What immediately stands out about The White Stripes is Jack White’s mesmerizing stage presence.  He moves between three microphone positions, almost in cadence, and you can’t take your eyes off of him.  One at the front, one facing Meg, and one by a piano.  I’ve heard the same said of other great live acts, but when you watch Jack White it’s undeniable: you’re seeing something special.  He somehow appears physically larger than anyone.  The guitar is not the instrument; he is the instrument.

The Stripes also change angles more effectively – and indeed more deliberately – than any band today.  From any spot you rarely see the same picture for more than a few minutes, and because the entire stage – from the outfits and haircuts of Jack and Meg, to the microphone stands, instruments, and everything in between – is meticulously intended, it is visually interesting at all times, and therefore, again, you cannot prevent paying attention.

From that angle there were minutes when neither Jack nor Meg was visible.  So it is with a two-member band.  Whatever was visible, however – even the stage lights shining out – took on a life of its own.  The entire stage, in fact, was a singular life form; a dragon who breathed crazy rock music instead of fire.  

The desire to peak around that orange wall, to stand on your toes, or even jump to look above the heads of the throng to see the dragon felt similar to what Smeagol must have felt for the Ring.  Something like looking out over the edge of the Grand Canyon and feeling drawn to it by an indescribable urge that says, “Jump.”

And the criticism that Meg offers very little is one of the great misconceptions in music.  Aside from being the ideal – not to mention the only – complementary part to Jack White, her thundering drums fill a bass role so adeptly that if she played bass instead, she would be among the elite.  But because we expect, for whatever reason, our drummers to drip with exertion, she goes overlooked and underappreciated.  Let it be clear: Meg White is the band’s Harley motor.

To say Jack White is “electric” is both an overused cliché and the perfect description.  Same for “he’s not human.”  Simply put, he’s captivating.  Nothing more can be said, and cliché and overused as all of the compliments of this piece may be, he set a new bar for those words that few bands come close to reaching.

The new album puts The White Stripes in the Led Zeppelin school, but that does not mean they are “Led Zeppelin-like,” the title often bestowed upon psychedelic rock bands that shift gears, change chords, sing in intense, wailing voices, and play loud, rocking blues.  For instance, Wolfmother is popularly known as “Today’s Led Zeppelin,” which is slightly belittling to the band, but also slightly true.  And although Wolfmother is no doubt a great band and a great live act, Bonnaroo offered a direct comparison – on the same stage no less – with The White Stripes, and it must be said: The White Stripes are at a different level.  Whereas Wolfmother sounds like Led Zepplin, The White Stripes only sound like The White Stripes. 

But The White Stripes also embody the significance of their predecessors, one of those being, of course, Led Zeppelin.  The saying about the great geniuses only seeing what they see because they stand on the shoulders of giants applies.  The Stripes have not invented the genre(s) they play, and neither did Led Zepplin.  But The Stripes have redefined the possibilities of those genres, and in turn stand today as one the great geniuses of rock.

Photographs and Article by Scott Goldberg