Comes on vinyl LP.
Jack White has been rock’s most restless tinkerer, a man who seemed increasingly interested in seeing how many gadgets, synthesizers, and high-concept experiments he could shove into a song before it burst. But on No Name, he’s finally stopped trying to reinvent the wheel and decided to use it to run us over instead.
Released with the kind of DIY myth-making we’ve missed—secretly slipped into the shopping bags of Third Man Records customers in plain white sleeves—No Name is the leanest, meanest, and most essential thing White has done since he and Meg officially called it quits. It’s a record that smells like ozone and scorched vacuum tubes, a 42-minute reminder that nobody handles a guitar quite like a man who sounds like he’s trying to pick a fight with it.
From the jump, “That’s How I’m Feeling” sets the tone with a heavy, leather-jacket swagger. It’s a masterclass in the “Archbishop Harold Holmes”—that specific intersection of Delta blues and garage-punk grime. White isn’t hiding behind the polished production of his recent solo efforts; his voice is mixed hot, bleeding into the red, and his riffs have regained that primitive, tectonic-plate-shifting power that made Elephant a classic.
