepened the grudge. Don’t tell me your disappointed that your band can’t play out and build a fanbase normally then throw a bash for the national music press. These pack journalists jump at any attempt to fellate musicians deemed acceptable to then, so don’t act surprised when they laud the new group. You can put vultures on a new diet, but they always return to the same fatted calf.

Perhaps its my concrete belief that the final Late Night With Conan O’Brien was a goodbye to the duo, a limp, barely rehearsed take on We’re Going To Be Friends. Once he broke the chain of White Stripes records every other year, I have no faith that they will play again. White’s “maybe next year” comments about a new Stripes record don’t breed much hope. Meg’s marriage in Jack’s Nashville backyard exudes a little more. But until I hear they’ve spent another two weeks in the studio banging out a long player, no spirits will be lifted.

White sounded mildly irked that this new band would immediately get press attention and not have a chance to grow organically. I agree. As a result, I’m not buying the new record, nor would I support the $30 ticket price for Dead Weather’s inaugural tour. If White really wants to rough it, play some bar shows, and don’t ensconce your new group in big venues. His every musical move is calculated, from the White Stripes color schemes to the "surprise" debut performance of Dead Weather. Playing a run of bars or small clubs wouldn't fit that delicately crafted mold.

I wonder if my Jack White backlash owes something to the overabundance of side projects lukring out there.

But it just isn’t true. The Monsters of Folk excite my curiosity, as does the Dave Grohl/Josh Homme/John Paul Jones album coming up. That doesn’t carry over to Jack White’s solo blues single from the Just Play Loud documentary. But we can blame that one on charging six bucks for a one-sided 45 LP.

I’m just burned with Jack White for the moment, and done lionizing everything the man records. I suppose that’s the price the prolific sometimes pay.