
[T]o record his new album, Boarding House Reach, Jack White retreated to a bolt-hole apartment on a non-descript block in Nashville. With nothing but a “a cot, a couple of books and coffee machine” as well as a drum machine, a guitar and a four-track tape recorder, he crafted a collection of 13 maximalist tracks that confront love, change, politics and the passage of time.
He describes the experience of self-imposed creative isolation as “as though I was kind of untouchable, but still there”. It’s a notion that translates onto the record.
“I’m very careful to not put too much of things that are really important to me into the songs because I don’t want them to be destroyed,” he says, describing a songwriting process during which he “creates characters in dialogue with one another” rather than mining his personal experience for inspiration and risking critical collateral damage. “If I put my most favourite, beautiful things in my mind, the things I love the most, into a song and people hate it, that would hurt. That would really hurt.” The result is an album that becomes part-sonic-experiment, part-fiction.
But you can never totally separate the art from the artist. And White’s philosophy and experience are there between the lines. Untouchable, but still there.


White grew up in South-West Detroit, almost became a priest, actually became an upholsterer, formed a seminal rock band, got married twice, formed two other highly successful bands, had children, kickstarted the vinyl revolution and forged a high-powered, high-profile solo career. After two decades in rock and roll, Boarding House Reach is where he’s at right now, sonically, personally or otherwise. “The recordings that you make are sort of a time capsule, you capture a moment in time and you’re committed to it,” he explains, “they’re like photographs; there forever and ever and ever.” Evidence on the album would suggest that, at this moment in time, he’s in a period of reflection and self-discovery.
The cover art for the album is derived from an old photograph of a female model, a ghostly figure shrouded by clouds that resembles White himself, even before a designer at Third Man Records implanted his eyes into the picture. It’s a self-portrait. “I wanted to play with the idea of the different roles of gender inside of myself, the female side and the male side that are inside of things when I write. Pronouns are just placeholders that don’t really mean much to me,” he says, “you might say he or she, but you might mean the exact opposite.”
Though he has not explicitly described his rejection of the gender binary before, White points to The White Stripes’ giant cover of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” as evidence that it’s always been there. “I didn’t change the gender [in the song] because it didn’t matter. I can still relate to the song. Some people didn’t wanna take it that way, they thought we were being ironic but [the irrelevance of gender pronouns] has always been in my mind.”


The album also addresses White’s take on modern technology. The spooky, 22nd century-style, malfunctioning public service robot voiceover on “Everything You’ve Ever Learned” feels like a stab at knowledge in the information age, while “Ezmerelda Steals The Show”, which sounds like a Lewis Carroll story read over White’s twinkling guitar, ends with the line “you people are totally absurd.” Given the music media characterization of White as a staunch technoskeptic, it’s easy to imagine that this line is directed at anyone with an iPhone.
But his take on technological advancement is much more nuanced than commentators give him credit for: “Over the years people have boxed me in in different ways. They want me to be cranky, they want me to be old-fashioned,” he explains, adding, “But there are so many things I could play them that would show them that they are completely wrong – that I’m actually the complete opposite of that.” Most of Boarding House Reach, with its synths and drum pad beats would qualify. “There should be a new progressive way of looking forward, not just saying ‘look at the past, wasn’t it great before this’ but actually saying ‘these phones are great inventions, let’s take what’s good about them and use them, but not let them consume every part of our existence.’”
Nevertheless, it’s unsurprising to find that White enjoys Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror. “As a timeless thing to scare us into making sure we’re very careful with how we progress, George Orwell’s 1984 is always going to be the best example. Black Mirror is the best example in modern times, of how technology can be used for evil rather than to help society.”
As we continue to learn the role of technology in the election of Donald Trump, it’s impossible not to subscribe to Black Mirror narratives. “Living in America now, with Donald Trump [as President] it is a type of dystopia. There’s one person with their hand on the button that could destroy humanity, we’re finally realising how scary that is. Maybe we needed to come this far before we realised how bad things could be.”

Like Orwell did, White is looking to the future. The sounds on Boarding House Reach testify to that, even when his recording process took him back to simpler times. After all, there’s no going back. “There are times when you’d love to go back and have a regular, normal existence. But there is no going back. Even if I quit everything to do with art and creativity and art I would still never be able to go back. Now even when I’m in my house or do my dishes or drop my children off somewhere, I’m still pretending to have a regular life, it’s not really who I am. I am supposed to be creating every day. I do my best to find a balance, and it can be sad at times. But you’ve just gotta figure out that there are a lot of things that you’re very fortunate to be a part of. I could’ve just been a furniture upholsterer my whole life. And that would have been good enough for me. I’ve been pretty lucky.”
Boarding House Reach is out now. Find out more at Third Man Records.