In a celebration of all that makes him one of the most definitive contemporary rock ‘n’ roll artists, Jack White ignited the Troxy with his signature blend of garage rock and blues on his No Name tour. From the moment the first chords erupted from his guitar to a famous crowd-pleaser to close (something about an army?), Jack and his tight band left nothing on the table.
Jack White
Troxy, London – 1 March 2025
Words: James De Guerre
Tonight, Jack White delivered on his promise from the start: “Every single word that comes out of my mouth tonight is going to be the truth.”
If you wanted to collect a souvenir setlist from the night, you would be out of luck. Jack White famously does not use one. Instead, his unassuming band, who perform with the ease and pleasure of friends jamming in a blues club, rely on constant communication with White, who circles the stage like a fighter planning his next mode of attack.
Jack White needs to share only a few words with a key comrade, and in their familiarity, the others immediately pick it up. This does not just happen when moving between songs. Each one may also be subject to its own re-interpretation on the night, not just roughing up less distorted numbers, but also breaking down several pieces partway through into freestyle jams and solos, giving White and his audience time to catch their collective breath.
In this way, the entire show flows from White’s orchestration, demonstrating his generational yet seemingly unconceited talent and creating a unique experience every day of this long and busy worldwide tour of his newest album, No Name.
Unique though each night may be, the fans have been able to expect some core tracks from this new album, which has been seen as a return to the simple but powerful bluesy punk of The White Stripes era.
Breaking through the wall of sound created by the band’s brief introductory jam, the crisp blues riff of Old Scratch Blues proves as good at opening shows as it does the album. It quickly builds to a riotously explosive chorus before drawing back again in advance of the next attack, continuing to alternate feverish tension with cathartic outbursts of pure joy and leaving his listeners enraptured throughout.
Those of us nearer the front could not contain ourselves and broke into a dancing, headbanging push-pit at the first detonation and continued in this vein, entranced and energised by White’s powerful music for the rest of the night.
After re-iterating his commitment that every word spoken will be “the truth” (perhaps in contrast to others captivating our attention these days?), White clarifies what he means by this theme of authenticity in the next song, the second of six he would play tonight from the new album.
The groove of the initial bars provides a moment to recuperate before surging into the eponymous chorus of That’s How I’m Feeling. This is a powerhouse of a song which makes the soul feel like jumping from the body to sing with White. For many, this will have been the first time in the seven months since the album’s release that they have been able to let their body take over alongside other true believers, following their Pied Piper as he taps into the human urge to be heard and felt through the medium of raucous guitars, drums and keys.
These fans in the pit enjoyed being together, all night long continuing to smile at, jump into, look after, sweat and dance (ok, mainly headbang!) with one another.
White lets the music do the talking for most of the evening, moving unrelentingly through his own oeuvre, as well as covers of The Stooges and the blues artist Robert Johnson. He incorporates eight White Stripes songs and two from The Raconteurs, whose drummer, Patrick Keeler, is in the current band. There is even one from his supergroup, The Dead Weather, during which we saw some call-and-response between White and Bobby Emmett on keys and one of those slightly awkward moments in the pit.
I Cut Like A Buffalo has a low-down and stripped-back sexy rhythm largely led by the Hammond organ and syncopated with delayed guitars and guttural choking sounds echoing through White’s microphone without ever needing to resolve into a moshable chorus. The pit someone had opened early on sheepishly closed up on its own. 
White joins the keyboardist for Apple Blossom and switches guitars during more than one song. He has said that he used to write songs to specifically allow for this. This is all with the help of his proactive stage team, who, along with White and the band, remain on-brand wearing all black with some pilgrim-style hats-sound guy included.
White thus keeps busy all night, making it all the more special when he finds a few moments to come to the front of the stage, better showing the pure joy on his face as he more closely revels in his mesmerised audience.
During the eight-song encore, White introduces the band. In addition to Keeler and Emmett, White’s childhood friend Dominic Davis has been playing bass with him since White’s solo career started in 2012.
For Archbishop Harold Holmes, White strings together the earnestly conveyed truisms of the evangelist over a backdrop of grinding guitar chugging, which you cannot help but dance to.
When White pre-released No Name as a surprise giveaway in his record shops in July 2024, fans interpreted the lyrics as hinting at White’s intentions for this unlabelled white album: “You must first bring seven friends, And don’t be selfish and keep this all to yourself.”
Right on cue, the words are belted out by White’s jubilant congregation, and as my eyes meet those of another parishioner, we don’t forget to complete the rhyme with the delightful: “And don’t eat shellfish.”
He rounds the night off with Seven Nation Army, which famously took off as a UK football chant before reaching other stadia internationally and must, therefore, hold a special place for White as he plays it in the city that hosts one of his three Third Man Records stores.
White recently challenged his fans to see a rock show as a “living breathing organism”. On this particular night, the raw garage rock energy and Jack White’s utter dedication to his craft reminded everyone that in an age of artificial substitutes, nothing beats the real thing.
