Jack White Takes Command at Ascend

Rock ’n’ roll does not need a savior. It never has. But in every generation, one or more rockers gets the messianic treatment from media figures. Such practices — which at times have edged close to blatant racism — tend to emerge when pop, hip-hop and R&B start to dominate the charts. Along comes a white man with a six-string and a few catchy riffs, who’s crowned the chosen one to liberate rock for a new era. In the summer of 2001, when mainstream rock was in such a slump, The Strokes released Is This It and The White Stripes dropped White Blood Cells, and the two bands were hailed by practically every entertainment rag as the return of rock.

My experience with Jack White doesn't go very deep. Prior to the first of his two nights at Ascend Amphitheater on Saturday, the last time I saw him play live was as one-half of The White Stripes, when they made their Nashville debut at The End in 2001. Jack and Meg White were mostly unknown outside of the blues-punk underground, so I wasn’t expecting much of a crowd. But White Blood Cells had just begun to grab the ears of influential music journalists, which led to the room being so packed on that September night — the Sunday before 9/11 — that we were all drenched in our own sweat and unable to move. Most of what I could see of the band was the headstock of Jack White’s guitar, and I made my way out of the claustrophobic environs after about five songs. 

Saturday night's amphitheater experience was vastly different from that night at The End. Beloved Nashville punks Be Your Own Pet reunited for their first shows since 2008 to open a few of White’s dates. They previewed their Saturday appearance with an impromptu Friday night set at East Side art space Soft Junk, playing under the code name Bring Your Own Poppers. Unfortunately, a ticket snafu resulted in me missing their entire set on Saturday. Luckily, Scene editor D. Patrick Rodgers was already inside the gates, and he reports that the 2008 lineup — that is, with John Eatherly on the drum throne in place of founding member Jamin Orrall — bounded onstage at 8 p.m. sharp, ripping through nervy punk-pop numbers that were mostly written when the foursome were still teenagers. 

But songs like “Adventure,” “Becky,” “Food Fight!” and set closer “Bicycle Bicycle, You Are My Bicycle” still hold their irreverent charm, even with frontwoman Jemina Pearl and her bandmates now in their 30s and with a lot more experience under their belts. During BYOP’s fast-moving 45-minute set, Pearl — energetic as ever and clad in appropriately roller-derby-inspired stage wear — dedicated a couple of songs to her kids Lula and Elvis. Those were lovely little sentimental moments tucked into a set that was particularly nostalgic for the Old Nashvillians in attendance. Now that BYOP’s reunion run has wrapped, will there be more dates and possibly even a new record? Plenty of folks would like to see it.

With my phone locked away in the foam pouch provided, I had to rely on my memory to capture my impression of the gig. In front of me, a teenager had donned a fresh-from-the-merch-table Jack White long-sleeve. A few rows behind was a couple who looked to be in their early 50s; one partner wore a White Stripes T-shirt, while the other had one from The Raconteurs. The frustrations of the preceding hour dwindled as I found myself surrounded by people thrilled to see their favorite performer. 

White and his uber-talented band — bassman Dominic Davis, drummer Daru Jones and keyboardist Quincy McCrary — opened up with the first three songs from White’s latest album Fear of the Dawn. The stage was cast in his signature blue hue, matching everything from his hair to his sequined jacket. Between “Fear of the Dawn” and “The White Raven,” White threw in a changeup with an abbreviated cover of The Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” The heretofore enthusiastic crowd seemed to calm down a bit, as if they were unfamiliar with the Detroit dirge classic, aka the “Wagon Wheel” of proto-punk.

The rest of the set was peppered with tunes from just about every phase of White’s career — the four solo albums he’s released and the forthcoming Entering Heaven Alive, due in July; The Raconteurs; and of course The White Stripes. White & Co. kept the energy very high, feeding off the audience throughout the 23-song show. Every aspect of the performance, from lighting cues to White’s gestures, felt choreographed to each song, but the concert was no less compelling. White’s quarterback-like frame and animated facial expressions made me think of a life-size action figure, starring in his own live-action music video. 

Though I didn’t get the cameo appearance I’d hoped for — that’d be A Tribe Called Quest’s Q-Tip, who lays down some verses on Fear of the Dawn’s “Hi-De-Ho” — it wasn’t a major disappointment. White and his band were so outrageously good together that I’d hate to spoil it by throwing another person into the mix. White has mastered the art of pulling off complex technical feats like this production while leaving you with memories of things like almost-unhinged guitar solos, or the way his commanding presence and the preacher-like cadence he occasionally takes on gets the audience hanging on his every word. 

Additional reporting by D. Patrick Rodgers.