Jack White
– Lazaretto
If Blunderbuss was Jack White stretching his limbs post-Stripes, Lazaretto is him cracking his knuckles and throwing haymakers. This is an album that doesn’t sit still—it twitch-walks, waltzes, and then throws you down a flight of vintage guitar pedals. White isn’t chasing trends here; he’s building a haunted funhouse out of them, wiring blues, punk, country, and baroque pop into a homemade lightning rod.
Best of…
The playing is feral, but never sloppy. White’s guitar tone chews through the mix like it’s hungry for blood. And when he wants to flex, he does—see the title track’s riff gymnastics or the fiddle-flecked hoedown of “Temporary Ground.” But there’s also control. Underneath the grit is a craftsman who knows when to spit and when to shine. His voice still yelps and howls like a man exorcising the ghost of a song he hasn’t written yet.
Lyrically, White goes full cryptic prophet. The characters in these songs aren’t heroes—they’re hustlers, loners, ex-lovers, and con men trapped in some 21st-century Southern Gothic fever dream. He sounds like he’s arguing with them all, and himself. Lazaretto is messy in the way art is supposed to be. It’s a mirror that laughs when you look too long.
Choice Tracks
Lazaretto
A snarling centerpiece. That riff doesn’t ask permission—it kicks the door in. White spits his lyrics like a street preacher with a switchblade. Funky, furious, and downright addictive.
Temporary Ground
A moment of eerie calm. Lillie Mae Rische’s vocals wrap around White’s like a ghost he can’t shake. There’s an old-world sadness in the strings that gives it surprising emotional weight.
High Ball Stepper
An instrumental meltdown. It doesn’t need words—just distorted guitar screams, shuddering dynamics, and enough electricity to power Detroit. Sounds like a transmission from the moon landing, if the moon had swamp gas and bourbon.
Would You Fight for My Love?
Drama turned all the way up. White sounds unhinged in the best way, his voice trembling at the edges, held together by piano and echo. It’s a ballad by way of mental breakdown.
Just One Drink
Sharp, sarcastic, and swaggering. It flips between straight rock and a barroom shuffle like it’s trying on personas. Think Rolling Stones by way of a Nashville dive bar with better lighting.