Jack White is a legend in the rock scene. Yet, at the February 12 performance at the Brooklyn Paramount for his ‘No Name’ tour, he still played like a bright, “next-big-thing” on the scene, like he’s somehow still on the brink of becoming famous. Hungry to direct our attention toward the sheer awesomeness of his music, he ensured that every guitar solo jolted with electricity, that his vocals would bounce from wall to wall, and that the overall perform would affirm that he is a certified rock star. His energy comes from the confidence in the quality of his music—a thing he’s more than allowed to have, considering how so much of his discography has become essential tracks in modern and alternative rock history—but it’s still refreshing and exciting. He charms people on talent alone, once again demonstrating that consistency, skill, and stellar music can be enough to let the crowd walk away with the thought, “Wow, that was a spectacular concert. This guy is someone special.”

It felt important to go to this concert on February 12. Last Saturday, White took to Instagram to comment on some of the behavior he’s been noticing about touring culture, especially the intricate relationship between fan and artist. “Been hearing a lot of chatter throughout the year of this glorious electric touring about how long our sets are ‘supposed to be’ on stage. As if the length of a show determines how ‘good’ it is,” he wrote underneath a blue and black photo of his stage setup. “I know that we’re living in a current era where people like to say ‘so and so played for 3 hours last night!,’ and brag about it the next day…I’ll let our fans know now that my mind has no intention of ‘impressing’ y’all in that context.” He continued to explain that a rock concert should be in the hands of the artist, that a “good” show doesn’t need all the spectacle of pyro technics, large venues, lasers, and more if the quality of music speaks for itself. Money, he argued, created a weird gap between the expectations of the audience and the artistic expression of the artist. How much was spent on the set design, how much was spent on a single ticket, how much was spent on travel in both dollars and time: money has somehow become the determining factor in how fans judge the overall experience. He intends to challenge that notion, according to his post. Recentering the “living, breathing organism” of rock and roll, he aims to play as little or as long as he wants, select the music he likes to perform, and yes, grab that electric guitar and put on a good f*****g show.

Jack White is fortunately a man of his word. Aside from his new promise to allow a certain number of concert-goers under the age of 25 to purchase tickets to his concert for $20, bringing back the classic days of physical mementos and high-quality rock shows for a price not determined by profit-hungry corporations, he gave the audience in Brooklyn a proper rock concert. No time wasted to idle chatting, no stalling between sets, a short yet still cheeky pause between the main performance and the encore that’s become tradition at this point—just the kick drum pounding through the floor, his electric guitar amped up to the max, and the music playing nonstop for a solid hour and a half.

New York’s indie rock band BODEGA commenced the show, playing a select sampling of their discography that I’d say accurately informed the audience of what their deal was. Combining some classic alt rock with a bit of hardcore, as well as some punk flairs with political commentary-soaked lyricism, the band’s 30-minute performance also fit the theme of a classic rock and roll show. “I’m pretty sure like…five percent of this packed room know who we are,” joked guitarist and vocalist Ben Hozie, looking at an audience smiling and nodding along to the tracks, but not really singing or cheering much. But there’s still such a charm in trying to get one’s name out there, getting co-signed by a rock legend at an early phase in one’s career, still giving it their all when it came to thrashing the guitar and hitting the cymbals and embracing noise, and playing to fill the whole room. It can’t get more opening band-core than that!

When Jack White came on, then, people were ready for him. As soon as the smoke machine kicked in again, the blue, gray, and white lights cut out, and the artist walked on to pick up his guitar, the crowd roared with anticipation. From the beginning, White and his band had the full energy of the audience in their hands, and they never let it go. Chanting began as soon as White played the opening riff to “Old Scratch Blues,” returned in the chorus of “That’s How I’m Feeling,” and seemingly never stopped until the end of the night. The band, of course, matched their excitement harmoniously: jam session after jam session, one drum and guitar solo after the other, and White’s gravelly vocals crisply booming over the raucous cheers in every song were executed seemingly perfectly.

Yet another event contextualized the February 12 performance, transforming some of the more obvious setlist choices into a sweet, special event. Earlier that morning, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announced that White’s former band The White Stripes was nominated for induction, making them one of the first bands (if not the only one) from the rock revivalist era to be recognized as one of the greatest of all times. While he plays a lot of White Stripes tunes at gigs—last night’s performance featured enthusiastic revisits to “Apple Blossom,” “You’re Pretty Good Looking (For A Girl),” and “Icky Thump,” to name a few—reaffirmed, at least in my opinion, White’s high cultural status in the rock scene. On any given night, “Seven Nation Army” as the closing song could be read a wink to the audience, a “let’s give them what they want” kind of compromise. But witnessing it live yesterday, I found White stripped back all the layers of commercialized, obligatory sports anthem-y vibes that (sadly) currently shroud it. Fundamentally, the song awakens something burning within people, the White Stripes and Jack White move people, and there’s a reason why this artist and this song—and pardon my Gen Z slang—go so hard. Fantastic rock and roll exists outside of the computer, the CD player, or the iPhone camera roll: it’s live and found at one of Jack White’s shows.

It bears so much repeating: Jack White is a legend in the rock scene.

Jack White at the Paramount in Brooklyn, NY February 13th photo by David James Swanson

Order tickets for Jack White HERE