![]() He writes the songs, plays everything except drums and devised the band’s peppermint-stripe color scheme. The White Stripes are, in most ways, Jack’s creation. “I don’t know many people under thirty who have done the research Jack has done - and can do a credible Blind Willie McTell cover.” “There is an authenticity about everything Jack does,” says T Bone Burnett, who produced Jack’s solo tracks on the soundtrack to the 2003 film Cold Mountain. ![]() Satan is also their boldest record, combining the Stripes’ whiplash rock and Jack’s passion for vintage blues and country music with a gothic-roadhouse tension scored with grand piano and marimba. Satan is their third hit album in a row, following the 2001 breakthrough White Blood Cells and 2003’s Elephant. The White Stripes are at a commercial and creative peak. Photos: The White Stripes on Tour in 2001 She looks up at him with the same undivided attention as she keeps steady, thundering time. He stands at a mike set at the foot of her kit, his eyes pinned on her as he sings and thrashes his guitar. But Jack and Meg are playing to each other. tour, promoting the Top Five album Get Behind Me Satan. A few days later they perform “Top Special” for an adoring audience at Keller Auditorium in Portland, Oregon, the fifth stop on their current U.S. ![]() There is no better way to describe the White Stripes themselves. The chorus, Jack says over the din, is a phrase popular with Japanese teens: “It basically means ‘You’re my best friend.'” Jack is playing “Top Special,” a new White Stripes track recorded a week earlier with drummer Meg White - who is sitting quietly in the back seat - for a special Japanese single. Photos: The White Stripes on Tour in 2007 The singing is really just shouting, and the lyrics are kid stuff: “You’re my top special, baby/Top! Top!” But the total effect is elementary, irresistible ecstasy. There are bursts of marimba, too, which sound like someone shaking a bag of bones. he turns the volume up to deafening and grins proudly as howitzer-fire drumming and squeals of distorted guitar rattle the windshield. J ack White pulls his black Ford pickup truck to the curb on a quiet, tree-lined street in his native Detroit and hits the ‘play’ button on the cd player in the cherry-red dashboard.
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