Jack White’s Victorian era

‘A young woman froze to death whilst on her way to a ball on 1 January 1840.’ A famous North American ballad, which inspired the ‘Frozen Charlottes’ – porcelain dolls that appeared in the Victorian era in both the United States and the United Kingdom – is said to have drawn its inspiration from the New York Observer article in which this news item appeared. Almost two centuries later, Jack White has revived the name for his seventh solo album. The reason is simple: whilst recording the album in Nashville with his band, a figurine broke and the guitarist pieced it back together using a blue skull. This character, alongside his alter ego ‘Frozen Charlatan’, featured in a video miniseries packed with audio clues, a prelude to the album’s launch via a low-key pre-order campaign reminiscent of the clandestine strategy behind 2024’s ‘No Name’. Today, those sculptures are displayed amongst the more than one hundred pieces in “These Thoughts May Disappear”, White’s first visual art exhibition, hosted at Damien Hirst’s Newport Street Gallery in London.

Jack White always seems to be having a brilliant time. He proved this once again at La Prima Estate at Parco BussolaDomani in Lido di Camaiore, where he had the daunting task of taking to the stage after the high-energy Hives. You can sense it too just by taking a look at his record label, Third Man – which also became a publishing house in 2014 – and by listening to the thirteen tracks on *Frozen Charlotte*, which opens with ‘G.O.D. and the Broken Ribs’, a ‘Burning Down the House’ torn to shreds by ferocious guitars, the perfect soundtrack to the beginning and end of the world as told by a couple. ‘Derecho Demonico’ captures the spirit of Jimi Hendrix and reflects on the importance of seeing things through to the end, whilst failed attempts at communication crash against the swirling riff of ‘There’s Nobody There’. The Zeppelin-esque “Raising the Grain” confirms the great chemistry between White and the other members of the quartet: drummer Patrick Keeler, bassist Dominic Davis and keyboardist Bobby Emmett.

What has always set John Anthony Gillis – the Detroit artist’s real name – apart is a technical skill channelled into writing extremely incisive musical phrases – a prime example being the infamous “Seven Nation Army” – and a vocal style that always seems on the verge of breaking. It is upon this skill and tension that White has built a body of work spanning a range of interesting projects, such as the White Stripes, the Raconteurs and the Dead Weather. Naturally, this also applies to his solo career. For instance, on his latest album, the crescendos of “You’ll Never Fix Me”, the intricate interplay of “Nobody Knows”, and the tribal-infused Cream-style of “Dollar Bill” turn the classic rock formula on its head, breathing new life into it. With a live approach always at the forefront, the vocal effects (“I Can’t Believe What I’m Hearing”) capture the style of one of the most charismatic guitarists of the last thirty years. White bases his technique on the blues, but through open tunings, harmoniser effects and fuzz, he makes his instrument sound as though it were in the thick of rush-hour traffic. The closing track, “Neighbours Blues”, best encapsulates all this and the spirit of a wild and magnetic album.