In 2023, Third Man Records signed Hotline TNT and put out one of the best shoegaze records of the year, Cartwheel. In interviews, however, bandleader Will Anderson expressed his initial skepticism about the partnership. “I didn’t know if people were going to take a record from Jack White’s label as anything serious beyond like, this is Jack White’s label, you know?” he said. Since then, the label has committed to being way more than an outlet for White’s various projects, taking on new bands like Nashville punks Snõõper, Philly’s classic rock revivalists Sheer Mag, and most recently the Belair Lip Bombs, the first Australian band to sign to the label. Although it seems like Third Man is branching out genre-wise, it’s not hard to see why these bands would get White’s stamp of approval; though sonically worlds apart, Snõõper’s meticulous yet playfully unhinged approach, for instance, is in line with White’s best work, which includes his new album No Name. But it’s also hard to argue that an exciting year for Third Man is enough to reinvigorate White’s solo career or generate renewed excitement around it following 2022’s middling Fear of the Dawn and Entering Heaven Alive. Only Jack White could do that.
And, thanks in part to a covert but savvy marketing campaign, he did. Last month, unsuspecting Third Man customers in Detroit, London, and Nashville received white label copies of what turned out to be Jack White’s sixth solo LP, which, rather than a fun but throwaway release, was quickly heralded as a return to form and his most White Stripes-esque project since the band’s dissolution in 2011. (That was the critical narrative, at least – confirming it was a Jack White album, one lucky customer simply called it “pretty good.”) White clearly wanted the public to hear the album, encouraging listeners to “rip it,” and it’s now gotten a wider release – along with official track titles. No Name is indeed White’s leanest, most thrilling, and perhaps best solo album. Of course fans would eat it up, but it’s pretty incredible, and not entirely inevitable, given White’s apparent wariness towards nostalgia, that it would take a back-to-basics LP for him to get back to that level of acclaim. Even the freaky experimentalism of 2018’s Boarding House Reach could not overturn his image as rock’s prototypical classicist, and after years of playing with form, it was about time for him to reassert his mastery of it.
“I’m here to tear all the walls down,” White declares on ‘Archbishop Harold Holmes’, but he revels in the foundation of the styles he’s trading in, with its unabashed nods to classic Zeppelin and AC/DC. On a basic level, it’s true that No Name boasts some of White’s most massive riffs (‘Bless Yourself’, ‘Tonight (Was a Long Time Ago)’) and stickiest hooks (‘That’s How I’m Feeling’), and though these weren’t absent from White’s previous records (‘Morning at Midnight’ is pretty directly reminiscent of Blunderbuss’ ‘Sixteen Saltines’), its raw, unfussy production – best exemplified by the raucous blues punk of ‘Bombing Out’ – makes them easier to latch onto. White’s capriciousness is still on display – he later takes his blues in a more countrified direction on ‘Underground’ – but each variation is tightly measured. Without the bewildering shifts of Boarding House Reach or the unnecessary polish of Lazarreto, it all comes off as a casual flex, a bare-teethed and bone-shaking assault.
Which is normally a good justification for lyrical nonsense and filler, but that’s not what White delivers on the songwriting front, either. Rock ‘n’ roll is the fuel for his righteousness, not just a vessel, and it’s this unshakable spirit that propels some of his most quotable lyrics to date: “People say ‘I need God on command, God on demand’/ If God’s too busy then I’ll bless myself.” He’s careful not to let his wry, off-kilter humour undercut the simple power of his messaging, even amidst the religious sermon of ‘Archbishop Harold Holmes’, where “Don’t be selfish and keep all this to yourself/ And don’t eat shellfish” is followed by “Hate is trying to take someone else’s love for yourself/ But I’m here to tell you that love is trying to help someone else.”
Yet it’s precisely the way No Name leverages White’s mirth and whimsy, more than any technical consistency or traditionalism, that ultimately sets it apart. “I should stop complaining every time it’s raining/ ‘Cause I’m still not food for cats, ask me,” he quips on ‘It’s Rough on Rats (If You Ask Me)’ before augmenting its warbling groove with one of the album’s gnarliest solos. “When will the label dump us?” is a genuinely funny line coming from one of the world’s most visible labelheads, though it does little to undermine the song’s underlying anxiety. Jack White has been doing things his way for a long time now, yet, even with frustration bubbling through every corner of the album, he’s rarely sounded quite so liberated and joyful.