On Tuesday, May 22nd I was lucky enough to find myself with a scorching hot ticket which granted me admission to the Roseland Ballroom for the Alabama Shakes and Jack White. The Shakes’ singer, Brittany Howard has more Janis Joplin in her than anybody I’ve ever seen. She’s a powerhouse and despite everyone saying the Shakes are that good, the Shakes are that good.
Jack White recorded Blunderbuss with a mix of men and women but he is touring with two separate supporting ensembles segregated by sex. As men and women have undeniably different energy – this is a nifty idea and one that is unprecedented in my experience. Scuttlebutt has it that he doesn’t notify who is playing with him until shortly before show time depending on his yin/yang. The previous night at Roseland he played with the men (Los Buzzardos) and on this night he came out in a blue suit with the women (The Peacocks) in blue dresses equipped with a fiddle, pedal steel, and double bass as well as guitar, drums, and percussion.
Jack tore through a set that included all phases of his career: White Stripes, Racounteurs, and Dead Weather as well as Blunderbuss material like Hip Eponymous Poor Boy and Sixteen Saltines. His tone dirty, his phrasing the inimitable cross of punk and blues that has defined his career except when he went for twang. For the most part, his solos were concise but he stretched out enough to satisfy especially on Ball and Biscuit and Hardest Button to Button. A side-stage was revealed as his male band joined Jack for an incendiary encore of I Cut Like a Buffalo, Catch Hell Blues, and, with the crowd chanting, Seven Nation Army – it was glorious.
The Jack White show at Roseland was, in my universe, the toughest ticket in NYC since the Radiohead show at the same venue last fall. I was shut out of that one and I approached the Radiohead show at the Prudential Center in Newark as a consolation prize. That is, not nearly as cool as seeing them in a venue a fifth the size, but cool nonetheless. In retrospect, some parts of the experience were no doubt enhanced by the arena setting. The mix exploited the acoustics admirably and the production was top notch. It’s apparent that if these guys are going to ask fans to shell out $70 to see them from a distance where one wouldn’t be afraid to catch a slapshot off the stick of a New Jersey Devil, then they are going to take care that the experience has charms that a club show can’t offer.
Above the stage floated a battery of rotating video screens that, at rest and horizontal, looked suspiciously like doobies and from the rear appeared as TVs switched off. These screens offered myriad angles and perspectives on the action on the stage which, when combined with lighting and a fair amount of movement by the musicians, made the visual part of the show almost as dynamic as the audio.
These guys are geniuses or, if you like (as I do) genii! I think I could watch any of them solo without the benefit of the rest of the group. That’s certainly true of drummer Phil Selway who was supplemented by Clive Beamer (on electronic pads) who is known as a top session guy and has played with Portishead among others. Jonny Greenwood occasionally put down his guitar and added further percussion. They are intricate and precise and are equally adept at hypnosis, space travel, and delivering wicked quiet/loud bursts in the spirit of the Pixies. Thom Yorke’s most memorable line was, “We’re not ready for our greatest hits yet…when we are, we’ll be dead.” A bold statement but one Radiohead seems intent on living up to. As pleasing as it was to hear Karma Police, the highest heights were hit on the new stuff like Staircase and Daily Mail and Supercollider and the sped-up techno of Morning Mr. Magpie.
