Asian correspondent Annile Alexander has been a busy man. Not only has he taken the time to extol the virtues of one of his beloved rock idols, Jack White, but he has carefully cultivated a thirty song supermix just for you.

The following post jumps right into the heart of the mix and the things that inspired its existence…and ends only when you blare it.

Please enjoy…

 

Before it gets buried in the mix–amongst the grit and the grunge and the shit-hot guitar solos–let’s start by listening to the beautiful simplicity of the opening track, “You’ve Got her in Your Pocket”. I want you to see how Jack White is as poetic a song-crafter as just about anybody you can think of. The man stands on a small ledge above so many others, especially in our generation. He just may be the last real bluesman standing in 2013’s barren musical wasteland. What a walloping beauty of a song ”You’ve Got her in Your Pocket” is, one that skated right past most radars–including my own. Tell me honestly, in a week, how many of these other gems are on here!=

So basically, I am ready to fight in the streets in favor of gay marriage, not just because of my core fundamental beliefs, but in case I get the opportunity to live out my man crush of being besties with Jack White. In my fantasy we are not gay, but we do however hold hands and walk through parks together a lot (so it does get a little weird). Better make sure if we feel like we do want to get married, at least we know it’s an option, know what I mean?

Listen to the Rush influence on ‘Broken Boy Soldier’ by the Raconteurs; I’m not really sure if Jack had a lot of input by the other fellas in the band on this one, but this just screams Jack White and has his finger prints all over it. You can picture this Detroit boy sitting in a basement somewhere as a kid listening to “YYZ” on vinyl over and over and over again, forming his addiction to the crackle of the needle touching down.  The thought just makes him even more endearing; a living breathing rock legend developing in our own lifetime.

I cannot stop reliving the memory of this hazy afternoon when I saw him live at Coachella. I know TR (Editor’s note: Tad Ro? Tony Romo? T-Rex?) was afoot and I want to say Tommy. For anyone who has been, it was the money slot: sunset, dust starting to kick up from the stomp, not quite headliner time, no need to be anywhere just yet, not too dark too see. You know where you need to be for the next two hours. All the zigzagging of the daytime curiosity is over. You’re settled in to see the artists who’ve earned their share of steak knives. The raw power of his stage presence coupled with his absolutely wicked guitar solos and Alison Mosshart’s angst makes him the genuine article (or, basically, the opposite of everything Courtney Love has been dressing up and pretending to be her entire life).  Jack is calm and collected, confident and cool. Switching between drums and guitar…his voice, that light switch, on and off, on and off…between garage-band howls and well groomed cascading bellows.

He fucking rocks lads and ladies, I’m telling you.

Catch him live if you can.

Imagine your head bobbing up and down to literally every swipe of the pick and almost every note in the live version of Dead Weather’s “I Cant Hear You”. It’s one of the grittiest, nastiest displays of raw spit-and-piss blues ever…at least in this modern day of music. Dead Weather is the embodiment of rock and roll. Just listen to this tune.  I’ve been lucky enough to see a similar version of this at Coachella and it haunts me to this day. Can you even imagine!? It’s insane! It’s the type of performance that if that idiot non music-loving friend stumbled across drunk (they are always the ones who drink too much beer aren’t they?) and started chewing your ear off about “something funny that happened in the line for the port-a-potty”,  you should legally be allowed to put this song as your defense for why you took a buck knife off your belt holster (if you were in Alabama I guess) and sliced his neck open until he bled out at your feet.

How amazing is the duet “Love Interruption” with Ruby Amanfu–this really cool African American chick who I don’t even really know, but has a great voice and really compliments Jack’s style. The way he sings this beautiful little love song with these deeply resonating lyrics is the antithesis of what any other love song in the history of the world have ever expressed. Jack wants “love to change his friends to enemies and then show him it’s all his fault”.  He wants “love to grab his fingers gently, then slam them in a doorway; to murder his own mother, then take her off to somewhere.” Can writing get more brilliant than that? Not sure. (Certainly not in this write up, at least we know…)

This simple, minimalistic approach somehow takes bare bones and complicates it beautifully. Listen to him hit the side of the snare in “Hello Operator” and tap out the beat for like fifteen seconds—it’s just the wood of drumstick hitting the metal of the rim of the snare, making the simplest sounds of lonesome and the most rock and roll thing you will hear all day (if you aren’t already listening to an early Diamond Dave record today or perhaps a Ramones LP). White is just a silly good guitarist, something that has been acknowledged by Jimmy Page, The Edge, Neil Young and the world over. He is true grit. He is raw and real and honorable in his pursuits to leave behind blood, sweat and big teardrops on every stage he adorns. He is a bluesman the like of a southern delta steel slide guitarist with overalls rolled up on an Alabama porch (just listen to “I Fought Piranhas”).

His songs aren’t going to jump out and smack you like a radio hit. They are well crafted, unique little sneak attacks that demand you turn them up and spend a little bit of quality time with them. They should not be rushed. Listen to “A Martyr For My Love For You”. What an amazing example of a song that could tip toe past someone if they were yammering on about their boss in a car and not offering their undivided attention to the song—it’s a fantastic portrayal of taboo topics about love and intimacy. He is a brilliant poet, and he is a hero of mine. He’s so attainable unlike other music gods who are either dead, not putting music out anymore, or whose albums aren’t easy to listen to on the regular like Nine Inch Nails.

With Jack White, I can start my morning listening to his music in the shower; I can work out to his music; I can f*ck to his music; I can hang out with friends to his music. It’s not Marvin Gaye or They Might Be Giants (the only other two bands you can possibly do those activities to).

Please lock and load this onto your phone, listen to it in your car when you’re alone and, also, the next time you’re at the gym or on the treadmill or go for a jog. Yeah, go for a jog you chubby, double-chinned fuck. (Editor’s note: Poploser does not support weightism).

Hopefully, this mix will unveil a few layers previously unscratched. Perhaps Jack White is a garage noise-rock enigma with some catchy hooks and an annoyingly large cult following you feel too tired to keep up with.  I hope I’m handing you a key to demystifying that a bit.

Dig into it.

Listen to it.

 

This article was written by Annile Alexander and edited in mild sobriety by Scott Damell