Jack White
– Fear of the Dawn
Fear of the Dawn is Jack White getting weird in his own basement and deciding to crank it up for the neighborhood to hear. It’s chaotic, sharp-edged, electrified to the point of combustion. This isn’t the elegant, folky troubadour of Blunderbuss or Lazaretto. This is the mad scientist version of White—coated in sawdust and static—bent over knobs and wires, summoning some hybrid of garage rock, sci-fi blues, and digital sludge. It doesn’t always hold together, but that’s kind of the fun. He’s not aiming for perfect; he’s aiming for alive.
The album’s core is that feral guitar tone, snarling like it just got kicked out of a bar. White isn’t just shredding—he’s twisting the fretboard into knots, then recording it through a blender. The drums are aggressive, the vocals are often distorted into alien transmissions, and the entire thing moves like a Frankenstein funk band with a broken metronome. And somehow, it still grooves. Even when it’s falling apart, it’s moving forward. He sounds unhinged, like he’s exorcising something—or at least trying to make it dance.
There’s ambition here, but not the kind that chases awards or approval. This is Jack White letting his brain off the leash and seeing where it runs. It’s not polished, not focused, and definitely not trying to be liked by everyone. But it’s got energy, guts, and a wicked grin behind every riff. He’s not reinventing the wheel—he’s throwing it down a flight of stairs and recording the sound it makes on the way down. And that’s exactly what keeps him interesting.
Choice Tracks
Taking Me Back
The album opener charges like a rabid dog on a short chain. The guitar is fuzzed out and feral, with drums that hit like furniture being thrown down a hallway. White’s voice is half-growl, half-sneer, and it feels like a warning shot—he’s back, and he’s got noise to make.
Fear of the Dawn
The title track is all tension and punch, buzzing with synths and sirens. It’s both tightly wound and off the rails. There’s a strange kind of funk bubbling under the chaos, but the main draw is the sheer force of it. It’s less a song and more a controlled detonation.
Eosophobia
Here, he leans into paranoia with warped vocals and a beat that sounds like it’s chasing its own tail. The riff loops like a warning alarm, and the whole track vibrates with a strange, jittery energy. It’s uncomfortable, in a good way.
Hi-De-Ho (feat. Q-Tip)
This is where the album really throws a curveball. Jack White and Q-Tip shouldn’t work on paper, but here they are—trading bars over Cab Calloway samples like they’re old drinking buddies. It’s bonkers and brilliant, the kind of genre clash that shouldn’t click, but does.
Into the Twilight
A bizarre, broken disco strut through glitchy samples and distorted falsetto. It’s part funk jam, part interdimensional broadcast. There’s nothing quite like it on the record—or maybe anywhere else. That’s not praise or warning. Just fact.
Fear of the Dawn is messy, loud, and occasionally overwhelming. But it’s also alive in a way few modern rock records dare to be. Jack White isn’t trying to lead a movement here—he’s just trying to blow out the speakers in your brain. And honestly? Mission accomplished.