On Monday, September 28, Jack White played his first of two sold-out shows at the Palladium. White has earned his place in the rock pantheon with over a quarter-century of guitar-forward output, occasionally reaching the stratosphere of pop with radio hits like “Steady As She Goes” and “Seven Nation Army,” but he prefers to live in the land of if-you-know-you-know. And if you know, you know that Jack White’s current tour is one of the best shows that rock music has on offer in the year of our lord 2026. If you are hoping to stuff your brain with fuzz for two hours and you wouldn’t mind bleeding out of your ears by the end, get yourself a ticket to a venue near you.
Maybe it’s White’s joke on himself, then, that his opening acts were both hip-hop artists. First up was Daru Jones, who has played drums in White’s band in the past, in addition to backing A-tier rappers like Nas and Talib Kweli. Last night, he played a short set of mostly lackluster beats, although it was fun when he mashed up Busta Rhymes with old Star Trek episodes. Next up was Prof, a rapper from Minneapolis with an Eminem-meets-Danny-Brown flow. After admitting that he’d never “opened up a rock show before,” and laughing that the show was already sold out by the time he was put on the bill, he got the crowd on his side with his charisma. He was clearly having a ton of fun, and he was contagious. He ended his set with a couple of “blues” songs that sounded more like R&B to this reviewer’s ear. He has a decent voice, and he gets an A for effort.
The crowd waited for White with the aimless excitement of those whose phones have been secured inside Yondr pouches. The crowd was mostly gen-x and older millennials, many of whom brought young kids. For those in the crowd born after 2010, the phone-less atmosphere must have felt like a time warp to the concerts of their mom or dad’s youth. People were talking to their neighbors more than at other shows, and there was a shared excitement between those who had seen White dozens of times and those at their first concert ever. Jack White is a gateway drug for rock and roll and for live music.
At 9:15, he came onstage and showed us why, with an absolutely nonstop two-hour set. His fingers simply do not stop moving for the entire time he is onstage. He runs around, pale and long-haired like the ghost of a Victorian child on Red Bull. His band, consisting of old and new friends, doesn’t let up either, paying close attention to White’s whims, making sudden turns and jams seem totally natural and rehearsed even if they were decided spur of the moment.
These days, White doesn’t write songs so much as guitar delivery methods. He opened with “That’s How I’m Feeling,” from his 2024 record No Name. The air became thick with distortion that did not abate until the show was over. Songs that blended into each other were punctuated with beloved hits from his lengthy and varied career. Song number two, the White Stripes’ “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground,” had the crowd locking in and singing along, as did fan-favorite “Hotel Yorba,” with its demented stomp-clap cadence and sweetly loving lyrics.
For most of the show, White is the only guitarist onstage, but he brought out the Strokes’ Nick Valensi for the Raconteurs’ “Broken Boy Soldier” and a live debut of “Bless Yourself.” Daru Jones got behind the drums for “Lazaretto,” and then White gratefully introduced his band, emblazoning their names on a screen above each of them, as they finished the main set with a rousing, extended “Steady As She Goes.”
The jam that opened the encore threatened to wash the whole venue away in a wave of fuzz, and then “Icky Thump” hammered the whole building back into place. “That Black Bat Licorice” saw some people start to leave to beat the traffic, but they missed out on the final song – and what else could it be but “Seven Nation Army”? White and co. played it loud and long, like they didn’t want to leave quite yet. And neither did the crowd.
White is an interesting presence in today’s rock landscape. He’s been essentially canonized, has enough radio hits to hang his hat on, has been a founding member of several bands, and is now in the back half of his career. But he doesn’t act like he knows he’s a god. He works incredibly hard onstage. He sweats. White does not have a beautiful voice – it’s a stapler going into a thick pile of paper, the losing side of a tug-of-war. When he sings, you can hear the effort and strain, and his often-employed scream is a truly unabashed girlish squeal. He speeds through his verses so he can luxuriate in the riffs. And the crowd wouldn’t have it any other way. Rock n roll is not perfect. It’s messy. It’s ferocious. It’s Jack White at the Hollywood Palladium.